My mother died in a house fire on Christmas Day when I was a teenager, so it’s fair to say that Christmas is a difficult time for me. My uncle also died, and my father and brother and I lost everything we owned. I need to be with my remaining family at this time. We all need each other. I guess that’s why it came as a shock to them when I said I wasn’t going home for Christmas. I hadn’t realised how much of a shock it would be until I came home from work one evening to be accosted by my neighbour on the stairs. 

 

I was unlocking my front door when Polly, who lived opposite, burst out of her flat.

 

‘Alice! You’re home! I’ve got something… there’s someone… you’ve gotta come over to my place for a moment, yes?’

 

‘I’ll just go in and take off my coat and..’

 

‘Come now.’ The urgency in her voice compelled me. She ushered me into her kitchen and I got the surprise of my life. There, sitting at her kitchen table, was my aunt. I stood, open mouthed, not knowing what to do. Polly said, ‘I’ll get you a drink.’

 

My aunt, a nice looking girl in her day, was magnificent in her middle age, and utterly terrifying. She was one of my favourite people in the world, and as a child I’d wished she was my mother instead of my aunt. But she also scared the hell out of me. I felt my stomach knot and I was sure I was somehow getting smaller, shrinking, making myself as tiny as possible, and hopefully I’d disappear before my punishment was doled out to me. 

 

‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’ asked my aunt. I said nothing, not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. Polly pressed a warm drink into my hand, which smelled of alcohol. I hoped it wasn’t Glühwein, which I didn’t care for, but didn’t want to be impolite by rejecting.

 

Polly said, ‘I came back from the shops and who should I find standing outside your door but your Ant Kate!’ Her American pronunciation gave me something to focus on in this weird situation.

 

‘Polly was kind enough to let me in and has been feeding my goodies for the last… what, hour?’

 

‘Two hours. Not that anyone’s counting.’ Polly started fussing with small plates and spiced biscuits and pieces of fruitcake. She and my aunt chatted about Berlin, and where in the States Polly had grown up, and how we’d come to know each other. I swallowed a mouthful of my drink, which turned out to be whisky in hot water. It was harsh on my empty stomach, so I ate a biscuit. I felt overly warm and uncomfortable, so Polly suggested I take off my coat. My first impulse was to refuse, just to be contrary, and I wasn’t sure why I reacted like that.

 

Aunty Kate said, ‘You know Polly, I have taken up a huge amount of your time.  We should probably be pushing off.’

 

‘Wouldn’t you like to stay for dinner? I can make pasta.’

 

‘That’s really kind of you, but I have a lot I need to talk to Alice about.’ My aunt was getting up and heading out the door. 

 

‘You will come and see me again before you leave, won’t you?’ said Polly.

 

‘If you don’t mind, I would love that. It was a real pleasure to talk to you. And best of luck with curating your exhibition.’

 

Polly sucked in her breath. ‘Well, it’s not for a while yet. And I have almost given up hope of finding a star piece for the show. But thank you so much!’

 

My aunt was gathering her outdoor clothes, when she suddenly stopped dead. ‘That picture… it’s wow…’ Her attention had been caught by the print Polly had hung just inside her front door. It was a copy of a Japanese woodcut of a very graphic moment of gymnastic intercourse between two men and a woman. ‘That’s… confronting.’

 

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ said Polly.

 

‘‘That’s certainly one adjective. Possibly not the first one I’d have chosen. How did I not notice this when I came in?’

 

‘I don’t know. Usually it’s the first thing people notice when they walk in. 

 

‘Well, isn’t this something? Says a lot about you, my dear Polly.’

 

‘What does it say about me?’

 

‘That you only pretend to be sweet and innocent.’

 

‘I don’t pretend anything. You’re projecting. It’s different.’

 

My aunt laughed and kissed Polly on both cheeks. If Polly had known how not physically demonstrative my aunt usually was, she’d have understood what high praise this gesture truly was. Polly hugged me, and we shuffled out the door and across the landing to my flat. 

