You, Me and Him by Alice Peterson Page A

in a pink shirt with sparkling cufflinks that Mum gave him, and looks every inch the gentleman. I’m proud of my parents.
    Finn rubs his hands together eagerly, ‘Now, what can I do next?’ I’ve never seen him so proactive in the kitchen. Since the news of my pregnancy he has been walking on air. He doesn’t even mind talking to his mother on the telephone.
    But before I have time to tell him to make the gravy the doorbell rings and he strides across the kitchen floor to the intercom. My father refills his glass with gin, neat this time.
    Finn lets them in.
    ‘What on earth is Richard carrying?’ Dad asks. Richard is Gwen’s boyfriend.
    ‘No idea.’ I take a deep breath and adjust the sequined scarf in my hair.
    ‘Happy Christmas!’ My mother-in-law sweeps into the room, clutching a bottle of champagne. She kisses her son and I can see Finn wiping the sugary-pink lipstick off his cheek. We hug but it’s a quick flittering contact. She leans her cheek towards me and slightly puckers her lips to kiss, but she does it too quickly to make proper contact, brushing her lips against me like a feather instead.
    We’re all staring at a gigantic white furry creature that has a pink tongue drooping out of its mouth at an odd angle. ‘For George, we thought he’d like him,’ says balding Richard.
    ‘Thank you, Richard,’ I say faintly.
    ‘Call me Dicky,’ he insists with a wink. He’s wearing a suit and a spotted pink and silver bow tie. ‘And how is Finn’s lovely good lady wife?’
    Not so good after being called that. ‘Very well.’
    ‘We would have wrapped him but one gets so busy. Before you know it … whoosh!’ says Gwen, sweeping one arm out in her habitual gesture. ‘Time flies by.’
    I once asked Finn how she’d found the time to give birth. For the first time ever, he didn’t have an answer.
    Finn places, let’s call it the dog, stomach first on the ironing board, its great big paws almost touching the floor. Everyone’s standing in the open-plan kitchen, getting in each other’s way. My father is the only person who’s tactfully retreated to the end of the sitting room. Dicky pulls a pack of cigarettes from his trouser pocket.
    ‘Put them away,’ Gwen barks, thank goodness, ‘and do something useful.’ Her boyfriend looks more like a spaniel every time I see him.
    She touches my top. ‘These maternity-type clothes are very much the fashion aren’t they?’
    ‘It’s not maternity,’ I correct her quickly. ‘You look well, Gwen.’
    ‘I wish! Dicky and I were comparing notes on old age in the car. My crow’s feet virtually touch my ears, and look at these bags! I’m seriously considering plastic surgery. Might even get my boobs done while he’s at it.’ She nudges them both upwards.
    Finn hands her a glass of champagne. ‘Age gracefully, Mum, please.’
    ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of nip and tuck.’
    ‘Why not have your head looked at while you’re about it too, Gwen?’ my father mutters sotto voce, raising his glass to her in a courtly gesture.
    A car horn is hooting outside.
    Granny shuffles through the door then, her skinny legs fragile as a spider’s. Gwen glances at her son in alarm. ‘I didn’t know
she
was coming.’
    ‘If we can’t all be in the same room for a couple of hours on Christmas Day then it’s pretty sad,’ he tells her. ‘
I wouldn’t say I have a family
,’ Finn told me once when we were at Cambridge, ‘
I’d describe us more as a loose relationship of people
.’ I squeeze his hand.
    ‘Why’s that ridiculous man here?’ Granny tries to whisper but everyone hears. I kiss her soft powdery cheek. Her grey hair is immaculately brushed with little strands curling about her ears and she’s wearing a smart navy outfit. Granny always wears blue. Her late husband, Bobby, used to work on a cruise ship. ‘Did you go to church?’ She waves her stick at Dicky.
    ‘I go to church once a year on Christmas Day, just for insurance.’ He puffs his