Errors of Judgment(88)
The toy fire station and fire engine went down well with Oliver. Apart from his stocking presents, Christmas sweets, and some books, the only other presents he received were a remote control car from Leo’s mother in Wales, and a Harry Potter Lego Knightbus from his godparents. Leo and Rachel had always agreed not to spoil him by buying him too many toys and games.
‘You wouldn’t believe what some of his school friends are getting for Christmas,’ said Rachel, as they watched Oliver carefully steering the fire engine into the fire station and reversing it out again. ‘I’ve talked to other mothers. Playstations, laptops – Gabriel Sutton’s parents have bought him a quad bike.’
‘Too much stuff is not what they need. Not at his age, not at any age. When I think back to Christmases in Wales back in the sixties …’
‘Yes, we all know,’ murmured Rachel, smiling. ‘You were lucky if you got an orange and a pack of coloured pencils. Amazing you weren’t sent down the mines as well.’
Leo raised an eyebrow. ‘That was touch and go too, in the long run. Thank God for Llanryn Grammar. If there’s one thing I don’t mind spending money on, it’s Oliver’s education.’ Leo reached into the inside pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of the chair and took out a small, pale-blue box tied with white ribbon. He handed it to Rachel. ‘I almost forgot. Merry Christmas.’
Rachel took the gift doubtfully. ‘We haven’t exchanged presents since …’ She unwrapped it and stopped, gazing at the box. ‘I wish you’d said. I haven’t got you anything.’
Leo shrugged. ‘So? Open it.’
Rachel unfastened the white ribbon, and from the little suede bag that nestled inside she drew a chain necklace, studded with three tiny diamonds. She held it up, smiling. ‘It’s beautiful, Leo. Far too extravagant. In fact, I’m not sure it’s—’
‘For God’s sake don’t use that ghastly word, “appropriate”. I can buy the mother of my son whatever I like for Christmas.’
Rachel slipped the thin chain round her neck and fastened the clasp.
‘Thank you.’ She gave him a swift kiss on one cheek. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Leo shrugged and smiled. ‘Nothing special.’
Anthony spent Christmas Day at his mother’s house. In the years since his commercial success, Chay Cross had tried to be generous to his ex-wife, but Judith had never wanted or accepted from him any more than she felt was just repayment for the handouts and support she had provided throughout Chay’s impoverished hippy years. She still worked as a primary school teacher, and still lived in the same terraced house in East Dulwich in which, as a struggling single mother, she had brought up their two sons. Today she had cooked Christmas lunch for Anthony, Barry, her cousin Cora, Cora’s ninety-two-year-old father Sidney, and Yvonne, a fellow teacher.
Anthony had found the day tedious, and the atmosphere round the table in the cramped dining room claustrophobic. Cora managed to suppress everyone’s appetite by dominating the early part of the lunchtime conversation with a detailed account of her father’s bowel problems and his countless hospital visits. Then when the conversation shifted to more general topics, an initially mild disagreement between Yvonne and Cora on the subject of state versus independent education threatened to escalate, as a result of too much wine, into an unpleasantly acerbic row. But Judith managed to divert talk to the recession, and to the recent shock closure of Woolworths just three weeks earlier, so that the prickly mood was dispelled and everyone was unified by a general agreement that the country was in a shocking state and that it was hard to see where it would all end. Barry’s contribution throughout all this consisted of cynical remarks and off-colour jokes which everyone tried to ignore, but which Anthony found extremely tiresome. By the time six o’clock came Anthony was very glad of an excuse to leave.
‘I thought you’d be staying for a game of Pictionary and some turkey sandwiches,’ said Judith sadly, as they stood together in the kitchen, putting away the last of the glasses. ‘It’s one of the few times in the year I get to see anything of you.’
‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Anthony. ‘I promised my girlfriend I’d see her this evening.’ He felt entirely guilt-free, having cleared away the dishes with Barry, loaded the dishwasher, and washed every pan in sight.
Barry sauntered in. ‘You doing a runner? Think I might join you.’
Judith looked even more pained. ‘Why can’t you stay a little longer? Catch up with great-uncle Sidney – he loves a chat.’