Home life
Glittering occasion
Alice Thomas Ellis
Well, after all the mutterings of 'hum- bug' and worse, the festivities passed off almost painlessly and a glittering occasion was enjoyed by nearly all. Except I forgot the Stilton, the port and the crackers, and I left the mince pies in the freezer together with the vol-au-vents, and the tangerines in the office. I don't care either. The mice can have them. And I didn't do one single left-over thing with the turkey. I threw the beastly creature's carcase away.
All the presents worked out nicely though. Some years ago when asked what I wanted for Christmas I said, 'Oh scent, earrings — anything,' and ever since then that's what I've got. People can smell me coming for miles and if I had five ears on each side of my head it would take me weeks to display all my earrings. I should have said, 'Mink, oil wells, tiaras. . . .'
The fourth son was particularly impress- ed by the present from his sister. On the morning of the day, he was speaking to a friend on the telephone and expressing his desire for a white silk scarf to wear on his motorbike or in his aeroplane or some- where. Wordlessly the daughter handed 'We amoebae practically invented unisex. him a package from under the tree — and yes, that's right. He said it was the best coincidence since the time he was driving into the Mojave desert and remarked to his companion that his most favourite car was a 1962 Thunderbird convertible. As he spoke, there in the middle of nowhere appeared a junk yard, and in it was — yes, that's right. I never know whether I find coincidences more reassuring or creepy. Evidence of an underlying pattern or of a malevolent desire to tease on the part of some Elemental.
Caroline forgot the crackers as well. She rang up when it was all over and we comforted each other rather as the survi- vors of a battle lie back, war-stained and weary in the dug-out, sharing a fag. Her family also had a lovely time, whereas she confessed that for a moment there it was her darkest hour — plodding round the shops with a bagful of dead ducks etc, and wondering why the Christmas tree lights didn't work. I don't know quite why the whole thing is so much agony, but it seems to get more of a damn nuisance every year, until you finally sit down at the table and there's only the clearing up left to face.
There was a record crop of murders this year too. Beryl tried to strangle me on Christmas Eve, but she apologised very nicely and explained she hadn't got me in mind at the time, only she couldn't get at the person she really wanted to kill. I didn't care, feeling just then that a murder- er would be doing me a favour. Anyway she's very slight and didn't even rumple my
black velvet, and her presents were wonderful — a cigarette case en suite with a
lighter for me — so I shan't stop smoking for yet awhile. She gave me a book of ghost stories as well to save me having to watch
telly all the time, and a picture of St Joseph and Our Lady with Our Lord as a lad with long hair. Fairly comprehensive, you must agree.
The black velvet got off very lightly considering the fraught nature of the sea- son. I had just wit enough left not to wear it while wrestling with the turkey and wore a lacy cream-coloured thing instead. Sure enough it ended up richly spattered in gravy, but Janet soaked it in some magical solution and it's all right now. Alfred turned up to do the housework despite a hangover, and apart from kicking Cadders for dossing on one of the drawing-room chairs while he was hoovering, he behaved very well, considering. We have about 12 bags of empty bottles and various festering detritus but when the bin men come all evidence of the occasion will have been wiped out.
Except for the tree. It is still sitting balefully in a corner, winking its horrible little lights and flashing its tawdry tinsel and it needn't think it's going to last until Twelfth Night. I'm going to strip it and throw it off the balcony and chop it up in a million bits, and next year I think I may spend Christmas in Saudi Arabia.
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