‘What?’
‘When we were kids, she made both of us miserable, and now look at her. Who’s the most miserable person in this room?’
She is, of course. Slugging back more wine, she’s currently busy scowling at her sons.
‘She hates everyone and everything at the minute,’ I observe.
‘She hates herself. And maybe she always has.’ He puts down the pen, rearranges his Scrabble tiles and looks back up at me. ‘Does it worry you?’
‘Of course it does.’ Because when all’s said and done, she’s still my sister. ‘I’d like to help her … I think. Even though she’s never helped me … or anyone for that matter.’
‘I have an idea.’
‘Which is?’
‘We can buy her a house.’
Well, that’s a bolt out of the blue. I stare at him, stunned.
‘A house?’ Probably sooner than you think. So that’s what he meant.
He nods.
Oblivious to our conversation, Sara’s already given up on her boys. She’s now examining the soap I gave her, failing completely to hide her disdain. At least Mum managed to feign satisfaction with her own slab of congealed oil. Dad, on the other hand, instantly fell in love with his new biscuit tin, and my two nephews were more than happy with a twenty pound note each. ‘Universal gift vouchers,’ I informed them. ‘Redeemable at any store.’ It seemed to do the trick, but I need to do better. Silently, I resolve to be far more organised about the whole gift thing in future.
‘It won’t solve everything.’ Dan’s voice nudges me out of my Christmas present debrief. ‘But it’s a start.’
I turn back to him, overwhelmed by the idea of what he’s proposing.
‘You’d do that for her?’
Because after everything she did to him, he owes her nothing.
‘If everyone around us is happy, then you’re happy.’ He surveys his Scrabble tiles one more time. ‘That’s all I care about.’
‘Can I tell her? It’s a better Christmas present than soap.’
‘Not yet. She’s three sheets to the wind. She’ll be overcome by righteous indignation and tell me to fuck off. Leave it for a few days.’
I spend a few seconds admiring my perfect fiancé: the tufts of blond hair sticking out from under his paper hat, the bright blue eyes, warmed by the copper specks. All in all, his ruddy gorgeous face still turns me on big time, and I’m sure it always will.
‘You’ve really have got a soft centre, Mr Foster.’
‘Drop it,’ he mouths, glancing towards the hall. ‘Your dad’s coming back.’
‘Oh, those sprouts have gone right through me!’ Still buckling his belt, Dad appears in the doorway. ‘Is it my go?’
‘Yes,’ Sara calls out, mischievously. ‘I’ve just got eleven. See if you can do better than that.’
‘Sherry?’ Staggering across the living room, and just missing my two nephews along the way, Dad retrieves a bottle from the sideboard. ‘Come on. It’s Christmas.’ He stumbles back towards us, pausing at Mum’s side and waving the bottle in front of her face.
‘Not much for me, Roger.’ She fills in another clue on her crossword. Despite all her efforts to appear normal, it’s obvious she’s already half cut. Her eyes lost focus just after dinner.
Dad tops up her glass and returns to the table.
‘Dan?’ He offers the bottle.
‘I’ll stick with coffee.’ Dan taps the side of his mug with the biro. ‘Driving.’
‘You should have stayed over.’ Dad lowers himself back onto his chair. ‘You two could have slept on the settee. Maya. Come on. You always slug back the sherry with me.’
‘Not this year, Dad.’
‘Why not?’
I watch as Dan’s fingers hover over his pieces, as he picks one up, deep in thought about his next move.
‘I’m just not in the mood.’
‘You’re always in the mood,’ Dad laughs.
And then, Sara’s words cut across us, like a knife.
‘Are you pregnant?’
Dan drops the Scrabble tile.
She’s done it again. There must be something about this living room that transforms Sara into a deadly truth-seeking missile.
‘You are pregnant,’ she insists, joining us. ‘Bloody hell, you’re pregnant.’
‘Yes,’ my mouth shoots out.
Sara’s face descends into chaos. Clearly, she doesn’t know whether to be pleased or shocked, or just plain jealous.
‘Are you?’ Dad falters. ‘Well, bugger me. Audrey, did you hear that?’
‘Uh?’
‘You’re going to be a grandma … again.’
‘Eh?’ Mum drops her pen and frowns at Sara over the top of her glasses. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re back with Geoff.’
‘Not me,’ Sara hisses. ‘Maya.’ Finishing off her wine, she refills the glass with sherry.
‘Maya?’ Rising to her feet, Mum’s unaware of the fact that her crossword book tumbles to the floor. ‘Maya’s pregnant?’
I let my head fall into my hands. And then I feel Dan’s hand on mine.
‘Yes, she’s pregnant,’ I hear him confirm. ‘We didn’t want to tell anyone yet. It’s early days.’
‘And it’s yours?’ Mum demands.
I hear him confirm that too, with the patience of a saint, before he goes on to field a tide of questions. It’s due in August. No, we don’t know the sex, and we want it to be a surprise. Jack for a boy, Ruby for a girl. And yes, we’re getting married. In the summer. No date set, as yet. At the house in Surrey.
‘Oh my good God,’ Mum squeals. ‘Come here and give us a hug.’
I’m urged to my feet and before I know it, I’m being squeezed and kissed and squeezed again. And then it’s Dan’s turn. I step back and watch, enjoying every second of it. There’s something quite endearing about a multi-millionaire sex god being hugged half to death in a suburban living room … while wearing a paper hat.
‘Oh my goodness. This is wonderful news. Roger, this is wonderful news.’
‘Mmm,’ Dad murmurs. He leans forward, his attention waylaid by the Scrabble board.
