Going Home. Harriet Evans

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СКАЧАТЬ he hated work, and that he wouldn’t be able to make it.’

      ‘Take a glass,’ said Mum, distributing drinks. ‘Ah, Chin, don’t you look lovely?’ she continued, as Chin appeared in the doorway, wearing a beautiful black velvet skirt and a skinny wool top printed with roses and studded with little sequins – which Jess was staring at enviously.

      ‘Thanks, Suzy,’ said Chin, helping herself to a glass. ‘So, young Lizzy, how’s work?’

      I cannot tell you how much I hate that question when I’ve just stopped thinking about work for the first time in weeks. I work as a scout for the film company Monumental, searching for books, magazine articles, TV programmes and, of course, scripts that would make good films. Then I develop these projects, and it’s a sign of how totally stupid my job can be that I’ve been doing it for three years and only one film has come about as a result of my work. Two near misses one that got to casting stage but fell through for lack of money and a bastard American producer who pulled out, and the one I’ve just started working on, but that’s it. ‘Work’s fine,’ I said firmly. ‘It’s lovely to be on a break now, though. I’m exhausted.’

      ‘I know what you mean.’ Chin nodded. ‘But I’m practically the only person I know left in the country. All my friends have buggered off to get some sun.’

      I could well believe this since most of Chin’s friends seem to be trust-fund millionaires who either run crusty cafés serving green tea in Notting Hill, design jewellery, write screen-plays or check into Promises rehab centre in Malibu. ‘Gibbo seems nice,’ I said casually. ‘Where did you meet him?’

      Chin looked around. Gibbo was talking to Dad.

      ‘Oh, here and there.’ She said. Chin is always secretive about her love-life. ‘He’s a carpenter, so I thought he’d like to see the house. Especially the staircase,’ she added unconvincingly.

      I tried not to laugh. Very brave of you to bring him along.’

      ‘Well, you know.’ Chin took a swig of gin and briskly changed the subject. ‘So, we’ve done work. How’s your love life?’

      I didn’t run away screaming ‘Help!’ at this question because Chin is very good with relationships – not because she wants to see everyone settled down and going to B&Q at weekends but because she is obsessed with the detail of people’s lives.

      ‘What happened with Jaden, the film writer?’

      ‘He was called Jaden,’ I replied.

      ‘Nuff said. It’s over, then?’

      I wanted to get this bit of the conversation wrapped up as quickly as possible. ‘It was never really under, if you know what I mean. We – well, I saw him a couple of times when he was in London. I might be seeing him when I go back. He’s nice but he’s bonkers.’

      That, at least, true. I knew what she was going to ask me next. There was a brief pause. Then—

      ‘So…have you heard from David lately?’

      I shook my head vigorously and looked away.

      ‘Your mum’s been asking me. She’s worried about you. But she doesn’t want to ask you. You know how it is.’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I said.

      ‘Don’t you know where he’s going to be for Christmas?’ she persisted.

      ‘No,’ I said. ‘And I don’t want to.’

      Chin squeezed my arm. ‘I know, darling, I know.’

      Embarrassingly I felt tears squeezing into the back of my eyes, and my throat constricted. I stared at the portrait of my great-great-grandmother and thought about how she would have celebrated Christmas in this house, nearly a hundred years ago. Had she loved her husband so much it almost hurt? Had she been afraid of her own happiness when she moved into this beautiful house? I looked at the non-committal dark eyes, at her hand on her silk lap with one finger marking the page of a book. She met my gaze, as she always did.

      ‘Ooh, crisps!’ Chin exclaimed, and passed me the bowl as Mum clinked two glasses together.

      ‘I can hear the carol singers coming,’ she said.

      ‘Wha-hey!’ Gibbo yelled.

      We stared at him, and Jess peered out of the window. ‘Yes, they’re at the gate,’ she said.

      We processed outside and stood in the porch. The night was bitterly cold and a frost was creeping over the lawn. The carol singers, several of whom I recognised from the church in Wareham, stamped their feet and called greetings to Mum as she hurried forward to open the gate and let them in. We could see their breath rising in the air, wispy in the torchlight, as they formed a little knot, the children in front, muffled up with hats and scarves, eyes shining with the excitement of staying out so late.

      They started with my favourite carol, the one that sums up Christmas for me, especially Christmas Eve and arriving home.

       ‘It came upon the midnight clear,

       That glorious song of old,

       From angels bending near the earth

       To touch their harps of gold.

       “Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,

       From heaven’s all gracious King.”

       The world in solemn stillness lay,

       To hear the angels sing’

      ‘Nice carol,’ I heard Gibbo inform Chin in a stage-whisper. ‘Look at the bloke on the left with the big brown beard – it sticks out from his chin at like forty-five degrees! What a guy!’

      Having been a little nostalgic and sad – in the way that happy family occasions can sometimes make you feel – I was suddenly overtaken with a fit of the giggles.

      ‘And that old girl there. Look at her! She’s mad as a bag of snakes.’ Gibbo nudged me now, his eyes on Mrs Thipps, the organist’s wife, who opened her mouth incredibly wide on every word and shut it with a snap as she sang.

      When the choir struck up with ‘Whence Is That Goodly Fragrance Flowing?’ and Gibbo said rather loudly, ‘What the hell are they singing about now?’ Kate turned and said, ‘Be quiet, you fool.’ Amazingly, Gibbo smiled, said sorry, and was as quiet as a mouse for the rest of the recital. At the end, Mr Thipps came forward with a velvet cap and we all put in some money while Dad stepped forward with a tray of paper cups filled with sloe gin.

      ‘A Nice Change From Mulled Wine,’ enunciated Mrs Thipps, as she gulped hers down.

      Gibbo turned back to the house, fighting hysteria, and as he did I saw Kate catch his eye. My aunt is a fierce creature, someone who doesn’t smile a lot, but when she does she’s beautiful. Her lovely dark green eyes sparkled and she patted Gibbo’s hand. I was glad she liked him.

      ‘Thank you, all, so much,’ СКАЧАТЬ