Brian’s speech was greeted with silence. He had forgotten what he came in for, so he went out, closing the door with exaggerated care.
Eva swung round in the bed and lay down with her head flat on the mattress. She said, ‘He exhausts me. Poor Titania.’
They both laughed.
As Mr Crossley turned away from the light, still laughing, Eva saw for herself the shadow of a handsome man.
He said, ‘I must go now, Mrs Beaver.’
She pleaded, ‘Please come and join us tomorrow I plan to get drunk in the afternoon and smoke many cigarettes.’
He said, ‘That sounds quite irresistible. Of course I’ll come.
When he opened the door to leave, Brian was skulking on the landing.
After Stanley had politely informed Brian that he would be coming for Christmas Day, Brian followed him downstairs, hissing, ‘You hold my wife’s hand again and I’ll have it off at the wrist.’
Stanley said quietly, ‘I know your sort. We had one or two in the squadron. Big mouths, braggarts. They were always the last in a scramble, always the first to come home. Hadn’t engaged with the enemy, but did have a lot of bad luck with sudden and mysterious lack of visibility, radio malfunction and guns jamming. Cheated at cards, rough with their women and all-round total shits. Goodnight, Dr Beaver.’
Before Brian could think of a reply, Stanley had put his hat on and left.
The icy pavement shone in the lamplight. He held on to the walls and fences as he slowly made his way to the safety of his own house.
33
Early on Christmas Day morning Eva woke and looked out of the window to see snow falling from a navy-blue sky. The house was silent. But when she listened carefully, she heard the hot water circulating around pipes and radiators, and the faint creaking of the floorboards as they made the slightest of contractions and expansions. There was an intermittent bird noise emanating from the eaves. The bird was not singing but making an irritated squawk: ‘Clack-ack-ack.’
Eva opened the sash window and craned her neck backwards, looking for the bird. Snow settled on her upturned face before melting instantaneously. She saw a blackbird with a yellow beak and one gimlet eye. The other eye had gone, revealing a bloody socket.
The blackbird flapped its wings and attempted to fly, crying, ‘Clack-ack-ack.’ One wing was distorted and would not retract.
Eva said, ‘What’s happened to you?’
Brian Junior came in, running his fingers through his hair. ‘That blackbird has a very annoying alarm call.’
Eva said, ‘It’s lost an eye and has a damaged wing. What shall we do?’
Brian Junior said, ‘You do nothing and I do nothing. If it’s badly injured, it will die.’
Eva objected, ‘There must be something -’
‘Close the window, snow is falling on your bed.’
She closed the window and said, ‘Perhaps if I brought it inside?’
Brian Junior shouted, ‘No! Life is hard! Nature is cruel! The strong overpower the weak! Everything dies! Even you, Mum, with your gigantic ego, even you can’t escape death!’
Eva was too shocked to speak.
Brian Junior said, ‘Happy Christmas!’
Eva said, ‘Happy Christmas.’
When he’d gone, she pulled the duvet around her while the blackbird continued its mournful cry.
‘Clack-ack-ack.’
Brian had prepared for cooking his first Christmas dinner by studying the various timings and advice in the cookery books he had bought Eva over the years. She always referred to them as ‘Delia’, ‘Jamie’, ‘Rick’, ‘Nigel’, ‘Keith’, ‘Nigella’ or ‘Marguerite’.
After extensive reading he had designed a ‘fail-safe’ computer program, which he intended to follow with a stopwatch in one hand and various implements in the other – for beating, basting, paring, cutting, draining, stirring, peeling, mashing, opening, pouring and blending. He had told his guests to arrive at 12.45 p.m. for drinks and the exchange of pleasantries. He wanted them seated at the dining table no later than 1.10 p.m. for the starter of avocado and lavender soufflé.
He was sorry that Poppy had gone to Dundee to see her dying parents. He had hoped to impress her even further with his culinary achievements over Christmas. She had left the night before, wearing Brian’s fifty per cent cashmere overcoat, taking only a small bag and leaving the rest of her mess all over the sitting room. It had taken Brian an hour before the room was presentable enough to use over Christmas.
At mid-morning Brianne came into Eva’s room wearing the silk pyjamas with a tea-rose print that Eva had paid for and Alexander had ordered online from his phone. The whole process had taken under five minutes.
Brianne had done something good with her hair, and her face looked less severe.
She said, ‘These are the loveliest pyjamas! I don’t want to take them off!’
‘Alexander chose them,’ said Eva.
‘I know. Isn’t he the nicest man?’
‘You should thank him when you see him.’
‘I already have. He’s outside with his kids. I invited them for dinner. Aren’t they the cutest kids ever, Mum?’
Eva was surprised but pleased that Alexander was here. She said, ‘Cutest?’ That’s not a word you use.’
‘But they are cute, Mum. And they’re so clever! They know reams of poetry and all the capital cities of the world. Alex is so proud of them. And I love his name -Alexander. He really is Alexander the Great, isn’t he, Mum?’
Eva agreed. ‘Yes – but Alexander is forty-nine years of age, Brianne.’
‘Forty-nine? That’s the new thirty!’
‘You once ranted that nobody over twenty-five should be allowed to wear jeans, or dance in public.’
‘But Alex looks so good in jeans, and he did A level maths, Mum! He understands nonhomogeneous equations!’
‘I can tell you’re fond of him,’ said Eva.
‘Fond?’ said Brianne. ‘I’m fond of Grandma Ruby, I’m fond of whiskers on kittens and bright copper kettles, but I’m passionately in fucking love with Alex Tate!’
Eva said, ‘Please! Don’t swear.’
‘You’re such a fucking hypocrite!’ yelled Brianne. ‘You swear! And you’re trying to spoil my relationship with Alex!’
‘There’s nothing to spoil. You’re not Juliet. This is not a Montague and Capulet situation. Does Alex even know you love him?’
Brianne said, defiantly, ‘Yes, he does.’
‘And?’
Brianne lowered her eyes. ‘He doesn’t love me, of course. He hasn’t had time to get to know me. But when I saw him struggling with that bookcase in Leeds, I knew immediately that he was the person I’ve been waiting for since I was a kid. I always wondered who it would be. Then he knocked on my door.’
Eva tried to hold Brianne’s hand, but she pulled it away and put it behind her back.
Eva asked, ‘And he was kind to you?’
‘I rang him three times on his mobile when he was on the motorway. He told me to go out more and meet people of my own age.’
Eva said, gently, ‘He is right, Brianne. His hair is grey. He has more in common with me than with you. We’ve both got Morrissey’s second solo album.’
Brianne said, ‘I know that. I know everything there is to know about him. I know his wife died in a car crash and that he was driving. I know that Tate was his family’s slave name. I know how much he earned in the noughties. And I know how much tax he paid. And which school his children go to, and what their grades are. I know his previous romantic history. I know he’s overdrawn by £77.1 5 and that he doesn’t have an agreed overdraft facility.’
‘And he told you all this?’