Scrap CH THREE part 48

Scrap CH THREE part 48
Boxing Day at Scotty’s house sees the family flaked out like a pod of beached whales after two days of gorging on turkey, roast potatoes, chocolate and booze. The biggest groans are coming from Mavis, who despite her vows to remain sober and not overindulge, is stuffed to the gunnels and feeling decidedly the worse for wear.
Janet and Heather have taken to their beds after eating too much and the boys are spread out on the floor trying to watch Billy Smart’s circus on the telly. The Quality Street tin is empty save for the marzipan triangles, which nobody likes, and Robbie is even contemplating eating them as they have scoffed all the mince pies. ‘There’s plenty of fruit going if you want anything else,’ Dawn keeps reminding them, ‘your dad brought it home specially and nobody has touched the Brazil nuts yet. Bring them over will you Stu, I wouldn’t mind a few myself and don’t forget the nut crackers.’ Stuart gets up with a sigh, fetches the net of nuts and the crackers and passes them over to his mother. She proceeds to squeeze them in the vice, sending shards of nut cases all over the room and ending up with tiny pieces of dry kernels which get stuck in her teeth.
Scotty looks up every time he sees a car go by, hoping it is bringing his pal back home from the bosom of his loving family. He has been away since Christmas Eve and Scotty has been trapped chez Stewart since then, itching to escape but with nowhere to go. ‘I think I’ll take the twins for a walk,’ he suddenly announces, ‘I bet the fresh air will do them good, help them sleep tonight.’ Dawn looks up in surprise from her task. ‘You’d better wrap up warm then,’ she suggests, ‘its bloody freezing out there.’
The wind rushing in off the sea is stinging his face as Scotty marches along the promenade with the children eager to get out and run around. He fastens their hated knitted hats and lifts them down, where George promptly falls flat on his face and starts wailing. Charlie frowns disapprovingly and totters down the steps onto the beach. George soon stops howling when he realises that nobody is paying attention and struts off to join his brother. Scotty puts the brake on the pram and lopes after the boys, picking up flat stones and showing off his prowess at skipping them over the flat calm sea. George picks up a shell and pops it into his mouth, spits it out and tries a stone instead. His father sees him just in time and hooks it out with his finger, much to the infant’s disgust. He takes hold of the twin’s hands and trots along the sand with them, laughing out loud as their tiny little legs try to keep up.
He is amazed at how quickly the two are growing up, each of them can speak a few words and they tend to laugh more than cry these days. When they tire he scoops them up and places one on each shoulder. George squeals in fear at being so high up and Charlie squeals in delight for the same reason. They may be twins but they are totally different characters, muses their father.
‘Good afternoon Mr Stewart,’ calls a voice from the promenade. He looks up to see Precious Mbele skipping along beside her father. They wait for Scotty to climb back up and make a fuss of the twins as they are settled back in their warm nest. ‘Here for the holidays then?’ Asks Scotty. ‘Yes, only for the holidays,’ the tall man confirms, ‘I have to head off home tomorrow. How is your lad getting on? Precious tells me he’s in the school football team.’ Scotty confirms this and says the lad was furious when he found out that the best footballer was being banned from playing because she is a girl. ‘I wasn’t too happy about that myself,’ Precious cuts in, ‘but those are the rules so I don’t have any choice. Robbie said I should pretend to be a boy but I don’t think that would work. He’ll get over it and he’s doing quite well himself. I can stand on the touchline instead and shout out for him, and I can still play on Sundays.’ Scotty says that is very kind of her and he wishes it didn’t have to be like that. He says he must be taking the twins back home before they get cold and they walk off in opposite directions.
Dawn and Mavis have nodded off in their arm chairs by the time he gets home. The girls have reappeared and are making a pot of tea. ‘Just what I need after a brisk walk,’ their dad grins, ‘pop a splash of brandy in mine to warm me up, will you?’
Frank had arrived at his mother’s cottage laden with boxes of fruit and vegetables fresh from the markets and a pile of badly wrapped gifts, one for each of his nieces and nephews. Christmas Eve had been spent quietly watching television and catching up on family news, eating and drinking. The bed as usual was damp and cold and rather than complain he had slept in his long johns and thick woollen socks, his coat over the bed covers. He had been up at seven to the aroma of frying bacon and had enjoyed a huge breakfast before the mob began arriving.
The dreaded Christmas day had started off as it always did, with everyone giving out hugs and cheery smiles, exchanging presents and strewing the floor with discarded wrappings. As always the day had progressed with disappointed children crying over broken toys, lack of batteries to power others and squabbles over who got what as the adults steadily drank themselves silly. The dinner as always was served up after the Queen’s speech, by which time everyone had filled up on other delights but still found room for the big feast. Then as the last of the plates had been cleared away everyone had trooped off for a brisk walk to clear their heads before the evening session, when yet more people had arrived, filling the tiny space to bursting.
The day had finished in usual style with rows about things that had happened or not happened over the years, insults hurled in all directions, kids bawling and scrapping and mother going off in a huff to her bedroom.
Frank had tried to keep the peace but due to severe provocation from one of his sisters he had eventually lost his temper and helped her into her coat and out the door. By the time everyone had left, the living room looked like a bomb had hit it and mother had crept back downstairs with a sheepish look on her face to calm the situation with her usual cup of tea.
Today, after the mess has been cleared and all has been forgotten until the next time Frank is itching to get back to the peace and quiet of his own home. He manages to last out until after lunch, where the remains of the turkey are picked over and slices of ham carved thickly, then he bids his ma farewell and escapes to his car, turns the radio on full volume and sings along to Silent Night only wishing that it had been for once.