How the In-Laws Wrecked Christmas Read online

  He looks dashing in a black jacket and white shirt, and she’s a vision of wholesome beauty in a simple white, strapless dress and a veil, for God’s sake. It’s a bloody wedding photo! There are blurs of confetti, unless I’m mistaken and there happened to be a flurry of blossom. Have Clara and Charles forgotten they divorced last year, and haven’t actually lived together since Daisy was three? I look away. Some kind of powerful force drags my gaze back to stunning Louisa with her elongated green eyes and little swoopy-up nose and plump, lightly glossed lips.

  I sip my coffee from the fine china cup and place it back on its saucer. ‘Could I use your bathroom please?’ I ask Clara.

  ‘Yes, of course. Ben, would you show Anna where it is?’ A quick glance at the photo as we leave the room confirms that Ben has barely changed in the past seven years. And that the few snapshots I’ve seen of Louisa in more ordinary situations – clutching a drink at a party, reclining on a picnic rug – didn’t do her justice.

  ‘You okay?’ Ben asks as we make our way upstairs.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ I muster a tense smile. ‘It’s just … a bit weird, you know?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Well, that wedding picture, for a start …’

  He chuckles. ‘Pretty glamorous in their day, weren’t they? Mum reckons she’d had proposals from four different men before Dad asked her …’

  ‘No, I mean the one of you and Louisa.’

  ‘Oh.’ He exhales. ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.’

  We’ve reached the landing. An elaborate silver chandelier hangs from the panelled ceiling. I wonder, briefly, how many staff are required to keep everything gleaming around here.

  ‘Here’s the bathroom,’ Ben mutters, indicating a door to our right. ‘Or there’s the en suite in our room, if you’d prefer …’

  ‘Is it always there?’ I cut in.

  ‘What, the en suite?’

  ‘No, the photo…’

  ‘Yes, of course it is. You don’t think they put it out specially for you coming, do you? They’re not that twisted, Anna!’

  I stare at Ben. I’ve never seen him so awkward and defensive before. Usually so at ease with himself, with a confidence I can only marvel at, he seems to have reverted to being the sixth-form boy in the school photograph. Sweat is beading on his forehead.

  ‘That’s not what I was suggesting,’ I mutter.

  ‘Of course it’s always there,’ he says, regaining his composure. ‘At least, I assume it is. You know how things become so familiar you just stop seeing them?’

  I study his face. I can’t imagine I’d ever ‘stop seeing’ a huge framed picture of myself and an ex, even if my parents were still around to display one. Not that there’s been anyone significant enough to warrant a lavish photographic display. I have never lived with a boyfriend, although Ben mooted recently that I might ‘tear myself away from the gang’ and move into his smart three-storey townhouse in Clapham at some point in the near future. I reminded him that the four of us own our place together. ‘Couldn’t you let out your room?’ he asked. ‘I mean, there must be a way out.’ For some reason, I have yet to tell Jamie, Kate and Tom about this possible development.

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmur, sensing my cheeks burning. ‘I didn’t mean to make a thing of it. I s’pose I’m just a bit on edge …’

  He kisses my cheek. ‘Look, it was a pretty big deal, my getting married. I suspect they’d given up hope. Maybe that’s why they can’t bear to put it in a cupboard or something …’

  ‘You were only twenty-nine,’ I remind him.

  ‘Yeah, and that’s decrepit by their standards. And they liked Louisa. They know her parents, our families were kind of entwined …’

  How fantastically cosy … God, what’s wrong with me? It’s their house, they can display whatever they like. They could have Louisa’s wedding dress mounted in a glass box and hung over the fireplace if they wanted. They could make a fancy mosquito net out of her veil.

  ‘I just feel a bit uncomfortable,’ I add.

  Ben’s face softens. ‘Look, I know they’re a bit stiff. They probably don’t know how to be with you. I haven’t brought anyone back since Louisa and I split up. But they’ll warm up, and it’ll be fine …’

  ‘What did your mum mean when she said, “I didn’t expect …”’

  Ben looks baffled.

  ‘When we arrived,’ I prompt him. ‘She looked a bit shocked …’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he says with a shrug.

  ‘You did tell them I was coming, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course I did!’ he exclaims. ‘D’you really think I’d just spring you on them?’

