The Gift Room Page 7

  “Well,” Alexander started, “I have unwrapped my 21st birthday present…” and with that, he held out his left hand and showed off his watch to Brian. “I have looked at the wedding present - which between you and me is rather foul. Perhaps you could have it for a bring-and-buy sale, if you still hold such things? I spotted the first ever present that they sent jointly to both myself and Julia - a gift voucher from John Lewis for some help with our first flat! I just left it on the floor upstairs as I don’t think I can make any use of it anymore as no doubt there is some expiry date in the small print!” Alexander laughed slightly. “And that is as far as I have got. I notice my three kids have presents up there, including christening as well as birthdays, and I don’t know if I am in much of a state of mind to open them yet.”

  Alexander looked openly at the vicar, as if for some moral guidance over the correct way to approach the problem. “I should also add that my parents left me everything in their will, which was a bloody surprise if you will excuse the language.” He did not know why he felt he had to tell the Vicar this last piece of information but somehow he thought it important for Brian to have all the pieces of the jigsaw.

  “No need to worry over the language!” Brian smiled broadly. “To say I have heard much worse is an understatement - even in the village shop, particularly when Henry Billinghurst is arguing over his paper bill!” They both laughed; perhaps the red wine was helping, as they seemed more and more relaxed in each other’s company.

  Brian continued. “And as for your parents’ will, why should they not have left their only child everything? You state it as though it were something unusual. In fact I would say it is the most normal approach in this sort of scenario.”

  Alexander looked thoughtfully across the table at Brian. “That is true,” he said quietly. “The funny thing is, though, I don’t know if I want their money. It is as though, by accepting it, I am somehow absolving them of their sins for the last 25 years, by saying it is ok to ignore me and my family. Does that make sense?”

  “I can see where you are coming from, although I don’t know if I would have used the phrase sin. I do think it is only Our Lord who has the power to absolve us for our wrongdoings.” Brian was looking thoughtful too. “Perhaps if you came to understand your parents’ actions then you would not feel so betrayed by them, and you might learn to accept their wishes as expressed in their will.”

  “Alexander, perhaps you could look at this in a slightly different way,” Brian continued. “The fact is, your parents loved you, otherwise they would not have purchased all those gifts and left you their estate in their will. You need to decide if that demonstration is sufficient, or if you would have wished for more recognition during your lifetime. I honestly do not think it is your position to forgive them; however, it is your decision to understand them, if you wish.”

  “Can I offer you another glass of wine?” Alexander responded as he rose from the table to walk towards the dining room.

  “Well, with the obvious caveat that, of course, I shouldn’t… that would be lovely, thanks,” replied the vicar.

  A few moments later Alexander returned from the dining room, holding another of the same bottles of red in his right hand. “I think my dad must have got this from the Sunday Times Wine Club; I recognise it,” he said, as he sat down and started to open the bottle.

  “I must say, it is rather pleasant and probably goes down a little too well,” said Brian, as he drained his glass and held it towards Alexander, who refilled it from the new bottle he had just opened.

  “I suppose I don’t really understand them, as my family are so important to me I don’t know how they could have ignored us, particularly for so long. And after my sister died, I suppose I thought they may get back in touch. They had sent me a personal note at the time - after they had buried her I should add - and I really did not know how to respond to them.” Alexander slumped back into his chair. Somehow he felt the effort of explaining the hurt to the vicar was getting too much. “It had been a few months before I lost my sister that I had been thinking of trying to get back in touch with them, but somehow I just could not bring myself to do so after what they had done. I just felt that I could not pay my respects.”

  “Alexander, I say this as gently as I can… they did not ignore you during their lives. The room upstairs is proof of that. What they could not do is bring themselves to demonstrate to you their love. But make no mistake, love you and your family they most certainly did.” Brian reached for his glass of wine from the table.

  “I cannot pass judgement on their actions when they lost your sister; I can however confirm that when I have seen people bury their children, it is the most terrible sadness to behold. It feels unnatural not to go first, as a parent, and many people find it very hard to come to terms with. I have seen many question their faith at such a time. They may only have been able to cope as they did by not inviting you to the funeral. I am not condoning their actions, but I can see how seeing you at that time may have been just too much for them.” Brian paused and looked at Alexander across the table. “I lost my own wife five years ago. I miss her every single day. I marvel sometimes how I manage to get through a day without her support and love. I also recognise that there were times during our marriage that we did not see eye to eye over things. I suspect, if she were alive today, she would certainly not approve of my wine consumption tonight - and if I were to go home to her, I would be unceremoniously thrown into the spare room to sleep. She would not have demonstrated her love to me this evening, yet I know she did love me, always.”

  There were a few minutes of silence as both men raised their glasses to drink.

  Alexander looked at Brian. The two men both paused in their deliberations.

  “I actually think it is time that I went home.” The silence was broken by the vicar.

  “Thank you for your time this evening. It has given me rather a lot to consider, and perhaps I can start to come at the situation from a different point of view.” Alexander extended his hand across the table as both men stood up.

