Every Woman for Herself (30 page)

It felt like Chris had always been one of us – he just naturally fitted in, and Em looked terribly happy. We were all doing an ostrich thing about what would happen to the family after Christmas, because it looked increasingly like the unthinkable was going to happen and Father would sell the Parsonage and move into a smaller place with the Treacle Tart.

Mace and Caitlin were here every day, too – in fact if you took a film of the Parsonage and the bit of track leading to Mace’s cottage, and speeded it up, it would probably look like an ants’ nest. Sometimes Caitlin went off with the girls, and Mace and I got a bit of time together. It was difficult otherwise, because I wouldn’t spend the night at the cottage with Caitlin there, and he couldn’t leave her and come to the Parsonage. But he hadn’t mentioned marriage for days.

He’d probably seen how impossible it would be, and decided to settle for what he could get – which I was afraid in my case was almost anything he asked for. And he’d already given me the best Christmas present in the world, even if he didn’t know it.

Why did everyone insist that I had to tell him? He’d start going on about marriage again, even if he
had
changed his mind. It seemed a pity …

We had a delirious postcard from Angie, who’d flown out to the Caribbean to start her cruise, and a birth announcement from ex-spouse and wife number two, but no duck. (Still, there were no veiled threats either, this time.) It didn’t upset me as much as Mace thought, but I let him comfort me again in the way he does best.

Nobody does it better.

The Christmas landslide swept us all along to Christmas Eve, and paused for that still moment when even the house seemed to be holding its breath on the edge of something momentous.

The Parsonage was garlanded, bedecked and scented with fir and spices. Presents were wrapped and piled under a huge tree, and Walter stoked every roaring fire in rotation, because there was no skimping on firewood at Christmas.

The night before Christmas Eve we all went down to Mace’s cottage to add some finishing touches to his decorations (and, from Em, some edible gifts to his larder) so it now looked, and smelled, like an extension of the Parsonage.

Chris had closed the magazine office for the holiday, leaving the diminishing little poltergeist thing as caretaker, and was down at the church helping his temporary replacement with the celebrations.

Em communed with her kitchen, performing traditional rites of her own, and on Christmas Eve manufactured an excuse to get everyone out of the house for an hour while Gloria hid the sugar mice.

Then six o’clock came, and the Rhymer family and guests assembled for what we all knew in our hearts to be the last Christmas in the Parsonage.

As always, one of the oddest things about the Christmas Eve party was seeing Walter with a flossy white beard, eyebrows and hair; but then, bald Father Christmases are not traditional.

He had to take the beard off to eat his dinner, and on one memorable occasion his eyebrows kept dropping off into the food.

Mace and Caitlin were to go back to their cottage after dinner followed by the Mouse Hunt and Snapdragon, but come back next morning. Mace wanted me to stay, too, but I wouldn’t: this Christmas morning it should be just Mace and Caitlin, the stocking, and three million presents.

Not that she didn’t seem to have a lot of presents under our tree, too.

While we were all drinking mulled wine and eating a Christmas cake depicting Stonehenge under snow, with Druids, set in a garland of gilded oak leaves, the girls ran in and out shouting out how many presents they had under the tree, and begging to open just
one
now.

‘Mouse Hunt!’ Father announced loudly, putting his empty glass down. ‘The one who finds the most wins the chocolate mouse. Come on, Jess!’

He seized her hand and she looked surprised. ‘But isn’t it just for the children, Ran? I mean—’

‘Children? No – why should they have all the fun?’ Dragging her with him he rushed out into the hall and flung open the door of the grandfather clock.

‘Aha! One!’

‘Come on, Mace,’ I said. ‘Not finding any is a true mark of shame.’

‘Don’t you Rhymers have an unfair advantage? You’ll know where they all are from previous years.’

‘Oh, Em and Gloria always find more new places – and this year there are fifty, because there are more of us to find them.’

The others, swept along by Father’s enthusiasm, had left the room on his heels, but I tarried long enough to remove a green mouse from the music box on the mantelpiece, and two more from behind the fire dogs.

Mace, getting into the swing of things, beat me to the slightly warm one in the light fitting.

We had a good number by the time we passed Em in the kitchen (there never are any in there – it’s too under her feet) and descended the stairs to my cottage.