  ‘No idea,’ I say truthfully, because in fact I don’t know what to think.

  In the vast bathroom I sit on the loo, figuring that maybe it’s normal in these circles to display wedding pictures, even post-divorce. And maybe it’s me who’s weird, and not properly grown-up, still living with friends like a student.

  I get up and study my reflection in the gilt-edged mirror above the wash basin. Cheap hair, cheap dress … even my red lipstick looks wrong. It seemed perfect when I chose it, but maybe there is a difference between budget lippy (Rimmel in this case) and the posher brands. Perhaps I look as if I’m trying too hard. In that wedding picture, Louisa looked as if she was hardly wearing any make-up. And Clara isn’t either. She doesn’t need to. When you have that natural elegance thing going on, you just have to be.

  In fact, the only person I feel comfortable with here is Daisy, who loves my shoes – because all six-year-old girls love postbox-red footwear with a bit of sparkle to it. I suspect Daisy has taken a shine to me because I remind her of Kelly, her nanny, who I met once, when she brought Daisy to Ben’s house: a cheery girl with bouncy ginger hair and a strong Geordie accent. Daisy obviously adores her. ‘Kelly baked cupcakes with me,’ Daisy reported, still smelling of sugar and fun.

  I make my way back downstairs, deciding I need a plan to get me through the next few days. Be positive – that’s all I have to do. Smile lots, offer to help, maybe swap my red shoes for black flats. ‘Pin on a grin,’ as Kate always says, prior to nervy situations – and charm Ben’s parents with my sunny personality (ha!). And I shall face Louisa, my predecessor, head-on: I’ll prove that I’m fine with her exquisite elfin face being on display. There’s no point in moaning, and it’s not actually Ben’s fault. He’d probably feel equally out of sorts if I could spirit him back to the terraced house I grew up in in Barnsley.

  Everyone is chatting companionably when I re-enter the drawing room. Clara disappears to the kitchen and calls Charles through to help her, and soon a lavish late lunch is assembled in the adjoining dining room. Although Clara rebuffed my offer of help in the kitchen, I am starting to feel less anxious. Perhaps she prefers guests to relax and enjoy themselves. I think about our Christmas Eves back in London, with far too many of us buffeting about in our cramped kitchen as we make fiery curries and slug beer, and quickly push the thought away.

  ‘Look, more snow!’ Daisy yelps, spinning round from the table.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Ben says. ‘It’s cold enough for it to lie tonight. It’s definitely going to be a white Christmas …’

  ‘Can we go out and play?’ she asks.

  ‘Great idea,’ I exclaim, a shade too enthusiastically. Yes! Let’s get the heck out of here, away from the awkward silences and Clara’s quick glances – which she thinks I don’t notice – as if I’ve been letting off a series of farts as we’ve worked our way through a spectacular selection of cold cuts, game pies and various mayonnaise-slathered accompaniments.

  ‘I don’t want you getting cold, Daisy,’ Clara says. ‘Mummy said you’ve had a nasty virus …’

  ‘But I’m all better now.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather stay indoors?’ Charles suggests.

  ‘Please, Grandpa—’

  ‘Of course we can play out, Daisy,’ Ben says firmly. ‘We don’t often get proper snow like this.’
He’s right: it’s falling in fat, soft flakes and, by the time we’ve helped to clear away the plates, the lawn – which stretches as far as the eye can see – is blanketed in white.

  ‘Well,’ I say, clearing my throat, ‘maybe I should get changed into something more suitable.’ I laugh, but no one laughs back.

  ‘I’ll show you to your room,’ Clara says, making minimal small talk as we make our way upstairs.

  ‘Bet Daisy’ll be up at five in the morning tomorrow,’ I say lightly.

  ‘I do hope not,’ she replies, pushing open a door into a lavish bedroom furnished with brocade and drapes.

  ‘Oh, this is lovely,’ I exclaim. In fact, it’s a little chintzy for my taste, but I can’t deny how spectacular it is, with its uninterrupted view over the sweeping grounds.

