“Not in so many words, but he mentioned the name of an ex-girlfriend back in York.”
“And having one more friend’s not enough for you?”
“It’s going to have to be.”
Once again, Mrs M had outdone herself with the food. Trevor had tried making beef Wellington a couple of times but had always ended up with tough, overcooked meat and burnt puff pastry. Mrs M’s meat had roasted perfectly to medium, and the pastry still maintained a healthy golden colour. Having carved the Wellington and taken all the other dishes to the table except for Mary’s—Mrs M had already plated up and delivered hers—Trevor took his place opposite a laughing Cheryl. Mrs M was right. The group had gelled far better than the night before.
“Okay, everyone,” said Trevor, standing and raising his beer bottle. “Top up your glasses or go the fridge and get yourself a drink. We’re going to have our customary Christmas Eve toast. Mrs M, would you do the honours this year?”
As a rule, Mrs M preferred to stay out of the spotlight, to concentrate on cooking. She avoided their games and toasts and other silliness, but Trevor thought this year she might want to say a few words and nodded his encouragement. After a sip from her wineglass, she stood up at the head of the table, and everyone fell silent.
“Thank you, Trevor. As most of you know, I’m not usually one for speeches, but I will make a toast tonight. So here’s to our little Christmas tradition, which if I’m going to be honest, I didn’t think would happen this year. But against all the odds, here we are, so I’d like to thank all those seated around the table, new faces and old. And finally, a mention to the people who, for one reason or another, couldn’t be here with us this year. Let’s put all those wishes together, and join me in a single toast to Christmas Eve, to present company old and new, and to absent friends.”
Everyone echoed the toast, glasses clinking with others around the table. Chatter started up immediately, and Mrs M had to raise her voice above the hubbub.
“Now pile your plates up before the food gets cold.”
“Did you help cook the food, Trevor?” asked Rudy from down the table, in all innocence, as he passed a piled china dish of golden roasted potatoes and sweet potatoes down the table.
“Mac?” said Cheryl, setting Johnny laughing across from him. All his friends knew about his ineptitude in the kitchen. “Are you kidding? A meal at Trevor’s always entails takeout or delivery menus.”
“Is that why you call him Mac?” asked Antoni, joining the fun.
“Come on, team. That’s a bit unfair,” said Frank. “He’s good with microwave meals and scooping food out of tin cans. Isn’t that right, Trevor?”
“What can I say? I am gifted in the use of can openers,” said Trevor, familiar with the teasing. “Although the bastards keep making those ring pull cans these days, so mine is a slowly dying art.”
“Trevor’s the only person I know who can burn a Caesar salad,” added Cheryl.
“And she’s not talking about the croutons,” added Johnny.
“Do you remember that shepherd’s pie lunch he made in Kingsbridge?” continued Frank. “When Brenda and Monica had gone for a hike. Golden brown on top. Still frozen at the base. I don’t even know how you managed that.”
“I told you. It’s a gift.”
“Come on, lads,” said Karl. “You’re all being a bit unfair. He’s always been adept at microwaving spaghetti hoops. If we ask him nicely, he might even agree to making us a late supper tonight. What do you think of him now, Rudy?”
“Yes, what do you think of him now?” asked Antoni, laughing along.
“You want to know what I think?” said Rudy then took a deep breath while putting his fork down.
In the silence that followed, Trevor stared down at his plate and willed the floor to open up and swallow him.
“I don’t know him as well as you all. But I think you’re missing what’s important here. From my understanding, Trev’s the one who made all this happen. My mother kept me updated, so I know the young man she often referred to is Trev, someone who carefully organised this holiday, sorted out the deposit and the final payment, arranged rooms and keys—even someone to come and switch on the electricity, which didn’t go quite to plan through no fault of his. And it takes a lot to impress my mother, let me tell you. Not only that, but without prompting, he set about transforming the lodge and the communal areas with the kind of wonderfully festive Christmas decorations that businesses pay big money to achieve, and all for your stay, for everyone to enjoy—”
“He did that?” asked Jessica, her eyes wide. “I assumed the owners had put up them up. They’re totally sick, aren’t they, Ant? Why didn’t you say anything, Trevor?”
“Again, I’ve only just met him,” Rudy answered for him, “but I’d say maybe it’s because he’s selfless. Someone who doesn’t do things for recognition and praise. Maybe Trev’s the kind of person who just gets on with things, to make other people’s lives that little bit easier, brighter and more bearable. You asked me what I think? I think you’re all very lucky to have him as a friend.”
A silence descended on those assembled. Left breathless, Trevor felt the need to defend his friends.
“They were only pulling my leg, Rudy. But I appreciate the sentiment—”
“Rudy’s absolutely right,” said Mrs M, standing. “And I propose another toast, this time to Trevor, without whom none of this would have happened. To Trevor.”
Everyone else followed suit, scraping their chairs away from the table and standing.
“To Trevor,” they all said in unison, grinning at him. Even Mary had a small glass of fruit juice raised in salute. Trevor, never one for public displays of affection, nodded to each of them before mouthing his thanks to Rudy.
