Angry silhouettes skated across the closed drapes, raised voices piercing the air, as sharp as icicles, not ceasing, even as Carol reached the end of the path, adding a doorbell to the choir of chaos.
Noel had called her to take Holly for the night, to ‘keep her away from all of this’. With an eyebrow disappearing into her wispy, white hairline, Carol shook her head at their sterling job.
They tried their best – Holly came second in spelling last week, and she ate all her greens, even sprouts – but sometimes Carol’s son wasn’t present when he should be, and Robin wasn’t the type to stay silent about it.
Poor Holly was confused, her bright red nose frosted with snot, as though she had been bawling minutes ago. She probably thought it was her fault, and her parents were too wrapped up in accusations and slander to tell her she was blameless.
“Grandma!” Holly sprung from her bed in an explosion of blankets and cuddly toys. The carpet rumbled beneath her frilly-socked feet as the living room battle continued.
Carol let her rest her head on her cashmere chest, her nose poking the hole in the ‘o’ in the woven ‘Let it Snow’! Her coworker, Moira, bought her another one for the work’s Christmas party, reading ‘Let Tits Snow’ across well-placed baubles. She supposed she’d have to give it a miss. She’d probably have Holly over the weekend, giving those two some space to work it out. What a horrible time for this to happen, with Christmas around the corner.
“I shouldn’t have said anything!” Holly wailed, almost loud enough to drown out her son’s shout of, ‘Listen to that! You’ve made our daughter cry!’
“Shh, come on now,” Carol rubbed her back, trying to ignore the thoughts of how awkward the 25th would be, trying to convince her son to pull a limp cracker with Holly before she had to go to wherever his wife was spending the holidays. Maybe Robin would keep the house, and Noel would have move back in with Carol.
But she couldn’t spiral any further, obsessing over floor plans and where he would sleep. Holly hadn’t cried like this since she trapped her finger in the patio door.
“What did you say, sweetheart?” asked Carol.
“I…I saw…Mummy was kissing another man!” She heaved between sobs.
“You saw him?” asked Carol, “Did you know him?”
“Not really,” said Holly, “I only met him yesterday. He gave me presents. A Squish Mallow, and the karaoke machine I always wanted. He said his name, but I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart. So he spoke to you?”
“Yes, he said ‘Merry Christmas’ so I said it back. Then I asked mummy if I could introduce my Squish Mallow to the rest of my toys. When I came back down, they were kissing. Daddy was at work last night, so I told him about it at breakfast. It made him angry. He threw the cornflakes everywhere!”
“I’m sorry, Holly, this must be so confusing for you. Do you remember what the man looked like?”
“Big.”
“Like tall?”
“Erm…Mummy says I can’t call people fat.”
“And she’s right.” Despite the circumstances, Carol suppressed a smile. “But you can just nod. Was he fat?”
Still somewhat guilty, Holly nodded. Scanning the room in case the elf on the shelf leapt into action and ran to report her.
Carol felt her brow crease, adding another line to the collection. So Robin was seeing another man – a rotund man at that. Why would she involve Holly at all? “Was he around daddy’s age?”
“No, he was old.”
“Old?”
“His hair was white like yours! He had a big bushy beard too.”
“What was he wearing?”
“A red coat, red trousers, a red hat, and he had big bla- ”
“Big black boots?”
“Wow! You know everything, Grandma!”
Elaine hit herself on the head with an open palm. Of course. “Wait here, Holly.”
She had to stand between the duelling pair before they noticed she was in the room, her calls of “It’s okay! It’s okay! It’s a misunderstanding!” snuffed like dying coals beneath a hurricane of wrath.
Elaine was so relieved to explain the misunderstanding. Holly simply hadn’t realised that her father was in that Santa suit. The whole thing was like a sitcom – it would become a funny tale told every Christmas Eve.
But Noel glared at her with wild, bloodshot eyes. His face contorted with rage, he spat, “I’ve never dressed up as Santa!
