Just Between Us

Stella helped Mrs Freidland to a chair and peered around the room for Mr Freidland, who had originally said he and his wife would be driving to another party by ten. It was now half eleven. She spotted Mr Freidland in a corner with a glass of something ruby red which was definitely alcoholic.

The Kinvarra taxi men would make a fortune tonight. Rose always pre-booked and the drivers knew she’d make it worth their while with a decent tip.

With Mrs Freidland safely ensconced in a nest of cushions, Stella resumed her trip round the house to make sure that everybody had enough drinks. There were hordes of people, all chatting, laughing and eagerly eating Rose’s home-made canapés. Slipping through the crowd, Stella found her mother in the kitchen making coffee. Rose looked as immaculate as ever, her hair swept up and the soft copper colour of her v-necked dress bringing a gentle flush to her face. But Stella noticed that there was a weariness evident in her mother’s eyes. Rose had worked very hard to make the party a success, never stopping for so much as a bite to eat or more than a sip of water herself while her guests were there. Everyone else saw Rose Miller gliding through her lovely house, charming everyone and with a kind word to all. They didn’t see the heightened activity in the kitchen during the party, or the hectic preparations before.

‘You’re a bit of a swan, Mum,’ Tara would say fondly to her. ‘Serene on the surface with your legs going like mad underneath!’

Rose adored that comparison. It was a pity Tara wasn’t here tonight, Stella thought. It wasn’t the same without her, though Holly was doing the work of two: going round with a tray of food and drinks. And she looked marvellously festive in a slinky black lace dress with a Christmassy red silk flower in her hair and her lips glossed up in poinsettia scarlet.

‘Pre-sale,’ Holly had revealed delightedly when Stella admired the dress and the way it clung to her sister’s curves. ‘It was dead cheap because there’s a tear under one arm but I’ve fixed it. You know I don’t like things that are very fitted because they show off all the lumps and bumps, but Bunny said it suited me…’

‘What lumps and bumps?’ Stella had demanded. ‘I don’t think you should be allowed near Dad’s friends: they’ll all be grabbing you and saying you’ve turned into a beautiful woman.’

Holly laughed. ‘Some hope of that.’

Dear Holly. Stella wished with all her heart that she could give her sister a confidence transplant.

‘Should I ask the taxi firm to check on the whereabouts of the cars we’ve booked?’ she asked Rose now.

‘That might be an idea,’ her mother replied. ‘I meant to do it but I got tied up here…’

‘It’s OK, I’ll do it.’

‘I booked ten taxis for half eleven,’ said Rose, ‘but they’re bound to be a bit late tonight of all nights. Maybe you and Holly could round up the people who definitely shouldn’t be allowed to drive home and steer them in the direction of the hall.’

‘Mum looks a bit stressed,’ said Stella to Holly as they stood in the hall and waved goodbye to the Freidlands, the Wilsons, and a gang of other happy, swaying people, most of whom had dropped in ‘for half an hour’ several hours before.

‘I know,’ Holly said. ‘She was fine until she got a phone call an hour ago. She literally went white. To be honest, I thought Tara had been in an accident or something.’

‘Who was it?’ Stella asked curiously. She’d never even heard the phone ring.

‘I don’t know. It wasn’t anything to do with Tara. She said it was nothing. Probably a wrong number,’ she added.

Stella looked worried. ‘I hope Mum would tell us if there was anything wrong. But you know how determined she is to cope with everything herself. She’s as stubborn as a mule…’

‘How are my lovely girls?’ Their father’s best friend, Alastair Devon, came into the hall with Hugh and put an affectionate arm round both Holly and Stella.

‘Thank heavens at least there’s one guest leaving the premises sober,’ said Hugh jovially as he opened the hall door.

‘Somebody has to stay sensible,’ said Alastair, kissing both Holly and Stella goodbye. ‘This rabble have been drinking like there’s no tomorrow.’

‘I haven’t.’ Alastair’s wife, Angela, who had followed him from the party, sounded insulted.

Her husband grinned and took her hand in his. ‘Sorry, darling. There are two sensible people in the rabble.’

‘What about us?’ said Stella, grinning and gesturing at herself and Holly.

Hugh ushered Alastair out the door. ‘Get out of here before you get lynched, Alastair. You know we can never say the right thing with women.’