  “Believe me when I say it was an absolute pleasure.” Brian shook Alexander’s hand firmly and warmly. “I shall make my way back to the vicarage, and perhaps I shall rework my sermon tomorrow in readiness for Sunday, in light of our conversation. You see, Alexander, you have also given me pause for thought.”

  Alexander showed Brian to the front door and just as the vicar was stepping over the threshold, Alexander decided to ask him one last question.

  “Brian, just a thought – and, please, I do hope I am not being too presumptuous when I ask this… only, are you running any sort of fundraising efforts for the church – locally, I mean?”

  “Well, I shall be blunt with you. I think after the last couple of hours and the wine, we have reached a very nice understanding of each other.” Brian paused. “The church is in a disastrous physical condition. The diocese is currently considering closing it and just holding services in the adjacent village, which is some five miles away. It will actually mean that some of my elderly regulars will be unable to attend every week. In fact it is also rather linked to my retirement next year, not that that is common knowledge in the parish. You see, we can no longer afford the church and the vicarage, so we will combine parishes, mothball this church and probably sell the vicarage. Frank, the vicar in the adjacent village, will take over my duties here.” Brian paused again. Somehow going into such detail with this virtual stranger made him feel very sad for the community he had served and lived among for so long. He could feel himself starting to become emotional. “Alexander, you have touched rather a raw nerve I am afraid, the diocese has gone beyond a little fundrasing event to fill the fiscal gap shall we say.”

  “I am so sorry,” Alexander responded at once. He could see the vicar was upset and perhaps the wine had flowed a little too much for such an emotional evening. “I don’t really know what to say, or for that matter why I even asked the question.”

  “I
t does not matter.” Brian seemed to pull himself together as quickly as he had become emotional. “I shall bid you good night. Take care, Alexander.” And with that he turned and walked down the drive and into the darkness that now enveloped Godfrey St John.

  CHAPTER 7

  Alexander made his way straight back upstairs after showing the vicar out. Somehow he did not feel as tired as he should have done. Perhaps it had been the short nap before Brian had arrived, perhaps in some strange way the emotion of the day was keeping him topped up with adrenaline. He walked into the spare bedroom and surveyed the stacks of presents again. It occurred to him that despite being in the house now for nearly 12 hours, he had actually only unwrapped three, if he counted the gift voucher. His watch was still on his wrist and the wedding gift still lay where he had left it, unwrapped, on the floor.

  He had appreciated that the presents were formed in piles, neatly marked with their proposed recipient’s name and the date, including year, when they were to be given. Alexander then looked more closely at the piles of presents for his children. Clearly, they were wrapped in appropriate paper for the age and sex of the children. A succession of boxes were wrapped in Thomas the Tank engine paper for Will and Harry and various types of ballerina paper for Natalie. Alexander wondered how his parents would have known their names and then remembered he had put the shortest of notes in a Christmas card in the years that they had been born. He had not really understood why he had done that. Perhaps it had been some primal need to let his parents know that their line was continuing. Perhaps he had done it as a way of proving to them that he didn’t need them anymore and he had his own, growing family. Perhaps he had done it as a way of saying “Up yours - you live your sad and lonely lives whilst I have my lovely family around me.” Perhaps it was a little of all of these reasons, but nevertheless he had always informed his parents when his family had grown by the birth of their successive children.

  Alexander looked at the pile of presents for his daughter, Natalie. He noticed the large box wrapped in pink tissue paper with a large purple bow tied around it. He read the label.

  Natalie. Happy First Birthday from Granny and Grandad, October 1998.

  “Now that must have felt odd,” Alexander mused to himself. Natalie had been born the October after his elder sister had died in May. He and Julia had decided to name her after his sister, Frances Natalie, although they had dropped the first name following a somewhat lengthy discussion. It would have been too difficult for Alexander to call his daughter Frances, having grown up using that name in general conversation most days; and yet in a way he had wanted to honour his sister’s memory by using part of her name, somehow keeping her still alive and part of his life and family.

  When Frances had been alive she had been a frequent visitor to Alexander and Julia’s home, particularly for Christmas or other family gatherings. She had never had children - or for that matter had never seemed to have a steady partner, as far as Alexander could tell. Yet she had played the role of the doting aunt to perfection. Always coming through with perfect gifts and treats for Will; she had taken her role as Godmother to him very seriously from the moment of his christening.

  She had always seemed to manage to light up his eyes with spontaneous visits to London, to the Natural History Museum or the Tower of London, and always accompanied them with special lunches in family-friendly burger bars which served the largest milkshakes known to man! Frances would return on the train to their Surrey home with him completely shattered but thrilled at the marvellous day they had enjoyed together. She invested in memories that he would always have, highlights in his childhood, that no-one could ever take away. Alexander and Julia had often wondered if Frances had somehow given herself the role as superhuman Godmother and aunt as a subconscious way of making up for the lack of interest shown by Alexander’s parents in Will.

