‘No, I’ve hardly spoken to him. I doxed him.’
What’s “doxed”?’
‘It’s like talking to Neanderthal woman! I’ve read every document about him. If there’s info I want, I can find it on the net. I’ve mapped the story of his life, and one day I’ll be part of it.’
‘But, Brianne, don’t forget his children. You don’t like children, remember?’
Brianne screamed, ‘I like his children!’
Eva had never seen her in such an emotional state. She heard Brian Junior’s bedroom door open, and seconds later he crashed into her room.
‘I can hear you slagging my sister off, Mum. Why don’t you butt out and leave us alone?’
The twins drew together, as they must have done in her womb.
She was glad when they went out, but she had never felt more alone. She heard them talking in Brian Junior’s bedroom. Their voices were low and insistent, as though they were conspirators plotting a political outrage.
Brian’s hand-held computer had fallen into the turkey gravy. He tried to pick it up with a pair of tongs but it fell back into the pan, splashing drops of boiling gravy on to his face. He screamed and splashed his face under the cold tap. He tried again with the tongs, and this time he managed to lift it out. He threw it into the already crowded sink. As he had expected, the screen had died.
Brian panicked.
What came next?
For how much longer should the turkey cook?
What time should he turn on the sprouts?
Should he take the Christmas pudding out of the steamer?
Was the bread sauce thick enough?
Where was the potato masher?
Ignoring the noises coming from the kitchen, including the faint screams and curses, Ruby and Yvonne lay back on comfortable armchairs in the sitting room, in front of a log fire, and reminisced about the many Christmas dinners they had cooked over the years.
Without the benefit of a computer,’ said Ruby. ‘Or a husband who would cook,’ said Yvonne.
Outside, Alexander was walking alongside his children in the middle of Bowling Green Road, watching out for cars. The pavements were still icy with flattened snow.
He was helping Venus to ride a new bicycle with stabilisers. Thomas was pushing a doll’s pram with a stuffed giraffe propped up against a pink pillow Alexander wondered if he had gone too far with the gender politics.
Stanley Crossley slammed his front door as they were passing his house. After congratulating the children on their Christmas presents, he said, ‘I hope I’m not too early.’
Alexander laughed and said, We may be eating a little later than was planned.’
‘It’s of no matter to me,’ said Stanley.
Outside the Beavers’ house, Thomas told Stanley that the giraffe’s name was Paul.
The old man remarked, ‘That’s an entirely suitable name for a giraffe.’
Venus stared at Stanley and asked, ‘Does your face hurt?’
‘Not now,’ he said. ‘But it looks horrible, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Venus. ‘If I was you, I would cover it in a mask.’
Stanley laughed, but Alexander was embarrassed and tried to apologise.
Stanley said forcefully, ‘That’s the child’s honest reaction. She’ll soon get used to me.’
Hearing the voices outside, Eva pushed the sash up and poked her head out. ‘Merry Christmas!’ she shouted.
They all looked up at the window and shouted, ‘Merry Christmas!’ back.
Alexander thought, ‘She looks beautiful – even with her mad hair on end.’
Stanley thought, ‘If Tiny Tim came hobbling round the corner now, one would not be surprised.’
They eventually sat down to dinner at 5.15 p.m. Brianne managed to secure a chair opposite Alexander.
Parts of the meal were quite edible.
Ruby said, after clearing her plate, ‘There were only a few things that let you down, Brian. Your roast potatoes were not crispy, they had no rustle to them, and the gravy had a funny taste.’
Yvonne said, ‘Plasticky.’
Brian Junior corrected her, ‘No, metallic.’
Stanley said, ‘I thought the turkey itself was quite superb. Many congratulations, Dr Beaver.’
Brian was exhausted. He had never been through such a physical and intellectual ordeal. Behind the closed kitchen door he had, in turn, wept, cursed, screamed, fallen into despair, and laughed hysterically as he struggled to serve everything together at the same time and keep it all hot. But he had heroically managed to get the thirteen main components of the meal into serving dishes and on to the table. Crackers had been pulled, paper hats worn and jokes groaned over.
Ruby congratulated Alexander on the polite behaviour of his children.
Venus said, ‘Daddy told us he would give us ten pounds if we were good.’
Alexander laughed and shook his head.
‘Define goodness!’ Brian Junior said to Venus.
Yvonne chided him, ‘The child is only seven years old, Brian Junior!’
Venus put her hand up and looked urgently at Brian Junior, who nodded.
She said, ‘Goodness means telling good lies, so that people won’t get hurt by true words.’
Brian said, ‘Venus, I would like to know your opinion on the meal that I cooked and you have just eaten.’
Venus asked, ‘Daddy, do I have to be good?’
‘No, just tell the truth, sweetheart.’
Venus placed her napkin on the table. She unrolled the white cotton square, revealing a burned stuffing ball, a charred chipolata, a fat-logged roast potato, three overcooked Brussels sprouts and an undercooked Yorkshire pudding.
There was a shout of laughter, and Alexander hid his face in his hands. When he looked through his fingers, he saw Brianne mouthing, ‘I love you.’ He shook his head and quickly looked away.
Brian said, ‘I see that you managed to eat the turkey, Venus.’
Thomas adjusted his nurse’s cap and, speaking for the first time, said quietly, ‘She threw the turkey under the table.’
There was another burst of laughter.
Alexander was surprised and horrified to realise that he had forgotten Eva. Lately, she seemed to be constantly on his mind. ‘Did anybody feed Eva?’ he asked.
There was scandalised laughter as each of them realised they had forgotten her. There were only a few leftovers. Even the turkey had been well picked over. But Alexander managed to gather enough to make a decent plateful. He placed it in the microwave and turned the dial to three minutes. Then he made some fresh gravy, poured it into a little jug and went in search of another box of crackers that Brian said were in the house somewhere.
The other guests were reluctant to move from the table. More drinks were poured and conversation was easy. There were frequent outbursts of laughter. Even Stanley and Brian were talking.
Brian was just saying, ‘Yes, Stanley, I think a five-tog duvet is all anyone needs for winter,’ when the kitchen door burst open and Poppy almost fell into the room, announcing in the little-girl version of her voice, ‘They’re dead. Mummy and Daddy are dead!’
The laughter stopped.
Ruby said, ‘Your main and dad have died?’
Yvonne said, ‘You poor kid! And on Christmas Day.’
Brianne sneered, ‘Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see the death certificate.’
Yvonne said, ‘Brianne, what a thing to say! I’m ashamed of you.’
Poppy looked at Brianne defiantly and said, ‘Well, it hasn’t been issued yet.’
‘Until I see an official death certificate, I’m not going to show you the slightest bit of sympathy, OK?’ said Brianne. When did they die? Yesterday? Today?’
Poppy said, ‘This morning.’
‘And you were there?’
‘Yes, I was with them until the end.’
‘They died at precisely the same time, did they?’
‘Yes,’ said Poppy. ‘I was holding both their hands.’ Brianne looked around the table at the fascinated audience and said, ‘Now, that is the most amazing coincidence I’ve ever heard. That is spooky.’