I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,78
froideur probably helped you make that business what it is today. Maybe if he’d showered you with his affection, you wouldn’t have tried so hard to make him proud of you.’
Jack thought about that, then dismissed it. ‘Maybe if I’d known that he did love me, I’d have worked even harder for him.’
Luke flashed him a wry smile. ‘You’ll never know. All you do know is that you – you – made Butterly’s big. Jesus, Luke, two million scones per day, that’s like – wow. Now take a leaf out of my book of philosophy and work to live, not live to work. And Charlie’s right about the requirements thing: you want a partner, but your missus will want a partner too. Make sure you don’t keep her waiting around in the background for you to give the crumbs of your attention to, while you give the full cupcake to people you do business with. Find some balance. In fact, Jack, in the nicest possible way… get a life.’
Jack nodded. Luke had just exposed the template of his father’s existence. A man who had died rich, bitter, unhappy, successful… and so very lonely.
* * *
‘So what did you people out there get for Christmas then?’ Radio Brian asked his captive audience. ‘I got some Brut, because it’s always nice to have smellies at Christmas, isn’t it, and a book with a very intriguing title: Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. I wonder what that’s about?’
‘Surely he’s heard of it,’ Bridge curled her lip Elvis-style. ‘I thought everyone had.’
‘I thought it was Captain Corelli’s mandarin,’ said Luke. ‘Isn’t it about an Italian who loves oranges?’
‘Idiot,’ said Bridge.
‘…And my favourite chocolate – a giant Toblerone,’ Brian went on.
‘He’ll never manage to bite into one of those with just his gums,’ said Charlie, polishing the cutlery with a Souvenir of Yorkshire tea towel before he put it on the table. ‘He’ll end up sawing half his face off in the process. I would have thought he’d be much better off with something gentler on his mouth, like Turkish delight, unless Mrs Radio Brian enjoys the floorshow.’
‘Or jellied fruits,’ put in Robin, newly arrived from the kitchen having popped in there to check on his turkey.
‘Yes, because nothing says you don’t care about someone more than a gift of jellied fruits,’ Luke replied.
Bridge noticed that Mary’s head gave a slight reactive jerk. Jack’s, however, didn’t.
‘Lazy present,’ said Robin. ‘Charlie’s niece Rosa always buys him a box of those for Christmas. She’s never once taken the time to ask me what would be a good present fit for him.’
‘Okay, what else constitutes crap presents?’ asked Luke, sitting by the fireside with a pre-prandial glass of sherry. Mary had insisted they all had one. Nothing conjures up the anticipation of the Christmas dinner to come like the aroma of sherry, she’d told them as she’d poured them out.
‘I know, perfume, when it’s a stab in the dark,’ said Charlie. ‘No one should ever buy perfume for someone else without knowing what will suit their skin chemistry. Arpège smells divine on Robin and I love it, but on me it smells like cat pee.’
‘Charlie always gives the best presents,’ said Robin, twinkling his newly decorated hand. Luke wolf-whistled at it again; Robin had been showing it off since he and Charlie came downstairs.
‘Does Jack give good presents? I do hope so,’ Bridge asked Mary, eyes glittering with impishness. Mary could have thrown a cushion at her.
‘Er, yes,’ she answered. ‘Really nice. Anyone for a fill up?’
‘I’m going to check on my trifle,’ said Luke.
‘You’ve made a trifle?’ Charlie gasped with joy. ‘Please tell me there’s sherry in it.’
‘Of course. You can’t have a Christmas dinner without a trifle and you can’t have a trifle without sherry in it,’ came the reply.
‘More sherry?’ said Robin. ‘Haven’t you had enough, Charles?’
‘Never. Put some cherries on the top please, Luke.’
‘Especially for you, Charlie,’ said Luke and pushed himself out of the chair. Since Mary had told them about Charlie, Luke had gone over and above the call of duty in the kitchen.
‘Remember those bath cubes you used to get that you had to take a mallet to?’ said Bridge. ‘The ones that never dissolve properly.’
‘Yes, that’s what Charlie’s niece buys me every Christmas.’ Robin sniffed. ‘If you happen to sit on them, they embed themselves in your arse like shrapnel.’
Mary giggled and followed it up with a cough because sherry came down her nose and it stung.