“Strictly speaking…” Anne frowned. “There’s no such thing as cancer of the everywhere.”
“And is your wonderful brother still looking after her?” Sally smoothly moved on.
“He’s living with her in Darwin, yes. He’s working as a chef—it’s so great for Mum; she finds it hard to eat with the chemo and all her restrictions….”
She trailed off and let her words become one with the sound of the boiling kettle. Whenever people talked about her mother, it was hard not to hear the question they were carefully not asking:Why aren’t you with her?But she’d had cancer for, what, nearly four years? Even Daniel hadn’t been there the whole time. And, unlike Coralie, busy making a living andbuilding a life, he had nothing else to do. He was only working casually as a cook—not a chef; she wasn’t exactly sure why she’d called him that. Besides, apart from the infrequent crises of her actual operations, her mother always said shewas fine. It was patently obvious she wasn’t—but ultimately, she was the boss.
“You must miss home at this time of year,” Sally said.
“I’m still getting used to a cold Christmas—it was all prawns and mangoes for me growing up. I can’t bring myself to do a turkey.” Coralie shuddered. “It seems so wrong.”
Anne snorted her approval. “Preaching to the converted.”
“And your family,” Sally courteously persisted. “Your parents live separately, don’t they?”
“My dad is based in Canberra, yes, with his new…” It made her feel a bit sick to saygirlfriend. “Partner? I suppose not that new, really; they’ve been together for a decade. They always have their Christmas lunch in a hotel, for some reason. Mum was the real Christmas-lover.” An image came to her of her mother’s festive napkin rings, the holly design she’d painted herself. She packed them up carefully in an egg carton and took them to every house they moved to, to be brought out for one meal a year. Where were they? Where was the cut-glass crystal trifle bowl? Did she still have her puffy red tartan headband from the nineties and the apron withAll I want for Christmas is you? Coralie glanced at the kitchen clock. Her mother kept a child’s bedtime during her chemo cycles. She could possibly catch her if she rang now.Didshe miss her family? Coralie realized she’d been silent for quite a while. “Yes…” she said uncertainly.
There came the most beautiful sound in the world: the front door opening.
“Sally!” Zora ran down the hall. “Look at my dress, it’s like fur!”
“Velvet, Zora!” Sally pulled her up for a hug. “Oh my word! I would have died for this dress when I was young.”
Adam had taken his scarf off but left his coat on. Coralie realizedwith a pang that he didn’t want Anne to comment on his belly. The last quarter of the year was hard on the waistline; there were the political party conferences, then what Adam called “shepherd’s pie weather,” then two or three Christmas functions per week, minimum, all December. She went over and put her arms around him. He rested his cheek against hers. He was beautiful, and she loved him.
“Coralie’s made some tea,” Anne said. “But you’ve just had a coffee.”
“I’ll have a tea.” He kissed Sally on the cheek. “Hi, Sally.” He kissed Anne on the top of the head. “Hi, Mum.”
“You don’t need your coat on, do you?” Shoulders hunched, Adam sat down, turned sideways, whipped his coat off, and draped it over the back of the chair. “Incredible, isn’t it?” Anne went on. “About Ebola? Eight thousand cases in Sierra Leone. I know someone who’s gone over there, a nurse. I’d love to volunteer.”
“What’s a bola?” Zora peeped out from the soft folds of Sally’s scarf and cardigan.
“A very serious and deadly viral infection. Persists in semen for more than two hundred days, Adam—did you know that?” Adam recrossed his legs to point them away from her. “Headache, sore throat, coughs, fever, muscle aches, internal bleeding, liver failure.” Zora coughed twice, her eyes wide. “It’s not in the UK,” Anne said. “Yet.”
“Oh, Sally!” Coralie said. “How’s Charleston?”
“I’ve been doing it a bit less frequently, actually. I only guide one afternoon a week. And it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that”—she lowered her voice—“a tourist used the loo in Clive Bell’s bathroom.”
“No!” Adam finally looked happy.
“True, I’m afraid. We had to call the conservation cleaner. But, Zora, guess what I brought.” Sally reached down and lifted her tote.
“The paints!”
“Take me upstairs and show me what you want. Is it still rabbits?”
“No, I’ve thoughten of something else!”
“And happy birthday!” Anne suddenly exclaimed.
Adam’s eyes lost their light. “Thanks.”
“Daddy’s thirty-nine.” Zora turned back from the hall. “Tom said it’s one shoe in the grave.”
Adam smiled. “Funny girl.”
“One foot,” Anne corrected.
