‘Use the nice ones,’ Mum instructed when Dad reached for the everyday glasses. ‘It’s officially Christmas now these two are home.’
Shuffling out from underneath the tree, I sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him pour out sensible measures I knew would be doubled by this time tomorrow. Whisky for me, Mum and Manny, a Tia Maria and Coke for himself. Legend had it he switched to peach schnapps and lemonade for one heady summer in the early eighties but I refused to believe it.
‘What’s the plan of attack for tomorrow?’ Manny asked, gratefully accepting his glass.
‘Good question,’ I said, shooting him the finger guns before receiving my own. ‘Anything we should be aware of in advance?’
‘You can always tell the lawyer in the room,’ Dad clucked with puffed-out pigeon chest pride as I took a deep sip of the single malt. ‘Nothing you need to worry about. Get up, do presents, your sister will be here by one, I should think.’
‘Nan said she’d be here for half-eleven,’ Mum said. ‘Lunch at two, then it’s open house at Dorothy’s across the road as usual, there’s someone there I want you to meet.’
‘An old biddy who needs free legal advice,’ Manny whispered in my ear.
‘And I might have one or two surprises in store,’ Dad added with a wink. ‘A little bit of something to brighten up the day.’
I cheered, Manny groaned and Dad laughed, all while Mum chugged her whisky in one gulp. She took great pride in being the strongest drinker in the house, not that it was much of a competition. Dad was under the table after a sniff of the barmaid’s apron, but Mum had the iron constitution of a particularly lairy ox, a trait I had sadly not inherited.
‘Right then, I’m off to bed,’ Mum declared with a double slap of the thighs. ‘Someone has to be up at half past five to put the turkey in the oven and I’m guessing it won’t be any of you. Are you coming, Steve?’
‘Aye, I’ll be up behind you as soon as I’ve finished this,’ Dad replied, contentedly sipping his cocktail. ‘Maybe I’ll give you your present early.’
‘You can stay out of my stockings, you randy old bugger.’
He winked as Mum put the Tia Maria back in the cabinet. ‘She says that in front of you but it’ll be a different story upstairs.’
It was always so good to know your parents were having more sex than you were.
‘Don’t you two be up all night,’ Mum warned. ‘You know Father Christmas won’t come if you’re not asleep by midnight.’
Manny looked over at me with feigned innocence. ‘Did you hear that, Gwen? Auntie Bronwyn doesn’t want you scaring off another man, all right?’
‘Self-employed small businessman with working transportation who does things on the day he’s actually supposed to do themandkeeps his boots shiny?’ I scoffed. ‘Father Christmas is well out of my league.’
‘I worry about you two sometimes,’ Dad said, groaning as he stood before stooping to kiss me goodnight. ‘Listen to your mother and don’t be long for bed.’
‘We won’t,’ we promised in chorus as they disappeared upstairs leaving us alone with the twinkling tree, carols playing in the background and most importantly, the open bottle of whisky.
‘How are you feeling?’ Manny asked as I sipped my drink.
‘Surprisingly warm and fuzzy,’ I replied.
‘Perfection. Now all you have to do is stay that way.’
Closing my eyes, I listened to the carols playing in the background, the crackling flames of the fire.
‘I have a plan,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about work, don’t think about Michael and don’t fight with my sister. Simple, right?’
‘More simple than a meerkat trying to sell me car insurance,’ Manny nodded. ‘Fancy a top-up?’
‘Go on then, since it’s Christmas.’ I peered up the chimney, just in case. No sign of red trousers, shiny boots or a sack full of toys. ‘Besides, it isn’t as though anything legitimately catastrophic can happen, is it? Christmas is only one day. How bad could it possibly be?’
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, I woke up warm and cosy in my childhood bedroom, the central heating absurdly high as always and the smell of Mum’s cooking wafting up the stairs, and I smiled.
It was Christmas Day and it was going to be wonderful.
I felt around under the bed, searching for my phone, the wall socket too far away and my charging cable too short to reach the bedside table. All my friends with kids had been up for hours, posting picture after picture of their kids tearing into piles of presents. New Barbies, first bikes, so much excitement. I tapped away at the screen, loving each one as it came up, my heart swelling at the joy of it all. If that wasn’t the definition of Christmas, I didn’t know what was. Making new memories and reliving old ones, all wrapped around each other like layers of wrapping paper. The year I got my roller boots and promptly decked it on the driveway, skinning both my knees in my nightie. Getting properly drunk for the first time on Christmas Eve with Manny and Dev, ourfriend from next door. Slipping my job offer from Abbott & Howe into Dad’s stocking. The first time I brought Michael home to meet the family …