  ‘I hope you’ll be very comfortable,’ Clara says pertly. ‘If there’s anything you need, just ask.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m sure there won’t be.’ She glides off, presumably to join Charles, who we left showing Ben recent additions to his wine collection. No £4.99 Blossom Hill here. I also registered the huge collection of single malt whiskies and exotic gins when Charles opened the oak cabinet in the dining room. I’ve never seen so many posh spirits outside a hotel bar.

  I step out of my flimsy dress and kick off my stripper’s shoes. Pulling off my black tights, I stop for a moment to appraise my festive push-up red bra and lacy knickers bought specially for this trip. I wonder how Ben will feel about getting up to anything tonight, in his parents’ house. I can’t imagine it’d be a problem. From what I can gather, both his parents’ and Daisy’s rooms are about a quarter of a mile away, in the east wing. I can’t help smiling as I tug on jeans and the Rudolph sweater with a pom-pom nose I’d bought for a laugh, thinking Daisy would like it. I jam on my bobble hat, zip up my flat boots and find Ben waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, kissing my cheek, ‘a Christmas jumper. You look gorgeous, country girl. You’re actually glowing…’

  I smile. ‘Thanks. I’m, er, probably just a bit hot …’ Having enthused over my sweater, and musing over whether Father Christmas will bring her one, Daisy charges out ahead of us into the snow-covered gardens.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ I gasp, and it is; it’s a storybook garden, the lawn petering out into woodland and, beyond that, white-topped hills.

  We launch into a rowdy snowball fight – Ben has borrowed his dad’s big, waxy jacket – ducking in between neatly clipped shrubs.

  Nell ambles out to join us as the snowball fight morphs into a game of hide-and-seek.

  ‘Feeling better now?’ Ben asks, as we give Daisy a few moments to run off and hide.

  I nod. ‘I’m fine. Sorry if I was a bit moody earlier.’

  Ben rubs his gloved hands together. ‘Guess you just felt under scrutiny.’

  ‘Just a bit,’ I agree, deciding not to mention the wedding photo again.

  ‘I know what you mean. It was like that for me, you, know, first time I came round to your place …’

  I frown at him. ‘You felt scrutinised?’

  ‘Yeah!’ He laughs. ‘Well, Kate was fine. The guys were obviously a bit suspicious, though. I mean, Tom did take the piss—’

  ‘That’s just Tom,’ I say with a shrug.

  ‘What does he do again?’

  I’ve already filled him in on what my housemates do for a living, but never mind. ‘He’s a chef.’

  ‘And what about the other one?’

  ‘You mean Jamie? God, Ben. You’ve met him about ten times! He manages a bar, remember? That place we had lunch at, by the canal …’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he says. ‘Well, he’s always seemed a bit weird around me.’

  ‘Weird in what way?’ I exclaim.

  Ben shrugs. ‘Kind of … hovering. Bit awkward. Not knowing what to do with himself …’

  ‘He’s probably scared you’re going to lure me away,’ I laugh, teasing him.

  ‘… And break up the happy family,’ he chuckles. My heart quickens as he pulls me close and kisses me, long and hard, on the lips. God, he is sexy. Clara’s probably watching right now from the drawing room window with a sherry in her hand, and I don’t care.

  ‘Come and find me!’ Daisy’s voice cuts through the crisp air. Ben and I scamper off in different directions to find her. It’s obvious, of course, where she’s hiding, as her footprints lead into the wooded area to the left. But Ben and I search dutifully, pretending she’s left no trace.

  As I wander back towards the house, making a big show of checking behind the wood shed, Clara appears at the front door.

  ‘Where’s Daisy?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh, it’s okay, we’re just playing …’

  ‘I couldn’t see her from the house …’

  ‘Well, no, we’re playing hide-and-seek,’ I explain. ‘I’m sorry. Were you worried?’

  Her tiny diamond stud earrings sparkle like tinsel. ‘I suppose it’s all right. Another ten minutes, though, okay? It really is getting very cold …’

  ‘Erm …’ I pause. ‘I suppose so. I hadn’t really noticed. It’s just, she’s having so much fun …’

  ‘Well, we’re going to play indoor games soon,’ she says firmly, leaving a waft of sweet perfume as she strides back inside.

  Daisy squeals with laughter as Ben finally ‘finds’ her, and we swing her between us across the lawn.

