I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,90
white Christmas in the whitest Christmas they’d seen in decades, surely? Her eyes travelled to Mary then, her body language telling as she was leaning away from Jack on her left and towards Robin on her right. Luke was explaining to Jack that Boxing Day breakfast was a pan-fried mash-up of all the uneaten components of a Christmas dinner. She barely recognised him from the Luke of old. He looked like an older brother of himself, a sensible sibling, who cared for himself, worked hard and also reaped the fruits of his labours to enjoy with extended leisure. A man who had carved his place to fit him comfortably. The rough draft of the Luke she knew was long gone, refined out of existence. She hoped the rough draft of Bridge was long gone too.
Chapter 27
After the dishes had been cleared and washed up and the excess food decanted into bowls and put in the fridge for the morning, Jack stoked up the fire and they gravitated to the chairs placed in a crescent around it.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had done nothing and been able to enjoy it. He was a hard taskmaster on himself, always trying to run and be first across a finishing line that seemed to constantly move away from him; but now, here, today he felt like a marionette whose strings had been severed, forcing him to collapse.
‘Doing nothing is an acquired art,’ said Charlie, as if he was reading Jack’s mind. ‘But, take my advice and do acquire it. I was lucky, I had a mild heart attack when I was sixty that made me sit up and take notice.’
‘First time I’ve heard anyone say that a heart attack was lucky,’ said Jack, raising his eyebrows.
‘It saved my life, ironically,’ replied Charlie. ‘After that Robin insisted I retire. I didn’t need to work, we had more than enough money, so I sold the businesses and we lived, didn’t we Robin?’
‘Oh we did,’ agreed Robin, nodding emphatically. ‘We toured the world, we went on safaris, dived into lakes as deep as forever, travelled to the top of the world and the bottom, swam with dolphins, went whale spotting, gambled in Vegas, schmoozed with glamorous glitterati, sunbathed on sugar beaches…’
‘Sounds blissful,’ said Jack.
‘It was.’ Charlie sighed. ‘I’ve had a good life, done almost everything I wanted to. Including, might I add, have a white Christmas this year. I wanted snow, lots of it. I wanted it to blind me with its brilliance.’
‘Well you certainly got your wish, Charlie,’ said Jack.
‘I’m lucky that I have my loved one here to share it with me though,’ Charlie said. ‘You’ll be glad to get back to your lady, Luke and Bridge her dear Ben. And poor Mary, your family must be worried silly about where you are. It can’t last much longer, can it? Though I think I could survive forever in a world full of Christmas trees, log fires, mulled wine and mince pies.’
‘Cholesterol!’ yelled Luke, for comic effect.
‘After all this food, I think I’m mainly constructed of cholesterol now,’ said Bridge. ‘If I cut myself, I bet I’ll ooze brandy butter before blood.’
‘I do hope Radio Brian’s having a lovely day too,’ said Robin. ‘I’ve missed his voice since he went off air.’
‘I have enjoyed his pre-recorded playlist though,’ said Charlie through a mouthful of mince pie. ‘It’s as if he’s made it from all my favourite Christmas songs.’
‘Shall we play a parlour game?’ suggested Luke. ‘What about charades?’
‘Ooh yes,’ said Charlie. ‘I haven’t played it for years.’
‘I haven’t played it ever,’ said Jack, deciding that his work/life balance really was crap.
‘It has to be Christmas themed,’ said Bridge.
‘I’ll start,’ said Luke. ‘I’ve got a good one.’ He stood in front of them all, opened his mouth and drew some invisible notes out of it.
‘A song,’ said Charlie. ‘A carol?’
Luke stuck up his thumb, then four fingers.
‘Four words.’
One finger.
‘First word.’
Luke held his stomach and bobbed up and down.
‘Wind?’ suggested Robin, then jumped up excitedly. ‘Wind in the Willows? “Wind Beneath My Wings”?’ Sadly neither were right so he sat back down.
‘Full?’ This from Charlie.
Luke pointed to his wide-open smile.
‘Laughing?’ tried Mary.
‘He looks in pain to me,’ said Bridge. ‘Pancreatitis? Duodenal ulcers?’
Luke ignored that with the disdain it deserved. He gave up on the first word for now, held up three fingers. The third word. Then he gave his ear a waggle.