‘I might if I knew what the decision was,’ he said reasonably.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ll do my best, I suppose, to keep things as they were. There’s no sense in making changes for the sake of it. The trouble is, I know I won’t make such a good job of it. We’ve already established that Karen put a lot more into the whole thing than I’m ever going to.’
‘They’re still very young,’ he had pleaded. ‘Just give it three or four more years. Stockings, treasure hunt, mince pie for Santa. It’s all quite ordinary, really.’
‘Treasure hunt?’ Thea had echoed worriedly.
‘Little presents hidden round the house. We bought them with money that Karen’s relations sent. Wrapped in colour-coded paper, red for Tim and yellow for Stephanie.’
‘Well, let’s cut that one out, at least,’ Thea said. ‘Not least because it doesn’t seem likely that the relatives – whoever they are – are still going to send any money.’
‘They didn’t last year, come to think of it. They must think that now I’ve got you, they can forget all about me and my kids.’
There were further details, such as roasted chestnuts, mistletoe hung from a door frame, and the exact kind of satsuma. ‘The ones that are really easy to peel,’ Drew specified.
It wasn’t, she acknowledged, that these were especially outlandish requests. They were much the same as she and Carl had included in their own Christmases. But that had been a long time ago and since Carl died, she had foisted herself on Jocelyn most years, leaving her sister to construct whatever festive frolics took her fancy.
Thea herself liked Christmas well enough, recognising that without it the dark days of winter would be intolerable. December flew by in a whirl of preparations, so that by the time the decorations came down the evenings were lighter by a few minutes and there was hope for better days. She liked the excitement of children and the coloured lights everywhere. What she did not like was the expense and the relentless advertising. She had assumed that Drew felt the same, and was largely reassured in that respect. He did, however, insist on spending unreasonable sums of money on his children. The previous year had seen them both in receipt of lavish toys, which had been all too quickly abandoned, the money wasted. Although he was taking more care this year to fit the gift to the individual child, he was still spending far more than Thea thought necessary. From force of habit he continued to take charge of their clothes, making a special outing to select new outfits, letting them have whatever they wanted. Thea stepped back, thankful that at least one aspect of their maintenance could be avoided. Drew also saw to their haircuts, rather to Thea’s amusement.
‘You don’t have to get them anything,’ he had told her, regarding the Christmas presents. ‘These are from both of us.’
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ she sighed, eyeing the purchases with disfavour. ‘But they really don’t need such big things, you know.’
‘So you keep telling me. I happen to disagree.’ His firm stand was enough to silence her, at least for that year.
Her share of the labour, as always, came down to food and household management – making beds, putting up decorations.
‘Is there anything else we need?’ she asked the girls, later on Friday afternoon. ‘Speak now, if there is, because I really don’t want to go to the shops again after tomorrow.’
Jessica and Stephanie exchanged looks. ‘Cranberry sauce?’ said Jessica.
‘Got it.’
‘A present for everyone – that’s me, Drew, two kids.’
Thea pretended to be horrified. ‘You mean I have to get you something?’
‘And Hepzie,’ said Stephanie.
‘Absolutely not. Dogs don’t do Christmas. Everyone knows that.’
‘You’ve got things for everybody, have you, Steph?’ Jessica asked.
‘Ages ago.’
‘She’s not exaggerating,’ said Thea, rolling her eyes. ‘She had most of them wrapped by the end of October.’
‘Aunt Emily always did them in September,’ laughed Jessica. ‘Is she still the same?’
‘Not quite. I think she’s still a bit wobbly.’ Thea’s older sister’s life had taken a knock in recent years, making her withdrawn and uncommunicative.
‘And Damien will bring his presents – assuming there are any – when he comes on Wednesday.’ She sighed, as she often did at any mention of her brother.
Andrew Emerson and his wife Fiona arrived at seven on Friday evening, having been warned by Drew that they could only expect drinks and nibbles, rather than a full-scale meal. This was perfectly acceptable, it seemed, as Fiona made clear from the outset. ‘Saving ourselves for Christmas,’ she said. ‘We signed up for a big meal with all the trimmings at the hotel in town. You know – Chipping Campden House. I’ve got out of the habit of cooking.’
‘Lucky you,’ laughed Thea, heady with relief at not being required to provide serious quantities of food.
Stephanie liked Fiona a lot. She and Timmy were staying up until the visitors had gone, which seemed only right and proper. ‘They won’t stay later than nine anyway,’ said Drew.
But Drew was oddly distracted throughout the whole visit. One by one, the others noticed, though long after Stephanie had become aware that he wasn’t right. It had started with the phone call before supper. He had come out of his office into the disorganised preparations for a scanty supper, before the visitors arrived. There had been no opportunity for a coherent conversation. ‘Can you feed the dog for me?’ Thea had asked him.
‘Can you bring some more logs in?’ was the next request.
‘Dad – what time exactly will you bring the stockings up on Christmas morning?’ Timmy wanted to know.
‘Drew – when are you going to take me down to look at your burial field?’ Jessica wondered.
They ate quickly, and washed everything up, while Stephanie continued to observe her father and his obvious preoccupation. She was none the wiser when the Emersons arrived.
Andrew was the next person to realise something was awry. ‘What’s up, mate?’ he asked, in his