  ‘Grandma says it’s indoor games time,’ I remark with a smile.

  ‘Aw, no!’ Daisy cries.

  Ben grimaces. ‘Bit of a family tradition, I’m afraid. And I have to warn you, they’re very competitive …’

  ‘I don’t want to play indoor games,’ Daisy announces. ‘They’re boring, Daddy …’ She turns to me. ‘D’you think there’s enough snow for a snowman?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, catching Ben glancing anxiously at the house. ‘Do we have time, d’you think? Before the indoor games commence?’

  ‘Guess so,’ he says, although his eyes are telling me, Please, let’s just go in, it’ll be easier … And, somehow, some of the fun has gone out of the day, as Daisy starts to roll the beginnings of a snowman. It’s barely the size of a pumpkin when Charles’s voice booms out: ‘Ben? Could you come here, please?’

  Like an obedient child, Ben hurries towards his father. I watch as Charles takes his arm and guides him swiftly into the house.

  ‘Perhaps we’d better go in too,’ I tell Daisy.

  ‘In a minute, when we’ve finished the snowman …’

  ‘But look,’ I point out, ‘it’s not really working. It’s powdery snow. It won’t stick …’

  ‘Anna!’ Ben shouts from the house. ‘Please hurry up!’

  I grab Daisy’s mittened hand.

  ‘Aw,’ she groans, ‘it’s not fair …’

  ‘We’ll finish it off,’ I murmur as we stride towards Ben. ‘You’ll have the best snowman in the whole country by tomorrow, I promise.’

  I hadn’t realised that games were such an almighty deal at Ben’s family home. By 6 p.m. I have been thrashed at Risk – being unable to grasp the tactics necessary for world domination – and thoroughly bankrupted in Monopoly. Daisy, who lost interest ages ago, is colouring in, with rapt attention, at the table. Family friends Mary and Roger have joined us, and soon the drawing room begins to fill with guests for what appears to be quite a gathering.

  ‘I didn’t realise there was a party tonight,’ I tell Ben. ‘Should I go up and change again, d’you think?’

  ‘God, no, it’s all very casual …’ He is greeted by an enormous woman with a shock of white hair, wearing a sort of flowing kaftan.

  ‘Benjamin,’ she booms, ‘my darling handsome boy. How are you?’

  ‘Great, Aunt Kitty! It’s so good to see you …’

  ‘I hear you’ve brought a girl with you? Let me see!’

  ‘Er, maybe later,’ he blusters, briefly catching my eye, but making no move to call me over. My stomach twists. I look down at my
Rudolph sweater and wish I’d put on something smarter. Ben got it wrong when he said it was a casual thing. But then, it might seem even odder if I disappeared to change now the party’s started.

  I sip my drink at the window as a couple of teenage girls, clad in proper, black-and-white waitressing outfits, bring a host of dishes to the sideboard which runs along an entire wall.

  By seven, the room is milling with guests, most of Clara and Charles’s generation. Without exception, everyone is knocking back wine, gin, champagne and scotch at an impressive pace.

  Fortifying myself with a quail’s egg canapé, I sidle up to a friendly-looking couple who are admiring the silver decorations on the Christmas tree.

  ‘Oh, they’re holders for real candles,’ I remark, not having noticed before.

  ‘That’s right,’ the woman says. ‘Wait until they’re lit at midnight. It’s quite a spectacle …’ She smiles expectantly.

  ‘I’m Anna, Ben’s girlfriend …’

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she says warmly. ‘Is this your first time here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re from London?’

  ‘Yes, but from Yorkshire originally,’ I say, relaxing as we fall into easy conversation. I learn that Henry and Joan owned an actual castle, until running costs rocketed – ‘The place was crumbling around our ears, darling,’ Joan explains – and they handed it over to the National Trust.

  ‘We now live in the annexe,’ she adds with a rueful smile.

  ‘That must be strange,’ I remark, ‘seeing visitors trooping in and out of what was your home every day …’

  ‘It gets to the point when a property like that is just a headache,’ Henry remarks as Ben arrives at my side.

  ‘We’ve been getting to know Anna,’ Joan says, squeezing his arm. ‘What a lovely girl. A beauty. We’d heard you’d met someone, Ben …’