‘Yeah.’ I take it out and show her. ‘You said the one you bought was forty quid. This one was forty ninety-nine. It’s a symbolic gesture. To show how sorry I am for drinking it.’
‘Mmm. Ninety-nine pee’s worth of apology. Nice.’ She turns her attention back to chopping potatoes, but I can sense the frost in the air beginning to thaw.
I begin unpacking the bags, and as I dump the items on the counter, Daff reaches immediately for the tube of sour cream and chive Pringles. She pops it open and scoops out a fistful.
‘Oi! Those are supposed to be for everyone.’
She scrunches her nose up and raises a hand to her brow. ‘My head hurts, I need carbs,’ she mutters, packing her mouth with crisps.
‘I knew it!’ I laugh. ‘You are hung-over!’
She smiles, and covers her mouth to prevent Pringle detritus spilling out. ‘Well, I’m surprised you’re not too,’ she says. ‘To be honest, you seem weirdly sprightly for someone who drank a whole bottle of wine last night.’
‘I feel weirdly sprightly.’
I’m well aware that I’m behaving oddly – in that I’m not being a sulky, uncooperative douche – but I can’t help it. I feel almost childishly excited. The last time I can remember experiencing this kind of nervous, tingly anticipation was on Christmas Day when I was a kid. That infectious sense of knowing that the next few hours would bring nothing but good things.
I’ve spent the past few days constantly retracing old steps, and even though surprises have popped up along the way, I’ve always known roughly what was coming. Now, though, I have absolutely no idea. And it feels brilliant. Like I’ve been given a second chance. A blank slate.
I’m still having to fight the urge to tell Daphne how much I’ve changed, to promise her that things will be better from now on. But she’s right: the first thing we need to do is get through today. Then, tomorrow, I can focus on rebuilding our relationship – being the kind of husband she deserves.
I finish unpacking the bags. ‘Right. Shopping’s done, turkey’s in, veg are simmering.’ I clap my hands together. ‘What else can I do?’
Daff gives me the same look she’s been giving me all morning; half pleased, half mildly bewildered. I am so different from the sullen grump she left at home last night that I wouldn’t blame her for suspecting that some sort of Invasion of the Body Snatchers scenario had taken place.
‘Well … You can give the table a wipe if you want,’ she suggests. ‘And then maybe hoover the living room?’
‘On it.’ I grab a cloth from the sink and start cleaning the table while Daff stirs the veg. She’s listening to the radio on her laptop, and the opening violin strains of ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ by Coolio suddenly ring out.
‘Oh, what a tune,’ she says, through another mouthful of Pringles. Her fingers are coated with crisp dust, so she has to tap the volume up with her knuckles.
‘A classic,’ I say, nodding to the beat.
‘I think I still know all the words to this.’ She shakes her head. ‘What a depressing use of brain space.’
‘Go on then,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘If you know all the words …’
She laughs and turns around to face me, and we are suddenly rapping Coolio’s lyrics back and forth at each other, striking increasingly ridiculous poses with the oven gloves and the J-cloth.
At some point during the second verse, I’m seized by a rush of love so overwhelming that before I know it, I’m bolting across the room to wrap my arms around her.
She laughs into my chest. ‘Oi. You cut me off mid-flow.’
‘Sorry, it was just too much.’
‘Told you I knew the words. I think I would make a great rapper, actually.’
‘You really would. It’s not too late. You should quit your job and go for it.’
I hug her tighter, and rest my chin on the top of her head. For a second, there’s only the sound of water bubbling and the turkey sizzling and spitting in the oven.
And then Daff murmurs, ‘I’ve missed this.’
‘What?’
‘This. Us. Just … being stupid. Having fun together.’
‘Me too,’ I say. I lean down and kiss her on the lips. The kind of kiss we had in the maze. The kind of kiss I haven’t given her – in the present – for years. ‘Things are going to change, Daff,’ I whisper. ‘I promise. I’m going to change.’
She laughs softly. ‘What the hell happened last night? Did Harv give you a pep talk or something?’
I shake my head. I suddenly want to come out with it – tell her about everything I’ve just been through. But I know how utterly insane it will sound, and I don’t want to risk ruining things just when they’re starting to get better.
So all I say is: ‘Nothing happened. It’s just that before you left for that party last night, I felt like things were really bad between us.’ She looks down at the floor, and I take this as agreement. ‘I guess they’ve been bad for a while now,’ I continue. ‘It’s all my fault, I know it is, and I’m so sorry. But honestly, Daff, I really feel like I’ve figured things out. I’m going to be less crap from now on, I promise you.’
She raises her eyebrows. She looks pleased, but not totally convinced. Which is fair enough. It’s up to me to prove it to her.
The doorbell blasts out, and she breaks out of the hug.
‘That’ll be them.’ She gives me another kiss. ‘I’m glad you said all that. It feels like maybe we’re finally on the same page.’
I feel my heart soar. ‘We are. Honestly.’
The doorbell trills out again in five short, sharp blasts. Daff rolls her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, are they letting the twins ring the bell?’ She leaves the kitchen to go and let them in. As I follow her out, I absent-mindedly dip my hand into my pocket to check my phone.
I stop dead. There’s a new Facebook message.
Hey Ben, I was really sorry to get this message. Are you sure you can’t do 29th? I’ll be around all that week, so eve of 28th or 30th could work too? I was really looking forward to seeing you. Was so good to catch up at the wedding and I felt we had more to say to each other. The truth is, I’ve missed you. What happened in Paris meant a lot to me, and I know it meant something to you too. Let me know about those other dates because I’d really like to see you again. Hope we can sort something. And Merry Christmas … Alice xxx
I hear the front door open. The hallway is suddenly full of laughter and the excited squeal of children’s voices. I stare down at the message again, feeling some unpleasant emotion I can’t quite define.
I’m about to hit delete, but before I can, Daphne’s five-year-old nephews come barrelling down the corridor towards me.
‘Hey, you two! Merry Christmas!’
I slip the phone back into my pocket and bend down to hug them.
After lunch, we all stagger back through to the living room, drowsy from too much turkey and wine.
So far, the day has gone pretty much perfectly, apart from my making a slight hash of carving and having to be rescued midway through by Daff’s dad. I think her family are just as surprised by my sudden buoyancy as she is; the last few times I’ve seen them, I’ve been typically downbeat. And the weird thing is, I’m not even having to try. I just feel good: totally positive about life for the first time in forever.