Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,112
and shaking his head so slowly that it was as if he could barely move it for all the misery it held. “I mean, what’s the bloody point?” Then he scowled over at my mother again. “Are you bloody well listening to me?” he yelled. My mother flinched, as if a sudden shock had coursed along her spine, but she did not look up. “Might as well not waste my breath.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mabel, Frank, Dad,” he said, his voice suddenly soft and utterly defeated. “I really didn’t mean to spoil your Christmas like this.” Then he looked at me. “I’m sorry, Jesse, love,” he said. His face looked as worn out as I had ever seen it, his skin pale and sagging, as if, after finding the energy for all this anger, the muscles beneath had lost all their strength. “Sorry, love,” he repeated, “but I’ve got to go.” He turned away and began walking to the door. Halfway across the room, he realized that he was still holding the ragged remainder of the Christmas cracker. He paused, lifted it up and looked at it for a moment, then threw it to the floor. Then he walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and out the front door.
AFTER MY FATHER LEFT, Auntie Mabel and I bundled my mother up the stairs and into her room like a heavy sodden sack. She fell onto her bed, pausing only to kick off her shoes before clambering under the covers, resisting both my and Mabel’s efforts to make her undress. Within a minute or so, she had fallen asleep, her breaths coming out in soft, chortling snores.
I ate my Christmas dinner on my lap in front of the television with Granddad, Frank, and Mabel—a plate of salvaged turkey, stuffing, Brussels sprouts, and mashed potatoes, all of it cold and rather dry without the benefit of any gravy. Frank had apparently found a pair of my father’s trousers to change into. They were far too big and hung around his thin hips in huge folds. A belt kept them from falling to his ankles when he stood up.
“Well, I don’t know about you three, but I could do with a cup of tea,” he said, still chewing on a final Brussels sprout, his teeth flecked green as he spoke.
“Ooh, yes,” declared Mabel. “That’ll do the trick. Thanks, Frank.”
“Aye, tea would be nice,” Granddad said. “Would be nicer with a bit of Christmas pudding, though.” He looked meaningfully at Mabel.
“You want Christmas pudding, Harry, you’ll have to make it yourself. There’s some sherry trifle in the fridge that our Evelyn made, but last time I looked at it, it didn’t look like it was going to set.”
Granddad turned and scowled at the television. “Should have stayed at home and ordered bloody Meals on Wheels.”
Frank carried his and Granddad’s plates to the kitchen while Mabel pushed hers onto the arm of the settee, lit a cigarette, and began flicking her ash into a pile of uneaten mashed potatoes. “I honestly don’t know where your dad’s gone,” she said, leaning forward and craning her neck to look out the window, as if she might see him lurking in the front garden. “A bit daft taking off like that, if you ask me. Don’t you worry yourself, though, darling,” she said, reaching over to pat my knee. “I expect he’ll be back when he gets hungry enough.”
A loud crash came from the kitchen. “Ooh, heck,” said Mabel. “I hope Frank’s not broken any more dishes. You’ll be lucky if you have any left, the rate things are going today.” She took a final puff on her cigarette, then dunked it into the pile of mashed potatoes on her plate. “Do me a favor, can you, Jesse, love, and go and give him a hand?”
I got up to make my way to the kitchen, quickening my stride when I heard another crash. When I got there, Frank was on all fours by the kitchen counter, picking up the pieces of a broken cup and saucer, his scrawny backside shrouded in my father’s pants. “Bit of a clumsy dollop, I’m afraid. Flew right out of my hand, they did. You mind giving us a hand down here, love?” he asked, crawling across the floor with all the agility of an arthritic baby. “Can’t say I’m as nimble as I used to be. Not after I put my back out at work last year.” He