Just Between Us

‘Er…’ Tara didn’t know. She generally drank wine and wasn’t fond of spirits apart from the odd gin and tonic. ‘Baileys?’ she hazarded, ‘in honour of the Bailey-Montfords? Maybe not.’ She grinned to herself. Baileys was creamy and smooth, while the B-Ms were hard to swallow.

She heard a shocked gasp and looked up to find Gloria had reappeared and was staring at her grimly.

‘Did I say that out loud?’ laughed Tara. She must have drunk more wine than she’d thought. ‘Sorry, Gloria.’

‘They’re nice people,’ said Desmond, peacemaking, ‘but it’s not easy to be catapulted into a group of people who know each other well. I’m sure you and Finn would have preferred to stay at home.’

He gave Tara a big crystal balloon of Baileys anyway and she took it with a murmured ‘thanks’, humbled by Desmond’s gentle reprimand.

Gloria asked frostily for a crème de menthe, ‘very small, please, Desmond,’ she said, shooting a poisonous look at Tara and her generous glass.

‘I’ll get mine, Dad,’ volunteered Finn. ‘I need to see what you’ve got.’

Desmond took his brandy over to the other big armchair and Tara watched while her husband fiddled around in the cabinet before pouring himself an enormous glass of Cointreau.

‘You’ll die in the morning,’ she whispered as he sat beside her.

‘I need to block out the arguments,’ he whispered back, nuzzling her ear. ‘Total inebriation is the only way.’

Everybody sat and sipped their drinks in silence.

‘This is nice,’ said Tara politely, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

‘It’s a pity you didn’t enjoy dinner.’ Gloria’s tone was glacial.

Tara shrugged. If Gloria wanted to be like that, it was her business.

‘Mums and Dad, did I tell you we’re going skiing in March?’ Finn said.

‘No, you didn’t. Good for you, son.’ Desmond was envious. ‘I love skiing.’

‘We’d half-planned to go at Christmas,’ Finn said, ‘but we didn’t want to let you down, of course,’ he added hastily.

Tara said nothing. She hated these stilted family conversations. In her home, everyone talked nineteen to the dozen about anything and everything. Not like this. It was as if Finn and his father were afraid to say the wrong thing in case they inadvertently upset Gloria.

Still, she glanced at her watch, another interminable forty minutes to go and it was officially Christmas Day, and they could all go to bed.

‘I hope it wasn’t too much of a sacrifice to give up skiing for Christmas with your father and me.’ Gloria’s voice dropped plaintively, ‘I feel that Christmas is for families.’ Her thin face was taut under its perfect layer of base.

‘We know that,’ Finn said easily. He never displayed even the slightest irritation with his mother. Tara wondered what the secret was.

Gloria sniffed as though she might possibly cry. Tara didn’t think tears could squeeze themselves out of the space between Gloria’s eye liner and her pinched little eyes.

‘I know it’s selfish of me, darling, but I love having my family around me at this time of year.’ She shot a venomous glance at Tara, who bridled. It was clear that Gloria didn’t include Tara in that sentence. Tara glared furiously at her mother-in-law. Then the little demon flicked on in Tara’s head.

Rose Miller would have recognised the wicked glint in her daughter’s eyes but Gloria carried on regardless.

‘As it’s your father’s first non-working Christmas, I thought the three of us should be together.’ Another martyred sigh.

Tara had had enough of her drink and decided she’d like a rapid exit. ‘Why doesn’t Fay ever come home for Christmas?’ she asked innocently.

It was worth it to see the look of horror on Gloria’s face. Even Finn looked a bit alarmed. Nobody mentioned Fay in front of his mother.

‘We do not speak of Fay,’ intoned Gloria icily.

Tara smiled as sympathetically as she could and put her head to one side. ‘That’s so sad, Gloria. It would be wonderful to forget the past and welcome Fay home. Christmas is for families, after all.’

Gloria’s face darkened.

‘Look at the time,’ said Desmond gently, getting to his feet. ‘We should get to bed or we’ll be tired tomorrow. Merry Christmas, everyone.’

He hugged Tara and Finn, then put his arm round his wife. ‘Come on Gloria dear, time for bed.’ He led her from the room and Tara turned in time to see Finn swallowing the last of his Cointreau.

‘Another one?’ he said, making for the cabinet.

‘No,’ Tara said, suddenly suffused with guilt. ‘Do you need one? Don’t you think we’ve had enough for one night?’

‘There’s no point blaming that little scene on you having too much to drink,’ Finn teased, pouring himself another. ‘Anyway, you’ve certainly found the ideal method of sending my mother to bed quickly.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tara apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to upset your dad.’

Desmond had looked so very sad at the mention of his daughter’s name.

Finn sat back with his drink. ‘Dad’s fine. He talks to Fay too, you know. He can e-mail quite happily from home because Mums never goes near the computer. You’re right, though, Fay should come home. She just wants Mums to suffer.’

Tara could identify with that.

‘There was no excuse for mentioning her,’ she added. ‘I feel bad. For your father’s sake.’ She didn’t regret any hurt to Gloria. She’d been asking for it.

‘Forget about it.’ Finn didn’t seem concerned.

She looked at him curiously. ‘How come you’re so laid-back about it all? Your mother drives me mad, but you never bat an eyelid.’

He shrugged. ‘You get used to her. She’s highly strung, that’s all and a stiff drink helps you deal with her.’

Tara mused silently on the concept of stringing her mother-in-law from somewhere high, then shook her head guiltily. She was turning into as bad a bitch as Gloria.

‘Anyway, that’s what I admire about you,’ Finn added. ‘You don’t pull your punches, Tara. You say what you think.’

Tara had a sudden vision of the ever-tactless Aunt Adele and shuddered. She’d have to watch her tongue or she’d turn into her aunt.

At the same moment in Kinvarra, a very drunk Mrs Freidland was objecting to being given a soft drink.

‘I’m having wine,’ she said loudly when Stella tried to hand her a tall glass of lemonade.

Not after the bottle and a half I must have served you already, thought Stella. ‘We’re stopping serving alcohol now, in honour of Christmas Day,’ she said gravely. ‘We always do at the end of the night.’

‘Weally?’ Mrs Freidland was fascinated at the very idea. How eccentric these Millers were. Still, it would be rude to argue and she felt very tired all of a sudden. She might just sit down and have a little rest. Or a sleep, even. Rose had lovely, comfy cushions on all her chairs.