Mind you, it was better than Josh’s. He was also something of a ‘wellness influencer’ these days, with upwards of 500,000 followers. The trouble was that, alongside promoting plant-based smoothie subscriptions and his virtual strength-training programme, his content seemed to be gradually mutating into anti-science nutribollocks – all under the guise of promoting natural alternatives, individual choice and ‘holding authority to account’.
Although Josh had never confirmed it, Elle and I were pretty sure that he and Saskia had met through social media. It was all too easy to imagine them sliding into each other’s DMs, swapping meat-free sweet nothings and mutually cooing over their combined following of almost a million.
‘It’s a shame she couldn’t come. I don’t think I’ve seen her since your wedding.’
Silence from Josh. For once, I was relieved it was raining, as the sound of it drumming on the tin roof above us gave my ears something to focus on. I didn’t know why I even bothered to instigate chitchat with him these days. It was like trying to converse with a traffic cone – albeit a six foot two traffic cone with its own range of personalised eco-merch.
Dad arrived a couple of minutes later to fill the conversation vacuum. He swung into the collection bay and wound down the passenger window.
‘Ah, well, this all worked out, then. I was hoping the stars would align and I could do one journey instead of two. Come on, kiddos, climb in.’
I wondered how Dad would’ve felt if his own parents had referred to him as a ‘kiddo’ as he approached his fortieth year on the planet. Deep down, though, I liked the familiarity and warmth of the collective nickname. Even if one kiddo was missing.
I climbed into the back of the car through reflex. It’s not like I needed the extra legroom.
‘Still sticking with diesel, then?’ Josh asked from the front passenger seat.
I could see my dad bristle in the wing mirror as he checked his blind spot and pulled away into the puddle-strewn road. He knew that Josh would say something like this, but it still wounded him every time it happened.
‘Joshua, as you know, your mother and I don’t go out very much or drive very far. This car really does have very few miles on the clock for its age, and if we sold it, its new owner would undoubtedly clock up more. Our carbon footprint really is as small as we can manage.’
‘That’s not stopping you from getting on a plane next week, though, is it? Did you read that article I sent you about aviation emissions yet?’
My body tensed to signal that my anti-conflict mode had activated.
‘Please, Josh. We’ve literally just got in the car. Dad. How are you?’ I asked, trying to inject as much chirpiness into my tone as possible.
‘Very well thanks, love. Your mum’s cooking us all a proper feast—’
Josh opened his mouth to interject but Dad knew it was coming.
‘Yes, Joshua, all vegan, of course. That’s why I’m three minutes late – your mum sent me on a mission to source a vegan Christmas pudding.’
Shit, shit, shit.
Dad’s utterance of the C-word made me suddenly realise that this ‘Sunday lunch’ was effectively a substitute for a family festive gathering. I hadn’t thought this through at all. Their gifts were all on order, but I’d brought nothing with me to give anyone, not even Christmas cards.
My pulse quickened as I racked my mind for a solution to my festive faux pas. I didn’t have much time since the station was only a ten-minute drive away from their cottage. I looked across at the large canvas bag that Josh had placed on the backseat next to me and gently sifted through its contents as subtly as I could manage, grateful that Dad was filling the silence with his usual chat about temporary traffic lights, potholes and flooding hotspots. Josh had predictably segued the conversation to the climate emergency at the first mention of the word ‘flood’. In his bag, underneath his crocheted scarf, I could definitely detect the presence of a modest selection of fabric-wrapped gifts and a couple of bottles of wine.
Argh, I hadn’t even brought a sodding bottle.
‘Yes, she’s very much looking forward to seeing you both.’
The conversation was suddenly involving me again, so I removed my hand from the bag as speedily as I could while Dad tried to catch my eye in the rear-view mirror.
‘Believe it or not it’ll be the first time the four of us have been together since last Christmas.’
The realisation that we’d not spent any time together for practically a year compounded my daughterly guilt even further. I mean, I’d popped down for the odd weekend or two by myself in the last twelve months, but those trips had – quite deliberately – never coincided with Josh. It was easier for everyone that way.
Mum was waiting for us at the front door when we arrived, sporting her Alpine-themed pinny. The cottage was aglow with fairy lights in the dull late-morning light, and I felt a faint festive tingle spark up inside me.
‘Come here, sweethearts.’ She bundled us both into an awkward hug and Josh tensed up even further. He definitely wasn’t the hugging type. He was barely the touching type.
‘Let’s get you inside, out of this horrible rain. It just hasn’t let up, has it, Bob? I’ll pop the kettle on so we can all have a cup of tea with some gingerbread men I’ve just taken out of the oven.’
My mouth moistened at the mere thought of Mum’s legendary festive biscuits that she used to sell for charity every year in Scarnbrook. I took off my boots and hung up my damp jacket and scarf in the hallway above the scalding-hot cast-iron radiator.
‘Josh!’ I hissed, as he began following Mum through to the kitchen.
