Breaking the Chain (13 page)

‘Your f-flaming p-p-pudding, ma’am,’ he said.

Even Jack forgot his tears in the excitement of the moment. ‘The p-p-pudding’s on f-fire!’ he said.

There was a small hard silence.

‘What did you say?’ Fay asked.

‘I s-said the p-pudding’s on f-fire.’

‘Stop it, Jack!’ Conrad said sharply. ‘It isn’t funny to copy Uncle Duncan. He can’t help talking like that, but you can.’

‘No I c-c-can’t.’

‘Of course you can. You’re just putting it on. You were talking perfectly normally just now. What’s the matter with you?’ Two more large tears slid out of Jack’s eyes and splashed onto the tablecloth in front of him.

‘That,’ Fay said furiously, gathering him up and rushing out again, ‘is the last straw!’

‘Please excuse my family,’ Conrad said, holding out his hands palm upwards to show his bafflement. ‘I don’t know what’s got into them lately.’

‘I think you were too hard on the child,’ Brendan said. ‘Try backing off a bit.’

‘Oh I see,’ Conrad said nastily. ‘You’re an expert on child care now, are you?’

Brendan gave him a furious look. ‘I’m human,’ he said, ‘in case you’ve forgotten. That’s the only qualification I need.’

‘I think you’d make a lovely Daddy,’ Thelma said stoutly. ‘You’re just the type.’

Phoebe caught Hope’s eye as she started passing the bowls of Christmas pudding down the table, and intercepted her look of
sardonic pleasure. Happy families, Phoebe thought. Happy bloody families!

The formal opening of the presents took place in the drawing room at four o’clock. Logs burnt in the big fireplace. The Christmas tree lights glowed amongst the spruce needles and tinsel. Hickory and Diggory lay against each other on the hearthrug, replete with leftovers and snoring gently. The hi-fi played quietly in the background, a tape of the
Messiah.
The presents, wrapped in gaudy paper with metallic bows and tags attached, were piled beneath the tree. Hope sat herself down in the best chair and prepared to direct the proceedings.

‘Now then, Rod,’ she said. ‘You can sort out which present is for which of us. I suggest we open them one at a time, so that we can all enjoy each one. Who’s first?’

‘You are, Grandma,’ Rod said diplomatically.

Phoebe watched as the presents emerged and the pile of torn-up wrapping paper and severed ribbon grew higher and higher. She felt no personal sense of anticipation. She had bought her own present from Duncan – a nightie – herself, to ensure that she actually got something. The year before Duncan had failed to think of anything suitable, and had given up.

Hope unwrapped her present from Peter. It was the same every year; a box of Black Magic. ‘How nice,’ she said. Phoebe had never seen her eat a chocolate, and was pretty sure she never did.

Thelma found that Peter had given her an identical box. ‘I’ve got one too,’ she announced. ‘Yummy!’ She reached over and gave him a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks, Peter,’ she said. ‘Let’s eat them now.’ She tore off the Cellophane and opened the box, handing it round to everyone.

‘Chocolate,’ Hope said, ‘is very bad for the complexion.’

‘No worries,’ Thelma said happily, biting an orange cream, popping it in and licking her fingers one by one. ‘I can eat tons of the stuff and I never get spots.’

‘Not like Rod,’ Pete said with satisfaction. ‘He only has to look –’

‘When I was a girl,’ Hope interrupted with authority, ‘we
didn’t gorge ourselves on sweet things the way children seem to today. I’m sure we were much healthier too. And d’you know, Herry always used to give his babies sultanas instead of sweets; so much better for their teeth, and they loved them!’

Rod unwrapped a Camcorder, gave a crow of delight and rushed to hug his father.
‘Thanks,
Dad!’ he said, beaming. ‘It’s just what I wanted.’ Pete found that he had been given a Super Nintendo System, and joined in, loud in his praise. Rick gave each boy a mock punch, smiling broadly and winking at Thelma.

‘What’s the smaller boy got?’ Peter enquired.

‘It’s a Nintendo console, Grandfather. It plugs into the TV and you play computer games on it. You must have heard of them? They’re awesome. They cost an arm and a leg!’

Hope sniffed. ‘We didn’t go in for ridiculously expensive presents either,’ she said. ‘I remember being thrilled to be given–’

‘A penny whistle,’ Rick supplied. ‘So you always say, Mother, but times have changed. Kids are more sophisticated these days.’