Slowly, the guests went home and the family were left alone. Glasses and crumpled up napkins littered every available surface and Stella sighed at the thought of clearing it all up. Parties were wonderful but the aftermath was not.

‘I’ll get started here,’ Rose said, picking up a tray. ‘We don’t need to leave for midnight mass for another ten minutes.’

‘No, you won’t,’ said Stella firmly, taking the tray from her mother. ‘You have a rest and beautify yourself. I don’t have to get ready, so I can do this.’ She was staying at home with Amelia who, despite begging to be allowed up with the grown-ups, was fast asleep in bed.

For once, Rose acquiesced. ‘Thanks, Stella love.’

‘Mummy, is it time?’ said a sleepy voice from the doorway. Amelia, eyes crinkled with tiredness, stood there fully dressed in purple corduroy trousers and an embroidered lilac jumper. She must have been awoken by the sounds of people leaving. ‘I’m a big girl now, can’t I go with you?’

Rose sat with her family in a middle pew of the soaring Kinvarra cathedral and stared at the altar. Amelia leaned against Rose with her eyes half-closed.

‘Grown-ups get to go to see Baby Jesus in the crib for the first time,’ she’d said miserably earlier. ‘Why can’t I go? Becky and Shona get to go. I’m not a baby.’

‘You’ll be too tired,’ Stella had said.

‘I won’t,’ Amelia was insistent.

‘She wants to,’ Rose said, ‘why not let her. You can sit beside me, Amelia, and we’ll cuddle.’

Amelia had sat wide-eyed and alert beside her grandmother at first but now tiredness was getting to her. Even the thought of seeing the Baby Jesus in his crib couldn’t keep her awake and she snuggled into Rose’s soft camelhair good coat.

On the other side of Rose sat Holly, who didn’t look terribly awake either. Holly leaned in the direction of her father, who sat at the edge of the pew. She adored her father, Rose knew, and was closer to him than she was to Rose. In times of trouble, Holly had always run to Hugh.

From the corner of her eye, Rose could see her husband’s proud head, his bearing upright and proper even at midnight. Hugh looked as if he was concentrating totally on the service, although Rose knew from experience that Hugh’s mind could be miles away however attentive he looked.

Rose knew that her eyes always gave her away if she didn’t pay attention, no matter how carefully she schooled her expression. She stared at the altar and thought about the phone call that had exploded into her Christmas Eve party like a hand grenade.

It was a miracle she’d heard the phone at all, what with the noise of the guests and the sound of Sinatra crooning old hits.

‘I’m looking for Hugh,’ said the voice on the phone. A woman.

‘Well, hold on…’ Rose had picked up the phone in the hallway so she carried it a few yards so she could look into the living room. She could see Hugh’s silver head towering above most of their guests. He was in the middle of a group of people near the piano and she couldn’t really interrupt him. She hoped Hugh didn’t start a singsong. It always took hours to persuade people to sing and twice as long to shut them up. Nobody would leave until the wee, small hours if the piano got going.

‘I’m afraid Hugh can’t come to the phone right now,’ she said politely. ‘Can I take a message?’ Even as she said it, Rose thought how odd it was that any caller to their home wouldn’t recognise who she was and say ‘Hello, Rose.’ Unless it was business, of course, and it could hardly be a business call at ten o’ clock on Christmas Eve.

‘I need to speak to him.’ The woman was insistent and there was something else in her voice, something Rose couldn’t quite identify.

‘We’re having a party,’ Rose explained, still polite. ‘I can’t get him for you now. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to leave a message? If it’s an urgent legal matter, I can give you the number of someone else from Miller and Lowe.’ She’d picked up a pen by now, ready to write a message on the notepad, although she couldn’t imagine anything so urgent it would require legal assistance right now.

‘No message,’ the woman said silkily. ‘It’s not business. Thank you.’

Rose stood listening to the dial tone. She put the receiver back slowly.

Holly was coming downstairs with some coats. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ she asked urgently. ‘Was that bad news? It’s not something wrong with Tara, is it?’

‘Nothing like that.’ Rose managed a faint smile. ‘Just a mistake. Now, I must rush and check the oven.’ She flew into the kitchen, shut the door and sat down on the bench seat under the picture window, feeling a cold sweat emerge all over her body. She knew what had been nagging her about the woman’s voice, she knew the unidentified ingredient: mockery.

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.