 

I let us in, flicked on the light, and instantly felt ashamed of how I was living. There wasn’t a mess or anything, I don’t like mess. But I saw the flat through her eyes, I felt how cold the entrance was, I noticed that the walls needed a coat of paint and the floor needed cleaning. It was a relief to get my coat off and to have a moment in the bathroom to wash my hands and face. I could hear my aunt wandering into the kitchen, and after a few deep breaths I went to join her. I saw how small the kitchen was, with the tiny table wedged into the corner, the old gas cooker and tiny bar fridge crammed along one wall, the sink under the window, the dish rack holding one washed up muesli bowl, one tea mug and one spoon. 

 

‘You have literally not said one word to me.’ My aunt tipped her head to one side. ‘Aren’t you wondering why I’m here?’

 

I wasn’t feeling OK. I needed my inhaler but I was somehow frozen to the spot. Kate went into the vestibule and fumbled in her coat pocket for a moment. ‘Here, use mine,’ she said, handing me her inhaler. 

 

‘I’m fine.’

 

‘You’re not.’ She pressed the inhaler into my hand. I used it and felt better. 

 

‘Are you going to give me the grand tour?’ asked Kate.

 

If she’d been anyone else I might have slapped her. ‘Well, you saw the vestibule on your way in. The cupboard just inside the door is actually my bathroom. It really was a cupboard in the past. In the past there was a shared toilet on the landing.’

 

‘Glamourous. Good that you’re living here now and not in the past.’

 

I led her to the other room. ‘This is the rest of the flat. Living room and bedroom in one.’

 

‘I like how you’ve divided up the space.’ Truthfully, so did I. The flat had come with a platform bed. Underneath it I had space for a small dresser and a rail to hang up my clothes. Polly had found a table on the street and dragged it home for me to use in my room. I’d spent a weekend painting it, then found some second hand chairs to go around it. Normally, I liked this room. It seemed cosy and Bohemian. Now that my aunt was standing here, it seemed sad and desperate.

 

‘Well, that’s it,’ I said. 

 

‘If you offered me a cup of tea, I would happily accept. I would even reach into my hand luggage and pull out the packet of Bakewell tarts I brought you. We could even use the Yorkshire Tea I brought, too.’

 

A small smile escaped from my darkened countenance. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’

 

‘Oh go on.’

 

I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, while Kate pulled out the rather squashed cardboard boxes of tea and baked goods which she presented to me with a bow and a flourish. She then seated herself at the tiny table while I peeled the cellophane off my gifts and tried to make my dingy kitchen seem more festive. I chose a Christmas playlist on Spotify, and lit a candle I happened to have wedged into a bottle a while ago, mostly because the bottle had a pretty label and I didn’t want to throw it away but could hear my mother’s voice telling me, ‘Either find something you useful you can do with this or it goes in the bin.’

 

‘Well, this is nice,’ said my aunt, and then blew on her tea to cool it. She slurped the first mouthful of tea, and made a show of how good it tasted. ‘This is a good cuppa, thank you. My grandmother used to say that the same tea tastes totally different in a different city, because of the water you use to make it. Can you taste a difference?’

 

‘I haven’t tried it yet.’

 

‘I can’t taste a difference.’ There would have been an uncomfortable silence were it not for the tinny sound of carols playing out of my phone. That, and Kate alternatively blowing on her slurping her tea. 

 

‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?’ I said nothing. She peeled the silver foil off a Bakewell tart. ‘I wanted to check up on you.’ She bit into the tart, chewed and swallowed. ‘Your Dad says you’re not coming home for Christmas.’ She licked her fingers, first the right hand while she held the tart in the left, then the left hand while she held the tart in the right. I should have given her a small plate, I realised. It had been a while since I had entertained. ‘Would you like to tell me why you’re not coming home for Christmas?’

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