Foxblood: A Brush with the Moon

Chapter Eighteen (Part Two)

Sebastian came over to join us and handed out glasses of warm liquor.

I didn’t have time to reply to Beth. Voices in the hall diverted my attention. The family had arrived.

Connor’s parents were the first to enter, followed by Hemming pushing his mother in her chair. Cowering behind them, trying to remain inconspicuous, shuffled Tamar, dressed head-to-toe in what looked like her grandmother’s flowery nightdress.

“Um…I should warn you, Seb’s sister has a…genetic condition which may shock you. Please try not to make an issue of it,” I whispered rapidly into Beth’s ear, before the group rounded the sofas and came fully into view.

Upon glimpsing Tamar, Lara immediately choked on her wine, spraying everything within a two-foot radius with a spicy shower, and she quickly fled to the bathroom to recover.

I needn’t have worried about Beth, though. She kept her composure, and soon took quite a shine to Tamar, trying continuously to get her to join in the conversation. Alas, Beth’s only reward was an occasional smile, shrug, or nod of the head from the timid girl who was unused to company.

Hemming had parked Grandmother Lovell to the side of us, next to the fire and disappointingly within earshot. She seemed to relish in throwing disapproving comments into many of Beth’s girly conversations, inviting conflict. We heard all the old favourites from ‘beauty comes from within’ to ‘I never even kissed a boy until my wedding day’, but when she stared directly at my chest and commented that ‘not even the penny hookers down Cookstool Lane used to dress as tackily as we had tonight’, I couldn’t ignore her anymore, and I saw red.

So what if I were showing an inch of cleavage? I was dressed in a classy, plain black dress with long sleeves, the hem of which fell way below my knees and couldn’t possibly be mistaken for tacky. Who did she think she was?

“And of course, in my day there were none of these wild hairdos and unnatural colours you see around now. We made use of what we were blessed with, as nature intended,” she continued to babble, throwing sideways glances at my head.

“Yeah and that wig’s really natural,” I mumbled angrily into Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Sophie!” he chastised. “Cut her some slack. Christmas is one of the few times we can get her to venture out of her room,” he pleaded, holding my arm to prevent me from rising into confrontation. “She’s approaching her eighty-ninth birthday and can no longer walk or hear very well.” I opened my mouth to protest, but was silenced by a fingertip. “Yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with her tongue. However, if we ply her with enough booze and cross our fingers, she might nod off.”

I wasn’t too hopeful.

The elder family members had gathered over by the tree, and were clearly enjoying themselves. Wisps of cigar smoke spiralled up from their centre towards the ceiling, settling in a noxious haze over their heads. Laughter and loud, out-of-tune singing had obviously been fuelled by the now half-empty wine bowl and a freshly opened bottle of whisky. Hemming grabbed hold of his sister-in-law, a little too familiarly, and proceeded to twirl her around the room, almost colliding with a nearby armchair, to the amusement of the room, before pointing out the mistletoe and proceeding to lip-lock her into submission. Was I the only one to find the scene slightly unsavoury?