The Grin of the Dark

I might find it more appealing if it weren't his grandparents' property. To the left of the door decorated with a festive wreath are two large curtained rooms. Two further sets of rooms and two smaller windows above the door mount to a rakish grey slate roof. The drive winds around the side of the house, but Natalie parks between her parents' vehicles in front. 'Most imposing,' I tell Mark and step onto prickly gravel.

As Bebe opens the door the thorns of the wreath click like eager fingernails against the oak. 'Now everyone's here,' she cries.

'So long as Mr L is,' Warren shouts.

Are they determined to welcome me or just to convince Natalie that they're trying their hardest? Did Warren call me Mr Hell? Bebe gestures us in with no lessening of enthusiasm when it comes to me. 'Don't be shy,' she urges. 'No ceremony here.'

There should be one at midnight, and why would she deny it? I'm too hyperconscious of words. I need to drink myself into some kind of good time for Natalie's sake and Mark's. Bebe takes my coat in the wide pale hall, where the secretive pattern of the silvery wallpaper appears to vanish before it reaches the top of the blond pine stairs. As she hangs the coat on a stand composed of bony branches, Warren emerges from the kitchen. 'Gee, that's a sorry spectacle,' he says of me.

'What's that?' says Natalie.

'This guy with no drink in his hand at this time of year.'

I suppose he isn't necessarily implying that I drink too much, especially once he adds 'What can I get all of you? Come and see.'

I'm dutifully impressed by the kitchen, which features a great deal of gleaming metal and expensive wood. I accept a capacious glass of Californian Merlot and amble into the hall. As I savour a mouthful from the Sinise vineyard Bebe cries 'Not yet. Don't go in there.'

I assume she's addressing Mark, who is close to the left-hand front room. I don't see how she could use that tone to a sensible adult. In the spirit of proving I'm one I say 'It'll be the dog, will it? What do you call it, Morsel.'

Mark giggles immoderately. 'That's not a dog.'

Presumably he means the name, since I can hear the animal barking, if more distantly than I would have imagined the house could accommodate. I'm surprised he hasn't encountered or at least heard of the dog, but before I can raise the point Bebe says 'You go in, Simon.'

She and Warren are watching me. So is Natalie, but I can't tell whether she's better at hiding some kind of amusement than they presently are. 'What's going on?' I blurt.

Nobody speaks, and I'm not sure if I hear stifled laughter. Surely the Hallorans can't have planned anything harmful when Natalie and Mark will see it happen. I grasp the cold silvery doorknob. 'Am I supposed to go in here?'

'You're the nearest,' Bebe says. 'You'll need to put the light on.'

I'm almost certain that her answer covered up a surreptitious noise beyond the door. Was it a whisper, less than a word, enjoining silence? I feel as though more people than I'm able to identify are holding their breaths. It's mostly to bring the impression to an end that I throw the door open.

The light from the hall doesn't reach all the way across the room to the figures standing in the dimness. More than one of them has a hand over its face. Is this to hold in some sound or to conceal their identities? 'I can see you,' I call as if I'm joining in a game and turn the light on.

As the room reveals that it's a home cinema, in which speakers surround a suite of slouching leather that faces an expansive plasma screen on the left-hand side wall, Colin uncovers his face. 'Happy occasion, you old bastard,' he wishes me. 'It isn't quite your birthday, so I can't say that yet.'

Beside him Rufus lowers his hand. 'Happy end, of the year, I mean.'

Their companions are student Joe in a T-shirt that says SAVE IT and Nicholas, Mark's father. I can't help directing some of the anger his presence provokes at Rufus. 'I thought you were going to wait till I brought my chapter in.'

'Did anyone say that?'

'I did,' I say just ahead of realising that I may have been alone in doing so, and confront Natalie. 'Did you know this was coming?'

'I knew your publishers were.'

'You're saying you invited them.' When she lifts her upturned hands I say 'Why didn't you tell me not to bother going to the office? I could have given them my chapters here.'

'And spoil the surprise?' Bebe objects.

'We figured you'd like to have some of your friends around you,' says Warren.

'How about the rest of them?' I refuse to feel guilty for asking.

'I expect that refers to me,' Nicholas says, though it doesn't exclusively. 'I just looked in for a drink and then I had to take cover with your friends.'

I suppose it would be churlish of me to say Joe isn't one, however much of a chum he insists on being. I'm trying to think of a neutral remark and feeling in danger of uttering rubbish when Mark says 'Can Simon open some of his presents?'

'He wasn't born yet,' says Natalie. 'You don't want him premature.'

Bebe emits a small dry sound, less a tut than a tick reminiscent of a scratch on an old record. 'Don't worry,' I'm prompted to reassure her. 'I never am.'

Her face seems to shrink away from my remark. 'Perhaps we should get on with the party so someone doesn't lose too much sleep.'

'Can't I stay up after midnight?' Mark pleads. 'My other grandma and granddad let me.'

The frozen silence is broken by a brittle jittery clicking. The ice has shattered into fragments – into the cubes in Nicholas's glass of orange juice, which he's agitating like a cupful of dice. He's either considering a response or expecting one, and goads Bebe to say 'They aren't real, Mark.'

'They're as real as anybody here,' I say. 'That's right, isn't it, you two?'

I would welcome more of a nod from Natalie and a less intense smile from Mark. 'Your grandmother means you aren't descended from them, Mark,' says Warren.

'I am,' I tell him.

'Like Jesus was descended from heaven,' Mark says, grinning more widely than ever.

'I don't believe we need smart talk round here,' Bebe says, 'especially at Christmas.'

Perhaps she heard more blasphemy than I did. I feel as though I've been accused of it. The silence is growing uncomfortably protracted when Joe says 'Did somebody mention a party?'

'Thank you for reminding me, Mr Kerr,' Bebe says. 'You're entitled.'

I won't ask or even wonder if the name is a joke. As his mouth settles into an abashed grin I protest 'It's never your birthday as well, is it?'

'Mrs Halloran didn't say that. We're making it your day.'

'Will you all join us in the next room?' As Mark takes a pace towards the hall Bebe adds 'Except you, Simon.'

Perhaps her smile means to be reassuring. The four partygoers give me a variety of grins as they sidle past me out of the room. Nicholas contrives to be last, and turns to say into my face 'Let's all try to do what's best for the family, shall we?'

He's close enough for me to smell a hint of leather, although he's wearing none. Just as low and with as much of a smile as I can muster I say 'Who's this all? I can't see that many right now.'

He doesn't move, perhaps in the hope that I'll be daunted by how much taller and broader he is. I've learned a new trick since we last met, from the guard in Lemon Street. I'm about to make Nicholas the stooge of my stomach – surely I'm allowed the odd joke when it's almost my birthday – until Bebe calls 'What are you boys doing in there? Nicholas, you're holding up the show.'

As he steps back he mutters 'You aren't as good with words as you think you are. No wonder you lost your job.'

'Whereas you lost – ' I have to take a breath to speak after my gasp of disbelief, by which time he's beyond earshot unless I raise my voice. What would Tubby do with such a pompous victim? Amusement hooks the corners of my mouth, but I suspect the audience would be less appreciative than I would like. Perhaps I can arrange to be alone with Nicholas later, and I continue to grin as Mark calls 'We're ready, Simon.'