‘Will there be any down here?’ Mace asked.

‘Not usually, but there might be this year,’ I told him, resolutely bolting the door at the bottom of the stairs. ‘There, that should hold the others off if they think of it.’

‘Oh?’ he said, a gleam in his eyes. ‘Isn’t that cheating, or did you have something else in mind?’

‘I’ve got a couple of things to say, Mace.’

‘And I’ve got something to say to you, too, darling – or
break
to you before dinner, when your father tells me he intends to spill the beans.’

‘Spill the beans?’ I echoed, forgetting my own news. ‘About what?’

‘You first,’ he ordered. ‘And this had better be a confession that you’re dying to marry me after all!’

‘No-o …’ I said, avoiding his dark eyes. ‘No – I – it’s …’ I took a deep breath and took the plunge. ‘Mace, I’m pregnant.’

Mace stopped lounging elegantly against the table and stared at me. ‘Pregnant? My God! Charlie – but you told me you couldn’t – that you were—’

‘Barren? I know. And I’m sorry, Mace. I did think I was.’

He strode across the room and seized me. ‘Sorry? What the hell are you sorry about? It’s wonderful! Aren’t you pleased?’

‘I’m still stunned. I can’t believe it, or that it will be all right. But Gloria and Em both predicted it, and that the baby will be fine.’

‘Darling, of course it will be all right!’

‘It’s not only that I’m afraid of losing it like the others, whatever Em and Gloria tell me; but I’m past forty now, which is old for a first baby. And there’s a higher risk of something being wrong with it.’

‘There’s more chance of everything being
right
with it.’ He looked searchingly down at me. ‘My secretive little Undine! So, how long have you known?’

‘Only a few days,’ I assured him hastily. ‘Gloria knew first, and she bought me a pregnancy test. I still don’t feel any different from usual, which is partly why I didn’t want to tell you yet. Only, Em and Gloria both seemed to think I should tell you
tonight
for some reason.’

‘Not tell me? Of course you should bloody tell me! I’m the father, aren’t I?’ he demanded hotly, his arms tightening around me.

‘Of course, but you
had
to marry Kathleen, and I didn’t want you to think I was trying to force your hand.’

‘But, Charlie, it’s the other way round this time – I want to marry you, and you won’t even stay overnight at the cottage with me!’

‘Because of Caitlin. It wouldn’t be fair to her to suddenly appear in your bed one morning – and then disappear when you got tired of me.’

‘Which would be never – so she’s going to have to get used to it. In fact, when we’re married she’s going to think it pretty odd if we
don’t
live together.’

‘I don’t know what to do any more,’ I said helplessly, putting down my handful of hot, sticky sugar mice.

‘Just as well I do, then. Let me tell you
my
news: I’ve bought the Parsonage from your father, lock, stock, barrel and Rhymers. I’m moving in, and the only people moving out are Ran, Jessica, and the twins – and then only as far as my cottage. We’ve done a sort of house-swap.’

My knees buckled slightly and he held me up, close against him, which made it even harder to concentrate on what he’d just said. ‘You and Father have been plotting this behind our backs? How could he do this to me? The devious old sod!’

‘Tut, tut,’ Mace said. ‘Is that any way for a dutiful daughter to speak about her father?’

‘He isn’t strictly speaking my father; and how can you expect the rest of us just to fall in line with your arrangements?’

‘Why not? Isn’t it the perfect plan? The Parsonage continues being everyone’s home, just like before, except I thought Em and Chris might like a private suite in the attics, so they can be on their own when they want to be.’

I pushed him away as much as I could (which wasn’t very far) so I could look up at him. ‘Is this just a negotiating move? You can’t
possibly
want to take on the whole clan!’

‘It’s more of a coup. Think of the advantages, Charlie – we can turn the Summer Cottage into the
Skint Old Northern Woman
offices and Chris can run it full time. Em continues her reign over the household, but they’ll have their own private spaces too. You can write for the magazine, paint in your veranda, and generally continue leading your odd Charlie Rhymer existence, and Anne and Bran can come and go as they please. The twins will be near, which Caitlin will like, and even Ran can use the house as a bolt hole if Jessica gets too much for him. What do you say?’

