The Second Chance Holiday Club by Kate Galley

Author:Kate Galley [Galley, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781804542217
Publisher: Head of Zeus

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Cynthia taps a fork against the side of her glass and the sound rings out across the dining room, cutting through the chatter.

‘I want to thank everyone for all they’ve done today,’ she says as she surveys the room.

Her eyes sweep the guests as if checking to see she has everyone’s attention. She’s queen of her castle, with a paper crown and an audience, completely in her element. I realise my thoughts are a little churlish, but I want to say to her, It was just Christmas dinner, you know.

‘Thank you to the parents,’ she continues. ‘Not only for coming to join us today, but also for raising such fine and hard-working people. They’re a credit to you.’

I look across at where Liam, his mum, and Fiona and Hayley’s parents are sitting. Cynthia’s speech is over the top as far as I’m concerned, but they all seem to be lapping up the praise. To be thanked for being a good parent – what a thing. Reaching for my glass, I find it empty and the bottle is too far away, so I press my hands into my lap and wait for Cynthia to finish.

The parents all seem content in each other’s company; perhaps they’re friends. I suppose this isn’t such a big island, after all. Liam’s mum is petite with wispy blonde hair, and I register that her son must get his height and thick dark curls from his father. I watch them for a moment, how easy they are with each other, how they smile and share conspiratorial looks. It makes my heart hurt.

Cynthia finally finishes speaking and there’s a short round of applause.

‘The Queen’s Speech!’ calls Alan from his seat next to Joy, who elbows him in the arm.

‘I know Cynthia goes on a bit, but she’s hardly up to Her Majesty’s standard.’

This is from Barry, who’s the only one who chuckles at his own joke, and even Brenda looks a bit taken aback. Personally, I think it’s tame for him.

‘No, I mean it’s nearly three. We should listen to the Queen’s Speech,’ Alan says. ‘Let’s go into the bar and put the telly on.’

People are starting to move now and I decide to gather plates, begin to clear up. I didn’t do as much as the others to get this meal to the table and the idea of hiding in the kitchen with the washing-up appeals. I have no wish to hear any more speeches today. As they all move off with their paper crowns askew, weave their way towards the bar, I collect the plates either side of me and pick up a half-finished bottle of wine. No one seems to notice.

The kitchen is a disaster and there’s a tiny moment where I contemplate leaving it and swapping my hiding place for my bedroom. Guilt stops me, though – and the idea of being alone and idle with my thoughts. They’re a whisker away from spiralling out of control. I turn on the radio that sits on the windowsill and find some classic Christmas music.

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