Short Story: One Of These Days

Short Story: One Of These Days

This piece has not been edited by the ShortbreadStories team.

One of These Days

‘Any more stuffing?’

‘Get stuffed yourself!’

It’s Christmas Day. In the dining room of a house, a family of six are seated round a table decorated with a centrepiece of holly and gold bells. The remains of green and gold crackers lie at each place along with a wine glass and a plate of Christmas fare. Cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves scent the room from the bowl of special Christmas pot pourri on the sideboard and from the table waft smells of roast turkey and stuffing.

There is a fireplace with a real log fire burning in it, though it is a rather feeble blaze, struggling to throw out light, never mind heat, to the room.

Round the table sit father and beside him, mother clutching an infant over her shoulder. Their daughter, the infant’s mother sits on her other side, while their son is opposite. It is he who spoke first.

Garyis tattooed and pierced, his face pale from several years of living in rooms with permanently drawn curtains, of having his wakening hours coincide with the onset of darkness, of eating nothing but takeaways. He is a permanent student, or at least is doing his best to be. Years ago when he started on his further education, it was at a University studying geography but as time has gone on, he has changed to politics, had a

gap year, taken up a place at college to study beer making, had another gap year and is now taking Higher Art at yet another college. Each move has seen his academic aspirations sink lower along with his parents’ hopes.

Nicola, the daughter, replied.

She is younger thanGaryand so far has completed two years of a teaching degree but her studies have been interrupted by her unexpected pregnancy and birth of her son, Zak. The father she is not sure about although she does not admit this to her parents,

preferring to tell them that she does not wish to continue the relationship with the father. Sometimes in a certain light, she thinks she sees the features of a nameless guy she had sex with while stoned but other times, it could be her ex-flatmate’s nose and eyes. They had a quickie one night when bored and pretended it had never happened the next day. She is scoffing her Christmas dinner while her mother patiently holds Zak and tries to divert him from crying.

The mother watches her own dinner cooling on its plate while her saliva flows and Zak squirms. She wonders where they have gone wrong as parents as what they have ended up with is not what they had foreseen. Certainly, when her children were as small as Zak there was no way of suspecting that they would turn out to be an unmarried mother and an unemployed and unemployable son.

Dad keeps his eyes on his plate and eats. He does not want to look at his metallically festooned son or think about how his daughter got herself pregnant. These are not pleasant thoughts and this day of all days he is struggling to keep his frustration and anger in check.

What a happy Christmas family! But there is someone else, the sixth member of

the family. It is Auntie Kate, Mum’s sister, home for Christmas from sunny Oz. She hasn’t been home for nearly twenty years and she has a lot of catching up on what her sister and her family have been up to. She too, doesn’t really like what she sees. But unlike Mum and Dad, she speaks her mind in true Aussie fashion.

‘Could you turn the thermostat up again, Jim?’ she asks. ‘It’s perishing enough to freeze a roo’s balls.’ She has embraced the colourful phrases of her adopted home.

‘How you folk can stand it I don’t know. Your blood must have antifreeze.’

The fire puts out a tongue of flame and a log settles lower.

‘Put another jumper on,’ suggests Mum. ‘It’s layers you need.’

Zak deposits a splurge of half digested milk on the shoulder of his granny’s purple chenille jumper. Impossible to remove without leaving a mark.

Mum dabs at his face with her Christmas napkin and then at her shoulder. Nicola

carries on eating. Mum tries to spear a piece of turkey with her fork while comforting Zak. At last she gets the lukewarm morsel to her mouth. The rest of the family eat on.

‘More sprouts Kate?’ Mum asks. They are scarcely touched, none of the family enamoured of them but she serves them every year just because it’s usual, or at least it’s what she thinks Christmas dinner should be like. She’s been doing it for so many years now that it’s a habit.Garyreaches over and spears a roast potato with his fork from the dish in the centre of the table. It drops off into Auntie Kate’s wine glass halfway to his plate.

‘You stupid bugger!’ This is apparently almost a term of endearment back in Oz. ‘Haven’t you any bloody manners?’

The log fire flares up and a couple of sparks burst.

Garyis shocked into silence. He stares at Auntie Kate open mouthed, not daring to reply in the vernacular he normally uses when faced with such language. The silence is palpable around the table but Auntie Kate does not notice it.

‘Jeez, at least get us another glass of wine then!’

Garylifts the glass with the potato bobbing in it and goes out to the kitchen. Zak

thankfully starts to grizzle, a welcome diversion from this lapse in etiquette.

‘I think he wants fed, dear,’ says Mum, though it’s she who is the hungry one. ‘Can you take him dear?’

Nicola scoops in a large mouthful of turkey and stuffing and reaches out for her offspring.

‘Gary!’ she yells. ‘Get me a bottle out the fridge and warm it in the microwave, will you?’

A mumbled ‘I don’t know how to,’ escapes the kitchen.

Dad raises his head from his food, an exasperated look flitting across his face. Stupid boy! he says to himself in best Captain Mainwaring fashion. As he has aged, so he has taken on various TV personae: Captain Mainwaring, Victor Meldrew, Alf Garnett … they are all seething inside him like mini volcanoes boiling up to eruption.

At last, everything is settled again, Auntie Kate has her fresh glass of wine, Zak has his bottle and Mum can eat her tepid meal. All’s well. Or so they would believe. But Auntie Kate stirs up the flames.

