Page 6 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘Breakfast anyone?’ I shouted up the stairs and went back to the kitchen where my mobile phone was vibrating its way off the table.
‘Joyeux Réveillon de Noël, ma soeur!Merry Christmas Eve! Joy to the world!’ Isabel shouted down the phone, repeating the usual Christmas pun. It was almost as though she was in the next room, and for a moment I wished that she was. ‘You should have been here last night; we had an absolute blast. Is everything okay your side of the Channel?’
‘Merry Christmas! I would have rung you, but by the time I got to bed it was nearly midnight. Things went a bit crazy here. Sara and the girls arrived a day early, without Marty,’ I said.
‘No surprise there then. As he told me last time I saw him, the city and money wait for no one,’ Isabel said.
‘Bit different this time. He’s gone to Zurich with his secretary for Christmas. Sara found out they were having an affair. Everything has gone to rat poo, and the three of them still aren’t up. Although I did hear the first scream of the morning from the girls, so perhaps they are on the move.’
Isabel gasped and then made a dismissive noise. ‘Poor Sara, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Marty never could speak to any woman without being a bit creepy. All that back rubbing and patting. So, what’s she going to do?’
I pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Don’t know. She self-medicated with gin last night and did a lot of crying and threatening. Perhaps this morning she’ll be too hungover to do much. I’ve hidden her car keys.’
‘Very sensible. We had such a great evening; I wish you’d been there. I made Felix shut the bookshop early and everyone came round here. Remember that Christmas when you came and stayed with me? It was like that, but more so. Pierre had found an accordion somewhere, it was awful. I was nearly sick laughing.’
I felt quite sentimental for a few minutes, thinking back to the Christmas when I had been with her in Brittany, the first one after Stephen left, in her chaotic, rambling farmhouse, withdogs asleep under the kitchen table, people everywhere, bottles of wine circulating the room and platters of charcuterie.
It all felt very different from the Christmas that was unfolding in my house. Certainly, much noisier. But then I was beginning to realise there’s a difference between the noises of a lot of people laughing and enjoying themselves over a few glasses of wine, and the continuous racket of back chat, arguments and occasionally screaming that had been my soundtrack so far this Christmas.
‘Sounds fun,’ I said wistfully, ‘still, John and Vanessa will be arriving later, perhaps that will cheer everyone up.’
‘At least Sara’s twins will have someone else to squabble with,’ Isabel said, ‘unless they have grown out of that? And perhaps they will try to be a bit more tactful, things being what they are?’
I sighed. ‘I doubt it. Mia asked if she would now be getting two lots of Christmas and birthday presents like her friends do, and Poppy was nagging about a school trip to Barcelona. Not exactly tactful. Anyway, tell me what you are doing today, so I can think about something else.’
‘I would come to you and give you some moral support, except Felix has promised to put the Christmas tree up today, then this evening there is the special Christmas Eve meal,Le Réveillon, so I’ll have to do all the preparation for that. Pierre and Sylveste are coming round, plus their girlfriends, and Felix’s mother will come up the lane from her cottage, and a few friends from the town will probably turn up. Then Midnight Mass if we can still walk in a straight line. I have to roast some beef and a goose, make the dauphinoise potatoes, slice the smoked salmon, make theBûche de Noël, which is basically a glorified Swiss roll, prep the vegetables. It will be chaos. We are supposed to be eating at eight, the way things are going it will be closer to ten. Felix’s mother Eugénie will be tutting and interfering, the boys’girlfriends will want to ‘help’ so you know what that means. So pretty much the same as you do tomorrow.’
‘I don’t think it will be the same at all,’ I said, feeling rather wistful.
‘Well, you are coming to me after they all leave, aren’t you? That’s what we agreed. Focus on that.’
‘Yes, that sounds like just what I need. Hang on, I can hear a car. I think it must be John. He’s early, too, I hope there are no disasters there.’
‘There won’t be. Have a fabulous time,’ my sister said, ‘don’t let Sara’s bombshell spoil things for you all. Being with her family might be just the lift she needs. And John will be around to help with things; he’s always been so capable. I’d better go, too, Felix is back with the salmon knife; he’s been sharpening it out in the workshop so it will be like a razor.’
It was true, I thought as I went to open the front door, John might not be much good at simple maths, but he had been an absolute rock. He had done so much to help when his father had left, he had worked methodically and patiently through all the paperwork and officialdom, I don’t know how I would have coped without him. And despite their argumentative childhood, I liked to think he and Sara were getting closer as they aged.
‘Mum! Merry Christmas!’ he said as he came inside to hug me. ‘You’re looking great!’
I looked down at my work-stained apron and ran one hand through my hair to try and bring order to chaos. My hair used to be quite well-behaved, whereas at sixty-three it seemed to have taken on a new, less controlled personality.
‘I think you’re being kind,’ I said.
John’s wife, Vanessa, was shepherding their daughters up the drive and gave me a little wave and a smile. Even muffled up in a thick coat and scarf, she looked thinner than ever.
‘Merry Christmas, Joy,’ she said, sounding exhausted already although they had only had a twenty-five minute journey to get to my house. ‘I see Sara’s here already.’
‘Tiny bit of a problem in that department. Let’s get you all settled and I’ll explain,’ I said.
The next hour was taken up with bringing bags and suitcases into the house, settling Bunny and Jasmine into the attic room with Mia and Poppy, and then ignoring their wary looks at each other as the boundary lines were drawn up and new hairstyles were scrutinised, we gathered in the kitchen.
‘So, no Marty,’ John said as he messed around with the coffee machine.
Sara lifted her chin. ‘No Marty,’ she said, ‘not now, not ever.’
‘So apart from anything else, no more of him trying to explain the Duckworth-Lewis-Stern method when he obviously doesn’t know one end of a cricket bat from another. Good,’ John replied, ‘good riddance.’
Vanessa, sitting neatly at the kitchen table ducked her head and gave a little gasp.
