Just Between Us. Cathy Kelly

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      At noon on Christmas Day, Stella and Amelia drove to Adele’s house to pick her up for lunch. Amelia, thrilled to have got a bumper haul from Santa, not to mention a pink typewriter from the absent Tara and Finn, could only be torn away from her new possessions with bribery.

      ‘Aunt Adele has your present under her tree and she might forget it if you don’t come with me to pick it up,’ Stella had said disingenuously.

      ‘Sure, Mum,’ said Amelia, instantly getting up from where she was laboriously typing her name for the tenth time. ‘What did she get me?’

      Rose and Stella’s eyes met.

      ‘Something lovely, I’m sure,’ Rose reassured her.

      Hugh would have gone with them but he’d woken up with a sore throat and was sitting in front of the box with his feet up, being mollycoddled by Holly.

      Adele had been at a special carol service the previous evening, which was why she’d missed the drinks party. Now, vexation at having missed the festivities made her sharp-tongued.

      ‘I suppose last night was the big event of the season,’ she snapped as soon as Stella and Amelia stepped inside her hall door. ‘I’m sure your mother outdid herself, as usual.’

      Stella told herself to count to ten. No, she reflected, make that a hundred.

      ‘The party was lovely, Aunt Adele,’ she said evenly. ‘We missed you.’

      Adele harumphed a bit. ‘I’ll get my handbag,’ she said, beetling off. ‘The presents are in the living room, Stella. You can manage them, I imagine.’

      A Mount Everest of parcels sat on the living room floor. Stella sighed, thinking of dragging them all out to the car. Adele always bought big, un-Christmassy things like frying pans and fake bamboo magazine racks that she liked the look of in catalogues. Over the years, Stella had received two trays specially designed for use in bed and at least three decorative tea towels covered with slogans about the kitchen being the heart of the home.

      ‘Can I open mine now?’ whispered Amelia, dropping to her knees to check the labels.

      ‘Better not,’ said Stella.

      In the car, Adele thawed out a bit but the ice shield went back up when she got to Meadow Lodge and saw the hall table groaning under the weight of a huge bouquet of flowers which one of the previous evening’s guests had brought for Rose. Too late, Stella saw Adele reading the card, eyes narrowed as she scanned the message full of praise for Rose and her ‘famous Miller hospitality’. Stella thought it was sad that Adele had never been able to get over her jealousy of Rose. Neither of them had sisters; wouldn’t it have been wonderful if they had been able to love each other in the way that Stella loved Tara and Holly.

      ‘Poor Hugh, how are you?’ Adele sat down beside her brother and held his hand as if he was a Victorian hero on the verge of expiring from consumption.

      ‘Coping, Adele, coping,’ said Hugh stoically.

      Stella bit her lip as she arranged Adele’s presents under the tree. Then, leaving Amelia to bash out more typing, she went into the kitchen.

      The smell of cooking was delicious but Rose’s normally pristine kitchen was dishevelled, with saucepans, vegetable peelings and various implements all over the place. At least half of the cupboards were wide open and squares of paper towel were strewn on the terracotta tiles where something had spilled. Rose was attempting to wedge a turkey the size of a small ostrich back into the oven.

      ‘That smells incredible, Mum,’ said Stella, looking round to see what she could do to help. Her mother was normally so organised and this chaos was unusual. ‘Has Dad been helping?’ she asked with a grin.

      ‘No.’ Her mother shut the oven with a resounding bang and straightened up, sighing as she did so. ‘He’s in front of the television playing the dying swan and asking for hot lemon and honey drinks.’

      There was an uncharacteristic edge to Rose’s voice.

      ‘Adele’s arrived, so she can look after him,’ Stella said easily.

      ‘She’s welcome to him,’ Rose snapped as she flicked the switch on the kettle.

      Stella began wiping up the gunk on the kitchen floor.

      ‘Are you missing Tara?’ she asked sympathetically. When her mother didn’t reply immediately, Stella answered for her. ‘It is strange without her but I suppose we’ll have to get used to things being different now that she’s married.’

      Rose dunked a couple of teabags in two mugs. She missed Tara like hell and resented the notion that bad-tempered Gloria, who didn’t appreciate her daughter-in-law, was benefiting from her company. But the lack of Tara was short term, something Rose could live with because she knew that in a few days, she would erupt into Kinvarra like a tidal wave, making everyone laugh and instantly forget about her absence at Christmas. What rankled deep in Rose’s heart was the memory of the enigmatic phone call. Painful as the ache of a deep-rooted toothache, it throbbed away maliciously. Rose knew exactly what that phone call had meant.

      ‘Of course I miss Tara.’ Rose handed one of the mugs to Stella. ‘But it’s only natural that she spends time with Finn’s parents. I didn’t sleep well, to be honest; that’s all that’s wrong with me.’

      ‘Mum, why didn’t you say that?’ said Stella, exasperated. ‘Holly and I could have cooked dinner and you could have had a rest.’

      ‘Merry Christmas, Rose,’ said Adele, sweeping into the room carrying the detritus from Hugh’s various sore throat remedies. She sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose doubtfully. ‘Turkey? We always had goose at home…’

      ‘Yes, it’s turkey, Adele,’ said Rose, speaking in the calm, measured tones she’d found worked best with Adele. Reacting to one of Adele’s snubs was fatal. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she added. ‘But I insist that you don’t do a thing. You should relax and enjoy yourself. You’re our honoured guest.’

      Flattery and a stranglehold СКАЧАТЬ