‘When are you two coming out to see me then?’ she asks.

The fire licks around a log, throwing out an orange flame. Gary and Nicola carry on their feeding, sure of the reply. It’s the same that Mum writes on the Christmas card every year. ‘One of these days …’

Except that today is the day. ‘I thought we’d come out this summer,’ says Dad. ‘Stay six months or so. Have a good look round the place. Make the most of it.’ The words have emerged, perfectly formed, from some hidden part of his psyche. He glances over at Mum. This arrangement has never been mentioned before but he sees a light in her eyes and then she’s saying,

‘Yes, that would be a good time, when you’ve taken early retirement.’ This also has never come up in conversation but like two tennis players they hit the ball back and

forth watched in amazement by their children.

‘We could tour in one of those vans, you know, with beds and a kitchen.’ This from Dad.

‘We could actually do a round the world trip. Now’s our chance.’ Mum.

‘Sell the house and do it in style.’ Dad.

By now the pair of them are smiling at each other and urging the other on. There’s a new glint in their eyes as they sense the freedom from responsibility that such a trip would mean. No failing offspring to remind them of their shortcomings as parents, no

roof slates to see to or dripping taps to fix, no paper chasing across desks and no interminable meetings to set targets. Suddenly, what had once seemed impossible was now possible and almost necessary.

The fire burns brightly in the grate.

‘But Mum, what about my degree? I need you to look after Zak while I finish.’ Nicola. A year off and then back to complete her training, Mum left holding the baby while she gets on with her life.

‘Oh I’m sure you’ll find some nice child minder. There’s loads of them nowadays what with all those working mothers. And anyway, doesn’t the college have a crèche?’ Mum has a faraway look while she chews on her turkey.

‘I could stay here and look after the house.’Garyis worried about accommodation. If his parents head off who will pay his rent and give him an allowance?

‘No, I think we’d be better selling. It’s too big for us now that you two have left.’ Dad is envisaging a SOLD sticker over the sign in his front garden. After all, the house two doors along sold in a week and for £20,000 over the asking price. He is convincing himself that it would be a good time to sell before the housing market collapses again. They can always buy something smaller when they return. For a moment a faint ‘If’ forms in his mind and a picture of sun and waves and cool beer riffles past.

Auntie Kate strikes again. ‘There’s nothing to stop you staying on in Oz, you know. If you’ve got enough money that is. And this house should fetch a tidy sum.’ She

stares up at the ceiling as if to look for real gold among the glitter suspended from the light fitting.

Nicola’s and Gary’s eyes follow hers. But they see their present lives evaporating and their future – what? Uncomfortable? Bleak?

Auntie Kate laughs. ‘You’re becoming real Skis, you two!’

‘Real what?’ echoes Mum. Dad looks puzzled too.

‘Skis. You know, Spending the Kids’ Inheritance.’

Nicola and Gary look appalled. Their respective futures have gone in a few choice words. They gather their wits and rally to the call. It is their future after all that is the issue. And Zak’s, Nicola reminds herself.

‘But what if you get sick? How would you cope?’ Nicola’s playing the health card, working on Dad’s fear of his cholesterol levels and Mum’s vague not-feeling-too-great-days.

Auntie Kate to the rescue. ‘God blimey! Do you think I live in the jungle or something? I’ll have you know that Oz has a better health service than here. Stop trying to put them off. It’s about time your Mum and Dad had some fun. They’ve spent the last twenty odd years dealing with you two and look what they’ve got to show for it.’

The fire is blazing away merrily. A shower of sparks explodes like a miniature starburst.

‘What d’ya mean?’ InarticulateGaryhas been spurred into speech.

‘Well I wouldn’t say you’ve made much of a success of your life so far.’ Auntie Kate looks meaningfully at the various rings, studs and jewellery decorating his face and at the self-inflicted tattoos on his knuckles.

Garymoves his hands under the table. ‘It’s the fashion. Anyway, what’s it to you, you old cow?’

The gloves are off and Auntie Kate accepts the challenge.

‘Don’t call me that, you whingeing bastard. You’re what? Twenty four is it? And

never done a day’s work in your life. You’ve done nothing but sponge off your parents

the whole time. You deserve to have to stand on your own feet for a change, you lazy bugger you.’

‘Fuck off!’Garyresorts to his usual speech patterns from shock but also because he has no answer to this statement. In the innermost depths of his mind (which he rarely visits these days) he would have to admit it was true.

The fire intensifies and blazes up the chimney. Words are flung like arrows among the family, sometimes hitting the spot with deadly accuracy, other times falling harmlessly about. The protagonists advance with another volley, only to retire and nurse their injuries when a barb pierces its target. The battle roars on, allies becoming mortal enemies, only to regroup with another faction. All are bloodied and very bowed. It’s the unexpectedness and nastiness of it all as if their internal volcanoes had all erupted simultaneously, spewing the burning vomit over each. And all the time, the logs are consumed in a mini funeral pyre.

At last, a silence descends. Mum is in her bedroom, weeping quietly. Dad has retired to the lounge and holds yesterday’s newspaper over his face.Garyhas stomped out of the house and Nicola has soothed Zak asleep and nodded off herself. Only Auntie Kate is busy clearing the table of its detritus. She hums softly to herself, an off key version of some down-under Christmas carol, all about Christ on the beach surrounded by

angels dressed as lifeguards. The fire has burned itself out. Only a few glowing ashes remain.