Not a lot – the ground seemed to have been efficiently and ruthlessly cut from beneath my feet, and if I didn’t grab Mace I was going to fall an awfully long way …

‘What about Gloria and Walter?’ I said weakly.

‘I included them in with the family – they will stay here, won’t they, if you all do?’

‘But, Mace …’

‘I do have one condition, though: you have to come with me to London sometimes, because then I’ll have you all to myself. I have a fantasy about you and me in the conservatory … all that lush, tropical greenery … the hot, steamy air …’

The air seemed to be getting a bit hot and steamy
now
. But it was interesting that it wasn’t just me who fantasised about dragging people behind bushes.

‘So what do you say, darling?’

‘I think I’ve been overwhelmed by superior fighting forces.’

He was just overwhelming me again when the veranda door burst open, letting in a cold blast of air and several people.

‘Cheats!’ Anne said. ‘We had to run round in the cold and get the key out of the frog!’

She unbolted and threw open the door to the stairs, and the girls rushed down followed by the two dogs.

There was a crush of bodies in the little room, and then it emptied just as suddenly again – including, I noticed, of the mice I’d put down on the table.

‘Oh dear. I’m going to get the booby prize for Least Mice,’ I said ruefully.

‘Which is?’

‘I have to wear the reindeer headband and fluffy tail all through dinner. But I can take the flashing nose off to actually eat.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ Mace said.

Party Games: Snapdragon

Snapdragon is an old English custom that well deserves reviving, since it is highly dangerous but still legal. It makes an exciting finish to a Christmas meal, the adrenaline rush aiding digestion.

Involving the same technique as igniting the Christmas pudding (and there is something
so
deeply symbolic about setting light to the finale of a meal the woman of the house has spent the entire day producing) you simply pile a great heap of raisins onto a fireproof dish, pour alcohol such as brandy over the top, and set light to it.

Everyone then tries to snatch a raisin without burning their fingers or setting fire to themselves.

Tip: have a lid large enough to cover the whole plate, a fire extinguisher, and a fire blanket to hand, for those unforeseen moments.

Father won the Mouse Hunt, which put him in an excellent mood for dinner, though everyone except me was laden with sugar mice anyway.

Mace said I looked cute in the reindeer headband, but I noticed his lips kept twitching whenever he looked at me. Personally, I was still in a state of numbed shock from his deviousness (and Father’s), and so was everyone else when we got to the sherry trifle and Father told them all about his and Mace’s plans.

I’ve never known a family gathering be so silent for so long. Then Em and Anne turned as one and looked at me.

‘I know – Mace just told me downstairs.’

‘Bloody good tactics, Mace!’ congratulated Anne. ‘Surrounded and out-manoeuvred, Chaz.’

‘Mahomet came to the effing mountain – nice one,’ agreed Em. She looked thoughtfully at Mace. ‘That seems … very satisfactory.’ Then she turned and gave Chris a poke in the ribs with her elbow, and he choked on his wine. ‘But don’t you ever hold out on me again, Chris, or I’ll be wearing your guts for garters. Right?’

‘Right,’ he agreed, his eyes watering. ‘But I was sworn to secrecy, because Mace wanted to sort it out and then tell Charlie first. It seemed to me the perfect solution all round.’

‘
I’m
to live in Mace’s cottage?’ Jessica said slowly, as she caught up with the plot.

‘You said you wanted somewhere small with all mod cons,’ Ran pointed out. ‘Well, the cottage has it all – and a study for me. But I’m warning you, Jess, if you don’t let Em teach you how to cook, the wedding’s off!’

‘Cook? I
can
cook!’

‘You can wash a lettuce leaf – but I’m not a bloody bunny! You learn to cook, I’ll set the date for the wedding.’

‘If it means getting her out of the house, I’m game,’ Em said grimly.

‘No, don’t, Mummy! We want to stay here too,’ wailed Feeb. ‘We don’t want to go and live in a cottage, it isn’t fair!’

‘No,’ agreed Clo. ‘Em doesn’t mean it. She’s only joking, aren’t you, Em? Please say we can stay here!’

‘No, you can’t,’ Jessica said rather snappily. ‘You’re my little girls, and you’ll live with me and Ran.’

‘The cottage is lovely,’ I told them. ‘There are two tiny bedrooms tucked into the roof, and you can come and stay here in the Parsonage whenever you want to.’