Page 83 of Big Nick Energy
He laughs and puts an arm around me as we watch the choir start to form into a group again. Nick gives me a smile. I’d smile back but I know what this choir is about. He better brace himself.
THIRTY-FIVE
‘Merry Christmas Eve!’ Lester says as he stands in the doorway of Nick’s childhood home, wearing a wonderfully festive dark-green Fair Isle jumper, a glass of something in his hand that very likely contains alcohol.
‘You’re drunk,’ Nick says as he approaches him, giving him a hug.
‘And you’re not. How very disappointing, son. Kay, always a pleasure.’
‘Lester…’
I look up at the big stone doorway in front of us, trying to remember the last time I was in this house. I am very West London, my family grew up around Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith and my experience was little mews houses and winding streets. Nick’s a North London boy and West Hampstead was his manor. I remember when I first told Nana that and she clutched at her fake pearls to tell me I was moving up in the world.She’s a posh bird now.The thing is, she wasn’t wrong. Their West Hampstead house has six bedrooms, the sort of terrace that looks unassuming from the outside but inside, it’s a trove of large rooms, modern kitchens, loft conversions and, knowing London prices now carries a market value into themillions. They know how to do Christmas too. In the bay window sits a large tree, wide and tastefully decorated in gold, just gold. Garlands are festooned down the stairs and storm jars line the hallways carrying candles with holly and berries. I look through to see people carrying drinks, the tinkle of tasteful Christmas music in the background. I reach down for Nick’s hand to find some reassurance and am grateful when he squeezes it back.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he says, pulling my hand up to kiss it gently.
Last night, Nick’s magic worked. It was almost what I needed, a gentle evening with him to reconnect and not be bedazzled by big dates and venues, to just chat, laugh and have faith that we were brought back together for a reason. And we did have sex back at his flat and it was perhaps less frenzied than before, it was tender and sweet and it led to us waking up together, getting ready to come here with all our gifts, almost like, dare I say it, a proper couple.
‘Uncle Phil!’ Nick says as we walk into the living room, removing our coats and scarves and embracing the warmth of the fire roaring in the hearth.
‘Nicholas, you rascal! Come here!’ I think I’ve met Uncle Phil. I think he’s the investment banker who is very competitive when it comes to Monopoly. He’s a large hirsute man, a fan of corduroy it would seem and he shifts his gaze to me.
‘I believe you may know Kay?’
‘Christ, I think I do.’ He jolts his head to look at me and back to Nick. ‘It must be years since we last saw you!’ he roars.
‘Nearly ten to be precise, how are you?’ He comes in to hug me and I now remember him as the uncle whose hands dip a little too low when he hugs. We part but I can’t quite read that look in his face. Disapproval, or maybe he’s just shocked to see me after all this time? Either way, I put on my happy social face as I’m accosted by several other aunts, uncles, cousins, Lester’s boss, Marjorie’s best friend from university and a bloke calledCalvin who I couldn’t hear but I think he’s either a neighbour or a Labour MP.
When I finally make it into the kitchen to see Marjorie, she’s wearing a black velvet cocktail dress, low-dernier tights and a sensible heel, a red cocktail in her hand. I seem to live in jumpsuits at the moment and went a bit sparkly for the season. I don’t think it’s too much but I see her eyes scan me up and down. There’s something about her smile which still doesn’t sit right with me.
‘I never understand how jumpsuits work,’ she says. I’m not sure how you reply to that. Well, Marjorie, you step into them and zip them up. ‘How are you, Kay? Welcome.’
I glance around the kitchen trying to remember this place. There used to be a big oak table in the middle with benches, possibly pushed back for the purposes of the party, but they still have an AGA and a big wall of family pictures, a rogues’ gallery of all the Coles in one place.
‘I’m glad to be here. You look lovely.’
‘Thank you…’ She looks past me to see Nick still grappling with bags of gifts. ‘Oh, Nick, put those in the front room,’ she says.
‘The front room is packed, Mum. Is there room in here?’ I look around, every single space seems to be taken with bottles of drink and glass crates.
‘Maybe in your dad’s office?’ Marjorie says. ‘But before you do, come and say hello to Sally. Do you remember she used to teach you the oboe?’
I smile. He played the oboe? This is news to me. I let him through before stepping in. ‘Come, let me,’ I say, putting my hands to his. ‘Your dad’s office is in the basement, yes?’
‘You’re an angel,’ he says quietly.
‘I know, Mr Oboe.’
I take the gift bags, shuffling through the corridor. It is strange how this place brings back a semblance of memory even though I must have been in here only a few times. I remember seeing his childhood bedroom and its dark-blue carpet, a garden space where his mother grew herbs and the way they had a lot of hand towels in their downstairs bathroom. I never got that.
But I remember his dad’s office was through a small door to the basement, not somewhere I have entered before in this house but I head down the stairs with the gift bags, trying not to lose my footing. If anything, it’s a good chance to just readjust myself after that bombardment of an entrance. Breathe, Kay. I spy a mirror and have a scan to see if anything is out of place, in case Uncle Phil was looking at an errant boob. Nothing. I put down the bags and have a peep inside. There’s a hamper of sourdough crackers and cheese that seems to have unravelled in the bag so I take it out and tie the ribbon again, taking out the gifts that surround it.
But as I do, my attention is drawn to a small box. One I recognise because I wrapped it. It’s the pendant that Nick got for his sister. I am very good at wrapping if I say so myself. I think it’s my attention to the corners and the folding. I don’t want this to get crushed though so I put it to one side, suddenly noticing the label.
N&N x
I take a moment to process what that means. Because his sister is called April. Is it a strange sibling joke? Possibly. I stare at it for a moment too long and then put it back in the large bag of gifts, heading back to the party. As soon as I re-emerge from that door, back into the hallway, I step right back into Christmas. I take a deep breath to compose myself.
‘You’re Kay! I remember you,’ someone says to my right. I look at the person talking and I feign surprise to see Nick’s cousin, Sean, standing there holding a drink. Everyoneis holding drinks and I feel I need to get in on the act here. He reaches out for the obligatory double kiss to the cheek. I remember Sean as we went drinking together once. He was the sort of drunk who necked Sambuca shots and used to drool like an old dog. My memory really does work in strange ways.
