‘Larger it is. Good man!’
To Christopher’s relief, David gave him a thumbs-up before retrieving two cans of Carling Black Label from the fridge and bringing them over together with the wine. ‘You’ll have vino, won’t you, Phyl?’ He winked, inexplicably, at Christopher. ‘She is très sophisticated, your mother.’
Mother.
Christopher felt his heart in his throat. Instinctively he looked over to where she stood at the sink. Beyond her, he glimpsed the garden and the shed through the back window. The curtains were made from pink gingham – bright and fresh – and on the windowsill was a pot of shiny green chives. This house, the way it felt to be here, was lovely. David had opened the cans and was pouring Christopher’s lager into a glass with bottle-top windows and a handle, a pint glass like they had in pubs. He held it out to him, its froth an inch thick at the top.
‘Ice-cream-cone job, I’m afraid, but it’ll calm down.’
‘Ice cream?’ Christopher took hold of the glass.
‘The head. Too much froth. I poured it too fast, sorry.’
Still Christopher had no idea what his stepfather was talking about, but again he decided to leave it.
‘This’ll knock her out, you’ll see.’ David opened the wine and poured a glass for Phyllis. ‘She’s not had a wink of sleep, it’ll go straight to her head.’ He held up his beer glass. ‘Here’s to you, Christopher. I for one am very glad to meet you, and I want to say thank you right from the word go for making my missus a very happy woman.’ He coughed, as if embarrassed, and touched his glass against Christopher’s. ‘If I could make her half that happy, I’d be doing very well indeed.’
For a moment Christopher couldn’t move. He wanted to pick up his own glass but there was no strength in his hands. And she, lovely Phyllis, had come over to the table and sat across from him, and now the three of them were sharing a drink at home on a Saturday afternoon like it was the most natural thing in the world. Phyllis was smiling at him, her eyes soft, as if he were her little boy and had done something that had made her proud. But he had done nothing, only walked into the house and sat down.
* * *
Later, while David went to the parade of shops further up the road, Christopher helped Phyllis with the dinner.
‘This is so nice, isn’t it?’ Phyllis said, reading his mind. ‘I mean, it’s nothing special, is it, peeling carrots at the kitchen table with your eldest son, but at the same time, it is, so very special, do you know what I mean?’
‘I do.’
‘I mean, not that I’m glad I’ve been without you, but if you hadn’t gone away and come back, I might never have appreciated a moment like this.’
Moments like this were all they had, he thought. And it was enough. He passed her a carrot and picked up the next one.
‘I think perhaps I’ll learn to cook,’ he said. ‘I can’t even boil an egg.’
‘Boiled eggs are the hardest. You can’t tell what’s going on inside, can you?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, you can’t.’
She nudged his elbow with hers. ‘I’ll teach you. If you come back, that is.’
‘I’ll come back,’ he said, too quickly, his voice louder than he had meant. ‘I’ll come back as often as you’ll have me.’
‘Every weekend then.’
He knew she was joking, but at the same time she was not. And nor was he, not entirely, when he replied, ‘Every weekend it is.’
Phyllis got up, brought a second bottle of wine from the cupboard and held it up.
‘We don’t usually drink red wine,’ she said, a little abashed. ‘David said we should buy it because you were coming and he said to buy red because we’re having lamb chops. Do you like red wine, Chris?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. We have sherry on Christmas Day, but that’s it.’
‘Heavens, you must think we’re alcoholics!’
‘I don’t. No. I would never—’
‘Relax, Chris, love,’ she said. ‘I’m only pulling your leg.’ She laughed, but tenderly, and stroked his hair. ‘Let’s get this open anyway.’
The rattle of the key in the lock, the muffled chaos of the twins coming in. Christopher’s chest sank.
‘We’re back!’ David came through first, bringing the cold from outside with him into the kitchen. ‘Good man, you’re opening the red, what’s it like?’
‘We were waiting for you, weren’t we, Christopher?’ Phyllis said, glancing at Christopher, meeting his eye. From this look, he understood that he should agree, even though they had been about to drink it without David.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We were waiting for you to taste it.’
* * *
The evening passed like none Christopher could remember. They ate hungrily, talked easily, as if they’d known each other for a long time. The light fell, and when the plates were clean, Christopher jumped up to clear them away.
‘Stay where you are, you,’ said David, pushing him with some force back into his seat. ‘You’re our guest.’
A little drunk by now, Christopher became aware of fussing behind the open fridge door.
‘Close your eyes, Christopher,’ Phyllis called.
‘All right.’ He closed his eyes, though not tight.
‘Watch it,’ came Phyllis’s voice, though she was not talking to him. ‘Careful.’
‘Let me do some.’ Craig – almost definitely.
A glow, dim against the brush of his eyelashes. He opened his eyes. Phyllis was walking towards him, flanked by the twins and holding a cake covered in candles.
‘Darren,’ she said. ‘Go and turn off the big light.’
Darren ran and flicked the switch. The room darkened.
‘It’s someone’s birthday next Sunday,’ said Phyllis. ‘March the twelfth. Ring any bells?’
Christopher’s cheeks burned. He was about to protest, but David was already counting one, two, three, and then he, the twins and Phyllis were singing ‘Happy Birthday’ at the top of their voices.
Christopher pressed his hands to his face, a sob catching in his throat. They finished singing and cheered.
‘Come on, Christopher,’ said Phyllis. He heard her nearness in her voice – she was right there at his knee. ‘Blow out the candles then.’
He breathed in as deeply as he could, his breath snagging with emotion. He could not take his hands from his face.
‘Come on, my love,’ said Phyllis again. ‘Don’t hide.’
Composing himself as best he could, he lowered his hands and blew out all the candles in one go.
‘Great pair of lungs,’ said David.
Phyllis passed the cake to her husband, muttered something Christopher didn’t catch. He wiped his face, unable to speak.
‘Come here, you big daft thing.’ Phyllis took his head in her hands and hugged it to her stomach.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the warm, soft flesh of her belly against his cheek.
‘Is he crying?’ said Darren.
‘He’s a bit overcome, that’s all,’ said Phyllis. ‘It’s a big day, is this. A big day for all of us.’
‘Can we eat the cake now?’ said Craig.