He shrugs, sitting back down at the jigsaw, running his fingers over the completed funnels. He steals a glance at her. She’s twisting the tea towel round one hand. He looks back at the remaining pieces in the box and spots the fluffy bit of steam that connects the funnels. He and Howard were hunting for that for ages. He slots it into place.
‘But I like being with him.’ His eyes stay fixed on the box. ‘It’s the next best thing to being with Dad.’ He forces himself to look at her.
‘Not for me. It just makes me sad.’
‘Well, I wish being sad didn’t make you nasty! I wanted to sing a song for you all, but you looked so mean when you came back from washing up, I couldn’t.’
She stares at him, the tea towel now draped over her red flecked skirt, then sits upright on the edge of the settee. ‘Well, maybe next year I’ll just stay in the kitchen and you can have a far better time without me.’ She leans back, then sits up straight again. ‘And I’ll ask you not to call me nasty, William.’
‘They miss him too, you know.’
She walks to the table and slaps the towel down. ‘I wouldn’t mind, if just once, Robert came on his own! Why do they always have to be together, when I haven’t got anyone to be together with!’ She marches out of the room and slams the door.
William moves his fingers again through the puzzle pieces, trying not to think about anything except the brown piece of luggage he needs.
Hours later, the completed jigsaw on the coffee table is the only evidence that Robert and Howard were there at all. There is something else, but it’s hidden under William’s pillow. He’s sure Howard wouldn’t have done what he did if he’d known William was watching through the window. As the two men walked down the path, there was no mistaking the anger on Howard’s face. At the dustbin, he pulled the packet of handkerchiefs from under Robert’s elbow, lifted the lid and dropped them in it. William saw the sudden swing of Robert’s face to Howard’s, but they were too far away for him to see their expressions. While Evelyn was in the bath, he sneaked down and retrieved the handkerchiefs. He didn’t know why, but it felt important.
William is in bed now, dipping in and out of sleep, when Evelyn slowly pushes the door open and sits on his bed.
‘I’m sorry, William,’ she murmurs, ‘I’ll do better next year. I promise.’
William exaggerates his breathing, keeps his eyes closed. How can she feel lonely when she’s got him? He’ll probably forgive her in the morning but tonight he wants to stay angry. Wide awake now, he remembers another Christmas and because images of his father come so clear and strong, he lets it play out, even though he knows full well it will end with him feeling sorry for his mother.
There was a game his father and Robert played with him that filled him with a paroxysm of excitement and dread. The brothers would stand side by side in their undertaking suits, one in a rubber monkey mask. Whoever was masked would say in a sinister voice:
‘Which is your uncle and which is your dad?
Choose the wrong one and the monkey goes mad.’
When they weren’t working, it was easy to tell them apart. William’s dad wore sloppy jumpers and cords. Robert was smarter; slacks, V-neck jumpers and a tie. At work, they wore name badges, and everyone had to trust they weren’t messing around. They could well have been, after a childhood of making mischief with friends and teachers. Even their own short-sighted mother could only tell the difference when she was close up.
If William guessed right, he was hoisted onto the unmasked twin’s shoulders and paraded round the room. Part of William wanted to get it wrong for the thrill of being chased round the room, pinned down and tickled mercilessly by the monkey. But he always tried to get it right, he wanted to be able to tell the difference. Eyebrows, nostrils, teeth, lips, ears, hairline, would all be studied by his young, eager eye. Nothing. He couldn’t tell them apart.
It was the day business closed for Christmas when they made Evelyn play the game. William was six and the funeral home full of people; undertakers and local clergy. The office was cosy, with glasses on every surface, and crumbs from the mince pies his mother had brought through straight from the oven. William was rolling on the floor, being tickled by his dad in the monkey mask. Everyone seemed happy. There was red and green tinsel woven around the mirror on the wall and a fake Christmas tree in the entrance hall with coloured lights.
‘Evelyn, you try!’ said the vicar of St Chads, his apple cheeks scarlet after a glass or two of sherry.
‘No, thanks!’ Evelyn smiled back, lifting her glass to him.
‘Come on, Mrs Lavery!’ said one of the undertakers. It was clear from the murmurs and laughs that everyone wanted her to.
‘All right then.’ Evelyn rolled her eyes. William was nervous for her. He noticed Howard sit down in the corner. His father and uncle left the room and returned quickly, one in the mask. Evelyn’s eyes flicked from one to the other. The unmasked face was deadpan, looking straight ahead.
Evelyn lifted her hands and rested her fingers in the indent of her temples. ‘If I could see both your faces, I’d be able to do it, no problem.’ There was a hint of panic in her eyes. The room was quiet.
The twins stood, motionless. William slid his hand into his mother’s.
‘Howard, can you help?’ asked an undertaker.
‘No!’ Evelyn snapped. ‘I don’t need it!’ She looked for a second longer. ‘I think Robert’s got the mask on.’ She tried to smile, tried to look as if she was enjoying it, but her set jaw, the buzz in the air around her, twisted William’s stomach.
The masked brother jumped onto a nearby chair, making monkey noises and gestures, then dropped down and started to chase her.
‘Paul, is it you?’ she screamed as she ran around the office. ‘Is it you?’ The monkey closed in on her and picked her up.
‘Is it you?’ she screamed, hitting him in the chest. ‘Tell me!’