I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,83

in with the celebrations.

‘I can’t remember eating so much for ages,’ said Charlie, embarrassed then as a long, satisfied burp escaped him. Robin looked across at him and his heart seemed to swell in his chest. There was a rosy glow on Charlie’s sunken cheeks, and Robin couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen it there. Charlie had lost so much weight in the past months that he’d needed new clothes because nothing fitted. He’d asked Robin if it was really worth it and Robin had been furious at the very thought and taken him expensive shopping.

‘Perfect, wasn’t it,’ said Robin. ‘It’s all so perfect.’ A perfect bubble where all was well and he wished he could stay in it for a long time.

The fire spat a salvo of cracks and pops as if demanding attention.

‘Ah, the fire is so delightful,’ Jack said.

‘And as we’ve no place to go,’ added Charlie to that.

‘We did, we had Aviemore,’ said Robin and gave a small sigh. Charlie would have had every luxury he wanted or needed there on tap. He’d made sure of it.

‘I wouldn’t have enjoyed Aviemore a fraction as much as this,’ said Charlie with a grin of contentment. ‘I wouldn’t have heard rude jokes about Rudolf and his yuletide log or won my own personal piece of snowman poo in a cracker, or even learnt that it is possible to love a parsnip. Even the Cipriani hotel in Venice would be sadly lacking by comparison and you know how much I love it there.’

‘That yuletide log joke was disgusting,’ said Robin, a grin squeezing through the outrage.

Mary came back carrying dessert dishes and started to distribute them around the table.

‘I feel blissful,’ said Charlie, rubbing his stomach. ‘I am crammed to the gills full of lovely food and wine, I’m warm down to my bones and Radio Brian’s music is like soothing olive oil in my ears. I’ve got absolutely no discomfort and if I fell asleep in this chair and didn’t wake up, I think I’d be quite happy to let go.’

‘Don’t you bloody dare, Charlie Glaser,’ Robin warned him.

‘Not before pudding please, Charlie,’ said Mary, adding a gentle admonishment of her own. ‘Luke’s put all those cherries on the trifle especially for you.’

They knew the truth about him now, Charlie could tell, but they weren’t pussyfooting around him. He was just one of them, a fully paid-up member of the Figgy Hollow Six, as special as any of them, but no more, and that felt marvellous. Normal.

‘Go and get some champagne and mark it down on the notepad, Robin,’ said Charlie. ‘We should have champagne today.’

Robin didn’t protest. Whatever Charlie wanted he should have. There was a fridge under the bar where various wines were chilling. Robin hunted around in it.

‘There’s a couple of cold bottles here. Not exactly Dom Perignon, though.’

‘Perfect.’

‘And it’s pink. That all right?’

‘Even more perfect.’

Robin took six flutes down from a shelf, popping a maraschino cherry in the bottom of one of them. He fell into step with Bridge who was carrying Luke’s trifle from the kitchen, closely followed by Luke who paused with his tray by the bar to douse the Christmas pudding in brandy before placing it in the centre of the dining table.

Robin popped the cork from the champagne and carefully poured out six glasses of fizz, handed them out.

‘Aren’t you supposed to toast the pudding?’ asked Jack.

Luke started to raise his champagne in Bridge’s direction.

‘Don’t you dare,’ she replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

‘I think you toast the haggis at New Year,’ said Mary, ‘not sure about the pudding, but if the cap fits…’

‘Yes why not, let’s toast the pudding,’ said Jack.

Luke struck a match, held it near to the brandy-sodden pudding and the ghost of blue flames appeared.

‘A toast then, to the pudding,’ said Luke, then swept his glass-holding hand around the table. ‘And to us. The most eclectic but joyous set of strandees it is possible to be holed up with. May love find you and keep you, may it be Christmas every day in your hearts.’

Everyone raised their glasses then chinked them against the glass of everyone else.

‘So, we have rum custard, brandy butter or clotted cream,’ explained Luke, introducing the choices to accompany the pudding.

‘I’ll have all three,’ said Charlie. ‘And a spoonful of trifle on the top.’

‘Cholesterol!’ barked Mary, who was feeling a bit squiffy.

‘Fuck cholesterol,’ said Charlie, reaching for the jug of custard.

Robin didn’t argue with him. Charlie had always loved his food.