Page 41 of Salvaging Christmas

“Truth or Dare is not a Christmas tradition,” said Antoni.

“Actually, it is,” said Jessica, turning to him, a hand on his arm. “At least, that’s what my next-door neighbour told me. He said it’s been played for centuries and dates back to the seventeen-hundreds. Used to be called Questions and Commands and was always played at Yuletide. But the rules are basically the same.”

“Tradition or not, there is absolutely no way I’m playing,” said Mary, her arms folded.

“Come on, Mare,” said Frank, grinning wickedly at her—as her new best friend, he was the only one allowed to call her by the equine nickname. “You can start by challenging me. I’d be happy to go first.”

After gentle goading from Frank, Mary finally grinned and caved in. Even Karl appeared surprised. As usual—not that the new crowd would have known—Frank went straight for a dare and ended up in his Calvin Klein underwear, outside in the snow beyond the living room windows. Given the freezing temperature, he provided a very passable Gangnam Style dance while snowflakes fell around him. Later on, Trevor went with a ‘truth’ choice when confronted by Frank, who asked about his night with Rudy, something he happily confirmed. Trevor dared Antoni to eat the remains of the trifle, which he did effortlessly, and Jessica chose to tell the truth about her virginity, something she had been saving until the right man came along.

“Mrs Madison,” called Jessica, surprising everyone. “Truth or dare?”

“Am I playing?” asked Mrs M, woken from her daydream. Usually she would have been back in the kitchen with Monica, but she seemed to be enjoying the company this year.

“It’s okay, Mum. You don’t have to,” said Cheryl, patting her mother’s hand.

“Come on, Miss-Sem,” called Frank, his words slurring slightly. “You remember Monica’s rules. No spectators. If you’re watching, you’re playing.”

“Frank,” warned Cheryl.

“It’s fine, Cheryl,” said Mrs M. “Come on then, Jessica. I’ll take truth.”

“Okay,” said Jessica, thinking long and hard. “What happened to Cheryl’s dad, Mr Madison?”

Trevor sat up straight and drew in a breath. And he felt sure he wasn’t the only one in the room to do so. None of their gay friends would have asked the question because they knew the answer. Although he wanted to intervene and roadblock the question, he had no idea what to say. Fortunately, Mrs M seemed unfazed.

“Actually,” said Frank, apparently not too drunk to be remorseful, “I don’t think that’s appropriate—”

“No, it’s fine, Frank,” replied Mrs M matter-of-factly. “Truth is, Jessica, there never was a Mr Madison. Not in the picture, anyway. Madison is the surname I was born with. Cheryl was conceived out of wedlock.”

“Oh,” said Jessica, pulling a face, the reply carrying multiple insinuations. “I see.”

“Well, no. I don’t think you do see,” said Mrs M, trying to close the conversation down. “But that’s fine.”

“And besides,” intervened Johnny, speaking directly to Jessica, “Mrs M answered the question. The rest isn’t anyone’s business.”

Trevor wanted to go up and hug him. But now Mary decided to join the interrogation.

“No, hang on, Mrs Madison. I’m intrigued. Tell us what—”

“Mary,” said Trevor before glaring over at a stunned Karl. “Aren’t you going to stop this?”

“It’s okay, Trevor,” said Mrs M gently, wiping her hands on her napkin before giving Mary her full attention. “We’re all friends here. At least, I hope we are by now. I was thirty, Mary, a little older than Cheryl is now, and working as a nurse at a local psychiatric hospital. At the Christmas party, of all things, I had far too much to drink. And let’s just say that Cheryl is a child conceived of non-consensual sex and leave things there. So, to answer your question, Mary. No, there is no Mr Madison. However, the true love of my life and Cheryl’s other parent, Monica, who stood by me through the various stages of grief, the pregnancy, then motherhood, died in January of this year. Is there anything else you’d like to know, dear?”

Apart from the soulful song coming from the speakers, the room fell silent. Trevor noticed everyone looking anywhere but at Mrs M. Mary, whose face had drained of colour, suddenly shoved away from her end of the table and went over towards Cheryl.

“Cheryl, do you mind swapping seats?” she asked.

“Look, I don’t think—” began Trevor.

“It’s okay. Don’t get up, Cher,” said Mrs M, rising from her seat. “Mary. Why don’t you and I go and chat in the kitchen?”

“No, Karl,” said Mary, before Karl had even begun to rise from his seat. “Let me do this on my own.”

As Mrs M led the way, the room fell quiet. Nobody spoke until they heard the door to the kitchen click shut.

“Finally,” muttered Frank, breathing out a sigh.

“What do you mean?” asked Johnny, turning to him.

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