Read Online It Would Be Wrong to Steal My Sister's Boyfriend by Sophie Ranald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sophie Ranald
Tags: Humorous, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, General Humor, Humor & Satire
Ads: Link
and the battered tweed cap Grandpa wears when he’s out walking in the Lake District, where they live. I made a mental note to retrieve it before the end of the day because Grandpa really is quite bizarrely fond of it. We were all glowing and warm with laughter despite the freezing day, and I looked at the snowman and thought how excited it would make Pers, and I wondered if Claire had taken her down to the park to build a snowman of their own, and just fleetingly I thought that there was something a bit sad and empty about a Christmas with no children. I haven’t been hit with the broody stick or anything – I adore Pers and I expect I’ll have kids of my own one day, but for the moment I simply can’t imagine the responsibility.
Perhaps Rose would marry Oliver, I thought, and in a couple of years’ time there would be a tiny child trotting around Dad’s garden in the snowand sitting down suddenly on its bottom and looking startled in that cute way they have. Then I wondered what it would be like living on my own in the flat in Battersea with Rose and Oliver living somewhere else – I think he’d mentioned that he had an apartment in the Barbican – and I suddenly felt cold again. By that stage Stu, Dad’s old business partner, and Serena’s parents Gill and Michael had arrived so we all trooped back inside and shed our layers and opened some champagne.
Eventually – late as it always is on Christmas day – lunch was ready and we all filed through to the dining room and watched Dad carve the turkey, and then embarked on a very civilised feeding frenzy. After the main course but before the pudding, once everyone had said no, they couldn’t possibly manage another chipolata sausage or Brussels sprout and then had three, and Rose and I had carried the plates through to the kitchen and stacked them next to, but not in, the dishwasher, because a job postponed is a job halved, and Dad had filled everyone’s glasses, Grandpa stood up and tinged his glass with the mustard spoon.
He made the little speech he’d made every year for the past thirteen Christmases. I suppose he used to do it before then too, but I’d dismissed it as one of those random things grown-ups did that had no real meaning for me, but since then, obviously, it had become a bit of a big deal. He talked quickly and sweetly about how Christmas is a time for family and friends – sending a warm smile in the direction of Stu, who was looking borderline comatose from punch – and that, at this time of year, we think most fondly and most sadly about those who we would love to be here, but who aren’t.
Then he said, “So I will propose my usual Christmas toast, to absent friends,” and everyone murmured, “Absent friends,” and took a grateful glug of their drink, and Dad reached over to Serena and gave her hand a squeeze to let her know that although he and everyone else was thinking of Mum, she was the one who was there and the one he loved themost right then. And Serena squeezed his hand back and then Dad gave a little cough, and half stood up too, but thought better of it and stayed sat down.
“I’ve got something to say too,” he said, “and today, with all of us here together, seems like the right time and place to say it.”
I looked at his face, all sort of pleased and shy, and at Serena’s expression of glowy excitement, and the glass of fizzy water she was holding in her hand that wore the titanium wedding band matching Dad’s, and of course I knew exactly what he was going to say. But Rose didn’t. She was half-turned towards Granny, impatient to continue their conversation, and she just looked perplexed and a bit annoyed. I wanted to stop Dad and tell him this was a really bad idea, and to save it for another day, but there was no way I could. Dad is crap at speaking in public at the best of times, but in this setting, facing his daughters and his in-laws (two sets of them, how harsh is that?) and his best mate, he became
Perhaps Rose would marry Oliver, I thought, and in a couple of years’ time there would be a tiny child trotting around Dad’s garden in the snowand sitting down suddenly on its bottom and looking startled in that cute way they have. Then I wondered what it would be like living on my own in the flat in Battersea with Rose and Oliver living somewhere else – I think he’d mentioned that he had an apartment in the Barbican – and I suddenly felt cold again. By that stage Stu, Dad’s old business partner, and Serena’s parents Gill and Michael had arrived so we all trooped back inside and shed our layers and opened some champagne.
Eventually – late as it always is on Christmas day – lunch was ready and we all filed through to the dining room and watched Dad carve the turkey, and then embarked on a very civilised feeding frenzy. After the main course but before the pudding, once everyone had said no, they couldn’t possibly manage another chipolata sausage or Brussels sprout and then had three, and Rose and I had carried the plates through to the kitchen and stacked them next to, but not in, the dishwasher, because a job postponed is a job halved, and Dad had filled everyone’s glasses, Grandpa stood up and tinged his glass with the mustard spoon.
He made the little speech he’d made every year for the past thirteen Christmases. I suppose he used to do it before then too, but I’d dismissed it as one of those random things grown-ups did that had no real meaning for me, but since then, obviously, it had become a bit of a big deal. He talked quickly and sweetly about how Christmas is a time for family and friends – sending a warm smile in the direction of Stu, who was looking borderline comatose from punch – and that, at this time of year, we think most fondly and most sadly about those who we would love to be here, but who aren’t.
Then he said, “So I will propose my usual Christmas toast, to absent friends,” and everyone murmured, “Absent friends,” and took a grateful glug of their drink, and Dad reached over to Serena and gave her hand a squeeze to let her know that although he and everyone else was thinking of Mum, she was the one who was there and the one he loved themost right then. And Serena squeezed his hand back and then Dad gave a little cough, and half stood up too, but thought better of it and stayed sat down.
“I’ve got something to say too,” he said, “and today, with all of us here together, seems like the right time and place to say it.”
I looked at his face, all sort of pleased and shy, and at Serena’s expression of glowy excitement, and the glass of fizzy water she was holding in her hand that wore the titanium wedding band matching Dad’s, and of course I knew exactly what he was going to say. But Rose didn’t. She was half-turned towards Granny, impatient to continue their conversation, and she just looked perplexed and a bit annoyed. I wanted to stop Dad and tell him this was a really bad idea, and to save it for another day, but there was no way I could. Dad is crap at speaking in public at the best of times, but in this setting, facing his daughters and his in-laws (two sets of them, how harsh is that?) and his best mate, he became
Similar Books
