If there’d been another mulled wine sitting on the table, she’d have picked that up and gulped it down.
Chapter 4
Somehow, Roisin managed to keep her composure as the hours dragged by. Once she’d moved on from her near death, mulled wine experience she dug deep and joined in with Elsa and Colin’s joviality. This was their Christmas day, their special time with Noah and even if her mother-in-law or ex-mother-in-law or whatever she flipping was, had been a horrid old bite to her in the past, she loved her grandson. It was for this reason she kept the smile plastered to her face as she sat down for lunch at the dining table in the formal dining room. Elsa had handwritten name cards and Roisin saw she’d been placed at the far end of the table. If it was intended to make her feel like an afterthought then it had worked, she thought, sitting down. She concentrated on the table which was laid beautifully with a lacy white cloth and an elaborate holly centrepiece. A gold foil-wrapped Christmas cracker was lined up next to everyone’s fork, soldier straight, and Noah was already fiddling with his when Roisin next looked up. ‘Hold your horses, Noah, we’ll pull them in a minute. This looks lovely, Elsa.’ She wouldn’t show the old witch she was annoyed at being plonked in the seating equivalent of Siberia.
Elsa preened as she disappeared, returning a moment later with a tureen full of vegetables. Colin brought up the rear with more bowls of food until at last, the pièce de résistance, the goose arrived swamped by golden potatoes. ‘It smells wonderful doesn’t it, Noah?’ Her tummy churned at the thought of the gamey meat.
‘Is it like Kentucky Fried Chicken? Because I like that.’
‘No, not really but it’s very tasty like Kentucky Fried Chicken.’ She lied.
‘Where’s its head gone, Mummy?’
‘Well, er...’
‘And doesn’t a goose have feathers and a big long neck like the one in my book. And, Mummy, why’s it got an orange stuck up its—’
‘Righty-ho.’ Roisin clapped her hands. ‘Would you like me to pour the wine?’
Colin looked at her like she’d grown another head which was what she’d expected, he always did the honours but at least it had gotten David Attenborough over there, off the topic of Mrs Goose’s posterior. He set about playing host.
Elsa sat down next to Noah and waved her cracker at him. ‘Shall we pull it?’ A fierce look of competitiveness came over her son’s face and it was mirrored back at him in his granny’s. Roisin watched carefully. Noah’s competitive streak came from the Quealey side and knowing how much Elsa liked to win, she wouldn’t put it past her to pull the little card strip. She’d done it to her last year but Noah was only five and if she cheated there’d be tears. A tug-o-war ensued, teeth were set in grim determination, and Roisin sat with teeth clenched rooting for Noah. He was flung back in his seat at the cracker popped and Yes! victory was his. There was no graciousness in winning where he was concerned because you’d have thought he’d just got a gold medal for cracker pulling the way he was brandishing his prized half about. Roisin watched Elsa’s lips press together in a thin, tight little line and was glad it was Colin who’d have to pull with her next. It was highly likely given the long-haul flight needed to get to her end of the table she’d be pulling her own cracker.
Noah donned his party hat and put the plastic car down to unfold the piece of paper that had fallen out along with the rest of his winnings.
‘Shall I read your joke out, Noah.’
He inspected the paper and decided it was beyond his ‘cat, sat on the mat’ capacity because he got up and gave it to his mother.
‘Why does Santa’s sack bulge in every picture? Because he only comes once a year.’ Roisin took a moment to digest what she’d just said before looking up to see a stunned Colin and Elsa staring down the table at her.
‘I don’t understand, Mummy. Everybody knows Santa only comes once a year. Why is it funny?’
‘Erm...’
‘It’s not funny, Noah, not funny at all. Colin go and get the cracker box it’s in the bin outside the back door.’
Colin looked reluctant but did as he was told as Noah continued to mutter about Santa’s bulging sack.
‘I didn’t read it before I read it,’ Roisin offered lamely.
‘Mummy, did you not have your glasses on when your bought these because it says Adult Only up the top there,’ Colin said, returning with the offending box.
Elsa spluttered that it was a disgrace such things were even on the market and that she would be writing a letter to her local paper about it. ‘Christmas,’ she sniffed was about family not pornographic Christmas cracker jokes.’
Roisin sipped her wine in order to swallow down the bubble of manic laughter that was threatening to float forth.
‘What’s pornographic? Noah asked, his eyes swinging from one to the other.
‘Something you don’t need to know about,’ Elsa snapped. ‘Right, Colin, put that down and sort the goose.’
Colin got on with carving and dishes were passed around before the serious business of eating began. Noah forgot all about geese and pornography in his horror at finding a Brussel sprout on his plate. ‘It’s a baby cabbage, Noah, it won’t poison you,’ Roisin explained. ‘They’re very good for you.’
‘You said baby cabbages make Daddy’s blow-offs really stinky.’
Roisin stopped, fork midway to her mouth, her pinching toe itching to give her son a jolly good nudge under the
