Chapter 1
“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know…” (Irving Berlin)
EMMA
As soon as the idea popped into my head, I knew I was onto a good thing. Or, at least, a good thing for me.
The perfect Christmas. All my life I had wanted the perfect Christmas. You know, the huge tree, the glass baubles, roaring fire, the smell of fresh satsumas and roast turkey all through the house, the presents stacked up to the ceiling, every cliché in the book. I loved it all. From the fairy at the top of the tree to eternal Bing Crosby and those white Christmases he used to know, it was always the best time of the year for me. In my head, anyway.
Christmas is supposed to be all about families, happy little children and all that, and though I have loved its sentiment the whole of my life, I have never really been able to get into it. Not the way I always dreamt of since I was a girl. In fact, the whole idea had come to me because I was getting really tired of having folks round for just a few hours on the big day. It had been like that for years. Emma and George were always the hosts. We did Christmas so well. But the reality for us both was that the event had always seemed all work and little play. I never felt I could enjoy anything at all, being so busy in the kitchen and George refilling drinks all day long. So, no, if I had my way this year, things would be different.
I think of all the things that could really be if our family could once, just once, have a great Christmas together. Wouldn’t that be something? Everyone, I feel sure, would be so happy to have a lasting memory of a perfect day, like the old movies or books that I used to escape reality when I was young.
But I have to win my husband over first. And I am not so sure this particular dream of mine will be one he will want to share with me. When I tentatively broach the subject with George, he looks at me with disbelief.
“You want to...what?”
“Rent a house for the Christmas holidays, George, and invite everyone to stay.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he replies and without a further word, he shrugs his shoulders and goes hiding in the garage doing God knows what George does in that garage day after day.
Exactly as I thought. This might not be so easy after all.
I will not give up though.
At breakfast the following morning I say, “Oh George, think about it. Christmas, I mean. If we could find the right place it could be our collective present to them all. That’s a sensible idea don’t you think?”
My husband is very sensible; he likes sensible things, sensible talks and sensible reasons. If I can get him to think of this idea as an intelligent one, I will win him over.
But for the moment, he looks at me with an uneasy stare. Then he folds his paper and still fixing me over his half moon reading glasses, says, “Emma, how long have you been part of this family?”
“Longer than I care to remember,” I reply.
“Now then, what in the name of God makes you think that all these folks can get along with one another for days on end when they can’t even have dinner together without sparks flying.”
He has a point and for a tiny moment I hate him for it. He IS sensible and sees things logically. He is right too, I suspect, but I am that determined.
“Look, Christmas is a time where the most hardened of people soften up a little. This could be the start of something new, something big. We could just help mending a few, well, maybe a lot of fences.”
“And pigs may fly,” he retorts dryly.
“You really have no Christmas spirit. No spirit at all.”
I really can’t help it but my voice shakes with resentment. Why is he being so obstructive? I really don’t ask for much. I am not a wife who wants fast cars, expensive outfits and holidays. I never really ask for anything but this; this is important to me and George should be helping me now and not be so negative.
He cannot stop himself, though, and he says, “Emma, I’m not liking this idea at all, and I would rather you and I go together somewhere perhaps, just the two of us...”
But I don’t want to go anywhere at Christmas.
“We can go some place any time, George. This is important to me and should be important to you. They are your brothers after all...”
“My brothers... and THEIR wives...”
“Yes, their wives who will come too. Their wives who will fall in line and their wives who for once maybe will just be happy to be part of something new.”
I am already feeling exhausted. I hate arguing and confrontation. Some people thrive on discord and unease, but that is not the case for us.
I understand George’s fears though, and I try not to show my disappointment and sadness when I reply,
“Look, George, I know Jill and Lorna can be a bit of a handful at times. But they are still family. And we would invite Sandra and the rest of them, nothing would happen, it just wouldn’t...they are all fairly decent, they have a sense of what is right and wrong and would love the idea. I think that we are all so fed up of the same old same old.”
I stop because I am already getting out of steam, my argument fizzling out of my head. I am also already beginning to think that George could be right.
What if? Lorna is always so unpredictable, a softly spoken creature, eaten up with envy and jealousy over what anyone has managed to achieve in life. She can be difficult to have around because Lorna is all about Lorna really. And she has a flaming temper that can just take off on its own accord. As for Jill...this relatively new addition to our family has managed so far to get all of us thinking the same way, I must admit. We do not like what we see, though I know it must have been difficult for her to get within our circle. This is an intimidating family. I mean, I had my doubts about Jill when Jack chose her and still have today. But Jack is foolish with women, always was, and he does not see or rather he chooses not to understand what the whole world is telling him sometimes. As for Flo and Mimi, if they come (which they will), madness will certainly be invited along to our Christmas celebrations. But it is a kind madness, one that can be easily handled. However, George may be right; if one chooses to think of this in a certain light it becomes a daunting prospect.
But it would be fun to try, wouldn’t it? It would be something new, and goodness knows how much this family could do with a bit of innovation. I still see my old dream so vividly in my head: the kids, the fire, the rooms, the food... I can see Christmas as it should be, and we could give them that, couldn’t we? I look at George and I catch him smiling at me. I suddenly know that he is on board and that I can start my planning there and then. I forget my anxiety and my doubts because that is how I am. I am ready to embrace this crazy scheme (I do realise it is mad) if he will back me up.
I rush to him and kiss him tenderly on his forehead. He sighs contentedly and reopens his paper. As far as I am concerned, he can read all day, play in his garage all night, and it won’t matter because there are plenty of things for me to do. It may be only mid June but Christmas is going to come around soon enough, and things will have to be set early for the maximum chance of success.
