The Girl Who Cried Wolf(39)
My jaw drops involuntarily as she calls him ‘Scrooge.’ Izzy and I look at each other and while we carry my bags through the front door the three of us twitter and giggle like schoolgirls.
‘Oh … my … goodness.’ I turn in awestruck circles at the transformation of Elm Tree House. The tree in the entrance hall almost touches the ceiling and is covered with tinsel, baubles, cherubs, and snowflakes. I reach out with delight and touch the wrapped chocolates and candy canes. As I run through the house, every room is decorated beautifully with mistletoe, holly, and scented candles that remind me of the cinnamon mulled wine Grandma Beth used to make. We dance around, singing, jumping from one Christmas carol to another, until my mother claps her hands and orders us to rest on the sofa as she lights the fire. She heats some mulled wine and fresh mince pies with huge dollops of brandy cream and I sigh contentedly. I can’t remember ever feeling so happy.
***
Despite the fact I won’t see Michael until he comes to visit on Boxing Day, my euphoria continues to glow right up until Christmas Eve. My father had been delayed so it is with a little trepidation that Izzy and I wait for him in the kitchen, sipping a Baileys for Dutch courage.
‘Izzy, do you think he’ll be mad?’
My sister nods her head. ‘Considering the house looks like Santa’s Grotto meets Las Vegas, then yes, I’m quite sure he will be furious.’
As if on cue, we hear the crunch of gravel as Father’s Land Rover pulls up in front of the house. It is quarter past five so he will have already seen the outside illuminations in all their splendour. He looks suitably perplexed as he steps into the overwhelmingly festive entrance hall. I walk towards him and to my delight he opens his arms for me to fall in to.
‘I’m so sorry, darling, I couldn’t be home sooner. I’ve been worried sick, calling the house every five minutes but your mother never answered.’
Izzy pipes up behind me, ‘We were barely ever here, Father. We were at Anna’s bedside.’
I turn to look at her crossly. I do not want her to spoil things by trying to make him feel more guilt for not being here sooner. She had said on more than one occasion, ‘Surely he could have gotten home by now?’ Now she just raises her eyebrows at me and heads back to the kitchen.
‘I’m so glad you’re home, Father. Do you like my surprise from Mother and Isabel?’ I ask him this innocently, gesturing towards the tree and the fairly lights.
‘Not my style at all, Annabel,’ he says tersely. ‘But who cares about all that as long as you are home and well?’ He lifts my chin and smiles warmly, until the moment is entirely ruined as the motion-activated Santa suddenly starts singing and wiggling his ample hips. My father visibly stiffens and heads for the drinks cabinet as I curse myself inwardly. Izzy had warned me the singing Santa was a step too far.
***
He disappears upstairs to unpack as Izzy and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least the decorations have not been ordered down. Mother does not look as confident when she arrives home a little while later with shopping.
‘He’s home then?’ she asks nervously, shooing our prying eyes away from the parcels.
‘He was fine about it,’ I say smugly, as though there was never any doubt. ‘All he cared about was that I was OK, so as usual you have been fussing and fretting over nothing.’
I manage to grab a Terry’s Chocolate Orange from the top of an open carrier bag before she has time to swipe them away. I throw it to Izzy and we run back to the kitchen, leaving Mother to head upstairs with her shopping.
Father comes back downstairs first, freshly showered, with rather glassy eyes from his generous whiskeys. He sits in front of the fire as I fetch him another.
‘Does Mother want a drink with us?’ Izzy asks as she pours me another miniscule Baileys, rationing my alcohol consumption as subtly as she dare.
‘She will, most likely, but I think she’s had enough.’ I must look confused as he goes on, ‘Had a few glasses of champagne while shopping, by the looks of her. She’s only gone and slipped in the bath and hurt herself.’
Izzy jumps up but he motions her to sit still, and I feel further perplexed because she looked fine, and would never drink then drive.
I pat my father’s arm reassuringly, ‘Christmas does funny things to people, and she might have found the shopping centre too manic and needed a little refreshment.’
Izzy looks concerned and I frown at her, silently willing her once more not to make a fuss and spoil Christmas Eve now we were finally all together.
Lillian comes into the room shortly after, dressed in a cream robe and her hair wrapped up in a matching towel. Izzy and I both gasp at her face and despite our father’s glares, rush over to her.
‘God, Mother, you’ll have a black eye for Christmas Day!’ I reach out to touch the already discoloured shading around her eye as she flinches away. ‘Why have you tried putting makeup over it? We already know you’ve gotten yourself pissed and slipped over!’ I revel in the chance at telling her off for such reckless behaviour and Izzy cannot resist either.
‘You’ve split your lip! Mother, what on earth were you thinking, drinking through the day?’
She looks over at my father as he stands up to lead her to the sofa in a caring manner. ‘Leave her alone, girls. I’m sure she feels quite ridiculous enough. I told them you’d a few champagnes while shopping. Won’t be repeating that again for a while, eh?’