It’s a Wonderful Life: The Christmas bestseller is back with an unforgettable holiday romance. Julia Williams
Читать онлайн книгу.
‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Bleugh.’ I awake gingerly, my head hammering from a combination of too much wine and not enough sleep, to see Daniel enter our bedroom bearing a tray with two glasses of fizz, and scrambled egg and salmon for breakfast. ‘Is it time to get up already?’
‘Afraid so, but I thought after the night you’ve had you deserved breakfast in bed.’
Although I could really do with staying in bed several hours longer, I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. I had hoped to be up and about early on Christmas morning, but thanks to Sam choosing last night to get spectacularly drunk I’ve barely slept. He’s started going out a lot more recently, and I’m struggling to get used to the nights of sitting up worrying where he is. Daniel tells me not to fret so much and tells me he’s just being a teenager, but it’s not easy. And last night, despite promising to be in by midnight, Sam finally staggered home at 3 a.m., having lost his iPhone in a nightclub, and promptly threw up everywhere. I hadn’t been able to sleep for worrying, and I came downstairs to find him lying with his arms wrapped round the base of the toilet bowl. I couldn’t get him upstairs so I ended up sitting up for the rest of the night, checking on him intermittently. I’ve only been back in bed for a couple of hours.
‘And this is for you,’ Daniel says with a flourish, handing me a present.
‘This doesn’t look much like a puppy,’ I say in mock disappointment. I’ve always wanted a dog, thinking it would be romantic to go for long walks together in the country, but Daniel can’t stand the idea. It’s been a standing joke with us for years that he’s going to buy me a puppy for Christmas. I know he never will.
‘Next year,’ he grins, giving me a kiss. ‘Anyway, I think you’ll like this more.’
I do like it. Daniel has thoughtfully bought me a set of paints and paper, and some lovely new pencils. He knows I’m still struggling with the book I’ve been working on all year.
‘Thought they might help boost the creativity,’ he says, as I lean over to kiss him.
‘Thank you, they’re perfect,’ I say. ‘And so are you.’
We stay together for several minutes in a cosy embrace, before Daniel says, ‘Breakfast?’ and I tuck into the scrambled eggs. The bed is so warm and comfy. I sigh, wishing once again we could stay at home this year. But no chance of that of course, so after breakfast, I go to call Megan and Sam, neither of whom want to move. They’re still not out of bed by the time Daniel and I have showered and dressed. We look at each other wryly. Time was when they’d have been up for hours by now, and we would be at the end of our tether. How life has changed.
Eventually we manage to bully them to get up, and we have just enough time to open a few presents, before chivvying them off to get ready to go to my parents’. Relaxing it’s not. One day I’ll manage to get the Christmas I want. One day …
Finally we load ourselves and several bags of presents into the car, with Megan whinging about wanting a lie-in, and Sam sitting in moody silence. His eyes are red and bloodshot from whatever poisons he thrust down his throat last night. I’m beyond cross with him, but it’s Christmas, so I’m determined to be cheerful. I put some Christmassy tunes on, but Sam moans that they’re making his head hurt. I heroically manage to restrain myself from snapping whose fault is that then? I feel that would be distinctly lacking in Christmas cheer.
Fortunately the drive is a short one, and while Daniel parks the car, the rest of us stagger into the house with the presents.
‘We’re here!’ I shout, pushing open the front door. ‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!’ Dad comes bounding into the hall, which as usual is strung with horrible paper decorations we probably made in infant school. He’s dressed in his usual Santa Claus outfit; he insists on wearing it every year, even though it gets more and more threadbare. I can hear Christmas carols playing in the background, and begin to relax a bit. As usual, Mum will be chopping vegetables in the kitchen, warbling away to them. I take a deep breath. It is Christmas after all; I need to let go of my lack of sleep induced grumpiness.
Dad is waving a bottle of Prosecco around and looks rather red in the face. It’s unlike him to start drinking before we arrive, but never mind.
‘Still not got rid of that ghastly costume, Dad?’ I laugh. It’s a running joke every year.
‘Never!’ he says. ‘Bubbly anyone?’
I accept a glass, but Daniel says no as he’s being generous and driving this year. Sam looks like he might throw up at the thought, but I let Megan have a small one.
‘Where’s Mum?’
Is it my imagination, or does Dad suddenly look shifty?
‘Kitchen,’ he says.
Dad is in full mein host mode and ushers Daniel and the kids through to the lounge. Honestly, it makes me laugh how well he and Daniel get along now. To think of the grief I got when I first brought him home to meet them. It’s not that my parents are racist exactly, but I guess when imagining a much longed-for son-in-law, a black one hadn’t really featured, and Dad was quite sniffy at first. I can remember an excruciating occasion when he’d quizzed Daniel endlessly about his prospects. I wouldn’t have blamed Daniel for not giving my parents a second chance, especially as his own mum, in the short time I knew her, proved to be much less intolerant. But after she died, Mum forgot all about any prejudices she had and said, ‘That poor boy needs a mother.’ After that she really took him under her wing, and Dad quickly followed suit. Now they’re the best of friends, and you’d never know there had been a problem. Daniel is a forgiving sort, so he saw the best in them, and I have always loved him for it.
I wander into the kitchen to see if Mum needs any help. I always offer, even though I know her response will be to shoo me away, but to my surprise she’s barely made a start on the vegetables. She looks a bit pale and wan, and I feel guilty. I’ve barely seen her in the last month as I’ve been so wrapped up in my book. I have a sudden stab of worry that she might be ill.
‘Is everything OK, Mum?’ I ask.
‘Of course it is, why shouldn’t it be?’ she says, picking up a carrot ready to chop. ‘If you’re going to stand around in here, you may as well be useful.’ She hands me a knife.
Something’s a bit off here, but I can’t quite work out what, and there’s no point asking again. It’s not that I don’t get on with my mum. I do, and I love her very much, but we don’t have that cosy mother–daughter relationship that so many of my girlfriends enjoy. My mum doesn’t do cosy, and wouldn’t understand at all if I suddenly launched into a litany of my woes. She’s very good at practical advice, but go to her for help in emotional matters and you may as well howl at the moon.
We chop vegetables companionably, with carols playing in the background while Mum starts her annual moan about why Ged and Lou can’t ever get here on time, which is the main reason Daniel and I always come early, just to keep her from feeling totally unloved. Although it pisses me off too. Why is it always up to me to be the sensible one?
‘You know they have further to come,’ I say, trying to be diplomatic. ‘And Ged only just flew in from Oz yesterday, so he’s probably really jet-lagged.’
Ged has been taking a year off to ‘discover himself’. If I were to do such a thing, Mum and Dad would both think it’s ridiculous, but Golden Boy Ged, as the baby of the family, always does what he wants and gets away with it too. I love my younger brother dearly, but it’s sometimes very hard not to get fed up with the way he gets treated so differently just because he’s a boy.
‘He’s bringing Rachel,’ says Mum. ‘Did I say?’
‘Only about a hundred times,’ I laugh. Rachel is Ged’s new girlfriend. It will be interesting to see if she lasts longer that the rest. ‘Do stop trying