  Alexander and his sister had always got on reasonably well growing up. They had been to separate schools, both single sex, and never really mixed except on family trips and holidays. At the usual family gatherings, that always remained indelibly printed upon one’s conscious memory, around Christmases or birthdays, they had always been surrounded by their particular friends. Frances had always been the thinker, the worrier, the one who wanted to do the right thing. With hindsight, it was clear from a very early age that she would want to enter the voluntary sector. For her, career was not about making money but making a difference.

  She had excelled in her role in her chosen charity after university, with a succession of overseas postings, mainly in Africa and the Middle East. Never one for the limelight; even as Alexander had watched the news of some war-torn corner of the continent and another humanitarian crisis and flies gathering around the dry lips and eyelids of another suffering child, his sister would be there, doling out medicine or organising logistical support for trucks to deliver aid, just never in the camera’s eye for Channel 4 or CNN. When she came for Christmas, she would often look exhausted but would clearly enjoy the tradition that had built up around the festive time.

  For Alexander and Julia, the festive season would always begin on Christmas Eve. Usually her parents, or more latterly just her mother, would arrive first - followed by Frances. She would arrive by train and get a cab from the station, never wishing to disturb anyone so that they would need to collect her. She would ring the doorbell and stand with a rucksack on her back, a collection of assorted bags and some carrier bags from various well known shops in London. The carriers, from the likes of Hamleys, were usually enough of a giveaway that the godson had been spoiled again and he would always greet his aunt with an enormous hug of clear, deep affection. Frances had always been rather wiry and sporty as she had grown up, but her work now made her look a little too gaunt and drawn. Although she was nearly always tanned, it was not because of a relaxing break around the Med on a sun lounger drinking cocktails. Alexander always thought she looked too tired, as though permanently jetlagged.

  The evening meal was a long, leisurely affair and always consisted of a couple of bottles of wine that seemed to slip down rather too well. In fact it always amused Alexander to watch his sister starting to relax with the wine; it was as though she uncoiled like a spring in front of his very eyes. Frances had an air of one who always gave of herself, and when the Christmas Eve festivities arrived and the opportunity to relax in the company of her family presented itself, she allowed a certain façade to slip, a personal side to show, which always seemed very well hidden to the casual observer. Alexander was pretty sure that during most of the year Frances was almost teetotal - and certainly she never smoked, to his knowledge; although when with his family she seemed to enjoy the wine and not complain about a glass or two of port over the cheese board. Alexander liked the fact that his sister could feel so relaxed in his home with his wife and child. After their meal they would all walk down to the church for midnight mass. Being that they lived in Surrey, in prime commuter belt, this was not some quaint village church between thatched cottages; but it was still a lovely, stone built building below a magnificent steeple. To Alexander’s eternal gratitude, it was still a local church with a short walk home on such a special night of the year. The tradition had grown up that when the family did in fact reach home after the service, then just one single present to herald the start of that Christmas day could be opened by everyone, before it was time to retire to bed. Alexander loved Christmas, with all its tradition created by his family. He often found the greatest peace for the whole year came to him as he walked out from Christmas midnight mass. It had been on just such an occasion that he had had his last personal conversation with “his Big Sis.”

  “Frances,” he said, as they were walking up the road at around 12.45am on Christmas morning. It was clear, the sky a veritable celestial delight of stars, a magical picture into which everyone was seeing clouds of breath floating into the cold, still night sky. “I have been thinking of late about Godfrey St John.” Alexander and Frances often referred to t
heir parents by the name of their village where they now lived as opposed to their names, such as mum and dad. That seemed so false, particularly to Alexander, who felt, albeit subconsciously, they had relinquished the right to be called by such names a long time ago when they ceased to be his Mother and Father.

  He continued: “Well, it has been so bloody long since I spoke with them and I know you are still in contact… do you think we should get together for a chat? I mean, they aren’t getting any younger and it is the right thing to do etc.”

  “Alexander, that must be your decision. I am in contact with them, but as you know my work takes me abroad a great deal and thus I see them only a few times a year. I try to get down for a week or so in the summer and perhaps a long weekend over Easter. This conversation is about your situation - or should I say problem - not mine.” Frances had always been direct with her little brother.

  “No offence, Sis, but sometimes this job of yours is bloody convenient - in terms of not having to deal with family shit, I mean.” Alexander instantly regretted what he had said, but it was now out there and he could not pull it back.

  “Oh yes, please forgive my choice of career, I wanted to make a difference to the never-ending mass of human suffering that fills our television screens - and whilst most people are too busy, except to perhaps fill in a standing order form and donate £50 a month to ease their conscience, I choose to get off my arse and do something about it. And perhaps some people out there are alive tonight, on Christmas Eve, because I helped see that they were fed two weeks ago! And I do that for the sole reason that it gets me out of having to visit my parents in Devon! Sometimes, Alexander, you are one hell of a tosser, you know!”