Phoebe felt a spasm of pain and instinctively clutched at her stomach. She looked round her, rather embarrassed. No one had noticed. She got to her feet and slipped quietly out of the room to find some Tampax. Her period had definitely come. She sat on the lavatory for a long time with her head in her hands. Her disappointment was unreasonable, but crushing nevertheless. It felt like the end of all her hopes. After a while she got up, washed her hands, pushed her hair into place and went into the kitchen to put a tray of mince pies into Hope’s oven.

When Phoebe got back into the drawing room, she found it piled high with designer trainers, books, gadgets, clothes and toys. Jack, who had been subdued and had hardly spoken since lunchtime, was rushing around in a Batman costume and dragging his redeemed doll by one arm, behind him. Duncan had been given a sweater by Hope. It was a size too small, but Phoebe refrained from saying so. She opened her present from her mother-in-law, a set of headed notepaper and envelopes, and noticed at once that the postcode was wrong. She kept quiet
about that too. Peter had dozed off under a layer of socks and handkerchiefs and a pair of Santa Claus boxer shorts. Brendan had disappeared altogether. Fay and Conrad were apparently not speaking to one another, and the heap of presents between them seemed to stand as a symbolic barrier to understanding and communication. Phoebe went over to Fay to thank her for her present of a bottle of perfume. ‘Here’s your watch back, too,’ she said. ‘I’d have been lost without it. I’ve got the mince pies warming up in the oven. How long do they take, d’you think?’

‘I’ll come and help carry them,’ Fay said. She looked pale and tense.

‘You all right?’ Phoebe asked solicitously as they got to the kitchen.

Fay grimaced. ‘Not really,’ she said, ‘but I expect I’ll get over it.’

‘Can I help?’

Fay turned a grateful face to her. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘I’ll be fine. It’s just Christmas, but if Hope says another word about how wonderful Herry and Becky’s children are, I swear I’ll … strangle her!’

‘I don’t blame you. Why does she always do it?’

‘Because she knows it teases? I’m damned if I know.’

‘If you and Jack ever need a break,’ Phoebe offered, ‘you’re always welcome at ours, you know.’

‘You must come and see us too,’ Fay said brightly.

So that’s as far as it goes, Phoebe thought, disappointed. She won’t let me in any further. She doesn’t really need my help. They carried the mince pies and cream to the drawing room.

‘Would you believe it?’ Rick was saying, ‘after all these years? She’s staying with friends in Suffolk for the New Year, apparently, and wants the boys to join her.’

‘Who?’ Phoebe asked Duncan.

‘P-P-Poppy.’

‘Oh,’ Phoebe exclaimed, ‘it would be lovely for the boys to see their mother again! Does that mean that she’s completely well now?’

‘Doubt it,’ Rick said drily.

‘But they are going?’

‘They seem to want to. God knows why. It fits in with my plans rather well, actually. I’ve got to be in Paris then.’

‘How long is it since you’ve seen your mum?’ Phoebe asked Rod.

‘Ages,’ he muttered, looking at the floor.

‘It’s
Batman
on TV at six,’ Pete said quickly. ‘I can’t wait! And it’s
Crocodile Dundee
two after that. They’re the best films of the day! We can go over to your house again, can’t we, Phoebe?’

‘B-B-Batman!’ Jack called, delighted.

‘Well, I don’t see why n –’ Phoebe began, but Hope didn’t let her finish.

‘No more television,’ she said crisply. ‘You’ve all had quite enough already. You are after all supposed to be spending your Christmas with your grandfather and me. It would be churlish of you to rush off again; not at all the proper way to repay our hospitality! A mince pie would be very nice, thank you, Phoebe.’

Duncan was glad to get home on Christmas evening. He found the festive season exhausting, but it was good to see the family and the food had been excellent. He felt proud of his wife’s efforts. Now he must take Diggory for a long-overdue but short walk, and then bed, the end of a good day! Phoebe seemed rather quiet. He presumed that she was tired. They opened the back door of their cottage and went in, preceded by the dog.

Phoebe gasped. ‘What a mess!’ she said, turning to him in dismay.

He glanced about him. The kitchen looked much as usual. He and the boys and Conrad had had the odd snack earlier that morning and hadn’t got round to doing the washing up, and Diggory had killed a few newspapers, but that was no crisis, surely? Phoebe had gone on into the sitting room.

‘Oh Duncan!’ she wailed. ‘There’s muddy footprints all over the carpet and the sofa is covered in crumbs, and the furniture has all been dragged about anyhow and the cushions are all over the room! How could you let them wreck the place and not do anything about it? You were supposed to be in charge!’

‘C-Come on,’ Duncan said. ‘It’s n-n-n-not that bad.’

