Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall by Kate Forster
28
‘We’re going back to America,’ Marc told the boys as they came inside after Christa left.
‘No,’ the boys cried and tears followed but Marc didn’t listen to their protestations.
Simon had stumbled to the kitchen and Avian followed him.
‘I’m calling the police,’ she screamed at Marc.
‘Good, please do, tell them I said hi,’ he answered her as he took a packet of frozen beans from the freezer and put them on his knuckles.
‘You go with Avian and I’ll stay with Marc,’ whispered Adam to Paul who had followed them to the kitchen but Marc heard him.
‘I don’t need babysitting,’ he snapped at Adam as he took the stairs two at a time to his study.
‘I’m not babysitting you, I’m seeing if you’re okay,’ Adam replied. ‘You did just hit someone and screamed at your children and…’
‘And?’ Marc stood in his study and crossed his arms.
‘Nothing,’ Adam said.
‘Bullshit, what were you going to say?’ Marc demanded.
‘Forget about it.’
Adam sat on a chair. ‘So you want to go home? Want me to organise a plane?’
Marc didn’t answer as he sat in his desk chair and looked outside at the grey day.
‘I’m sick of it here anyway,’ he said. ‘I need some sun.’
He couldn’t believe that wasn’t Christa’s soufflé. He swore he could have tasted anything she cooked and known it was her. There was something special about her food; it was thoughtful, not flashy yet elegant, just like her.
‘Actually,’ he said, not looking at Adam, ‘you can put this place on the market. I don’t think I’ll come back here again.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Adam said. ‘Stop this crap. Go and see her, talk to her. It was a stupid bet; it doesn’t mean you won’t see her again.’
Marc spun around in his chair, staring down Adam. He was furious at his feelings for Christa being so exposed when they were so new, so he did what any man would do: he denied and deflected.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Christa!’ Adam cried.
Marc turned away from him again. He could see Bill in the distance, riding the mower towards the top fields.
‘This isn’t about her,’ said Marc. It was mostly true but there was one thing he couldn’t get over. That he was wrong. He was never wrong but apparently he was this time, about someone that meant more to him than anything else.
Adam sat in silence while Marc gathered his thoughts into something that wasn’t a volcano that resulted in him using his fists on Simon again.
‘She didn’t have to go,’ he said to Adam finally.
‘She did,’ said Adam. ‘How can she stay here with that idiot around?’
Marc knew Adam was right but he didn’t know how to fix it. He wanted to leave but he wanted the boys to have their mother here on Christmas Day and if he kicked Simon out then Avian would go too and the boys wouldn’t have their mother for Christmas Day. If he asked Christa to come back he would be exposing her to Simon who was one of the worst men he had ever met – and he grew up in Las Vegas. There was always someone around with his father, making a deal, selling something at the pawn shop, talking up a new opportunity, wearing their flashy clothes and using their smooth patter and his dad was one of the worst of them.
He would sell his grandmother for a deal and he had no doubt Simon would sell Christa out for his own benefit.
‘You know,’ said Adam slowly, as though choosing his words carefully, ‘this is the first time you haven’t asked me to do a background check on a woman you’re interested in.’
Marc laughed a little. ‘I never even thought about it,’ he admitted. ‘I just wanted to get to know her in time, began to look forward to seeing her and getting to hear her opinions or learn about her life.’
There was a knock at the door and then Paul put his head around.
‘Come in,’ said Marc and Paul closed the door behind him.
‘Simon is lying down in bed with a pack of frozen broad beans on his nose.’
‘What the hell are broad beans?’ he asked Adam.
‘The opposite of string beans?’ Adam answered, shrugging.
‘Where are the boys?’ asked Marc. ‘I need to speak to them.’
‘They are in their room, saying they won’t leave and that they are writing a letter to Adam to ask for a divorce from their parents,’ Paul said.
‘Definitely. I can sue said parents also, if the boys want?’ Adam offered but Marc ignored him.
He walked through the corridors of Pudding Hall, decked in boughs of holly and pine, with pinecones and red ribbons. Paul had done a lovely job on the decorations, maybe he could bear the next few days until Christmas and then head back to San Francisco for New Year’s.
He knocked on the door of the boys’ bedroom. They had one each but always ended up together planning grand schemes and whispering into the night.
‘Go away,’ he heard one of them say.
‘Can we talk?’
‘No,’ the boys said in unison.
Marc waited for a moment and then leaned his head against the wall.
‘I’m sorry I said we would leave,’ he said. ‘We can stay until the New Year.’
There was silence for a moment and then whispers that he could hear but not make out.
‘Can Christa come back?’
He closed his eyes. ‘She can’t.’
More furtive whispering was heard and then a note was slipped under the door.
Marc stepped back and picked up the piece of paper.
‘Bite ya bum, Dad.’
He tried not to laugh and he carefully folded the paper and put it in his pocket. He wished Christa was there to see it and he wondered how he could solve this enormous mess three days before Christmas.