‘And there’s a stain on the carpet over here and it’s all wet! What is it?’

‘It’s n-nothing. J-J-Jack knocked over a g-glass of R-R-R-R-Ribena. We m-mopped it all up.’

‘You should have
washed
it all off straightaway! Now it’s probably there for ever! Don’t you have any common sense at all?’

‘We’ll c-clear up tomorrow. I’ll h-help you, okay? Don’t fuss.’

‘Why is it that I can’t trust you to do
anything
properly?’ Phoebe asked him despairingly.

‘I’ll t-take D-D-Diggory out,’ he said shortly. Why must she overdramatize everything? So the place looked a little lived in, so what? It was no big deal. Any half-competent housewife could put it to rights in a moment. He picked up his torch from the shelf and Diggory’s lead from the hook beside the back door and withdrew thankfully into the darkness with the enthusiastic dog at his heels.

Phoebe took a deep breath and decided that she would indeed leave the clearing up until the next day. She was tired out. She went slowly upstairs and into the bathroom to clean her teeth, yawning and wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. When she opened them again, the first thing she saw on the bathroom floor, between the lavatory and the bath, was a small pile of human faeces.

Jack! Phoebe thought, now understanding what he’d said to her on the phone at lunchtime. Oh no!

She went and found the coal shovel and got rid of the pile. Then she washed the shovel and scrubbed the wooden floor with a brush and disinfectant, before drying it off with a cloth. Thank goodness we haven’t got a posh bathroom carpet! she thought. There was no sign of Duncan. It would be in character for him to stay out extra long, in the hope that she would be asleep by the time he returned. She washed out the cloth and hung it on the side of the bath to dry. Then she went into her bedroom.

She was tired, but felt too jangly to sleep. Alternate Christ-mases with the Moons had never come up to her naive early expectations, but this one had been particularly miserable. Perhaps Nancy had had even worse times. Phoebe decided to risk reading one of the diaries before Duncan came back. She
rummaged in her trunk and chose 1956, the year of her own birth and coincidentally the year when Nancy had been the age she was now: thirty-five.

Tuesday, 25 December – Skelpie Lodge, Scotland. Porridge for breakfast and then out for a marvellous walk in the snowy hills. Eleanor may be ten years older than me, but she’s much fitter! Some friends of hers, Sandy and Muriel, came too. Sunny at first but cloudy later with more snow. Wore my new gaiters over knee-length socks and hiking boots – feet remarkably comfortable. Saw my first capercaillie! It crashed down out of a pine tree as we walked underneath and flew off with a flurry of wings and a long glide to cover. Higher up there were ptarmigan, all white but for their tails, and flocks of snow buntings with big white patches on their wings – 3 ticks in one day! Hard walking over the heather and bogs, so we were exhausted and ravenous by the evening and did full justice to the hotel’s Christmas dinner. P. phoned briefly – I miss him. Lovely to hear his voice (E. very supportive about him too) – good thing it was before I sampled the single malts! All sat round a huge fire and played games, did silly turns and sang songs accompanied by Sandy on the fiddle. Great hilarity. Bed very late.

Oh, Phoebe thought wistfully, why couldn’t our Christmas have been like that? A great feeling of anticlimax engulfed her. She realized that she had had no fun at all during the day. There had been little joy or spontaneous affection displayed by anyone (except perhaps poor Thelma) and for Phoebe it had been just worry and hard work. No one had thanked her for her efforts, or shown any appreciation. No one had shown any interest in her at all, not even Duncan. Perhaps they all thought she hadn’t done it very well. Tears prickled her eyes and she brushed them away. Maybe Duncan would say nice things to her when he got back.

The back door banged downstairs as Duncan came in with the dog. Phoebe pushed Nancy’s diary into her trunk again and lay down, staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes Duncan
came up the stairs and into the bedroom. He was rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

‘You s-still awake?’ he said. ‘It’s b-bloody c-cold out there.’ He undressed quickly and got into bed beside her. ‘ ‘Night,’ he said, turning the light out and settling down for sleep.

Phoebe went on staring upwards, now into darkness. She thought, You selfish, thoughtless bastard! Why the hell did I ever marry you?

Duncan had now apparently gone off sex altogether. Phoebe blamed herself for accidentally saying too much, thereby undermining his confidence. But she blamed him for having such a pathetically low sex drive that he couldn’t overcome such an unfortunate outburst on her part, and take it in his stride like any normal red-blooded male. To some men it would have been seen as a challenge! Why not to Duncan? Why couldn’t he just
try?
His motto appeared to be: if at first you don’t succeed, give up.