Wednesday

Christmas Day in our house follows a traditional pattern as I’m sure every household does. Our tradition is for me to get the biggest turkey we can fit in the oven started early. Cook it low and slow with the aim of sitting down to eat at around 1 or 2pm. I managed to keep that going even when Lesley’s dad stopped driving and we had to go and get him before lunch. I was still able to do it when we had Mum staying with us too.

I would’ve collected Mum on Christmas Eve at the latest so she would already be settled here on the day itself. Lesley’s dad would never stay over here. Once the bird was cooking Lesley would go and get him on her own or we’d all go together. Once back here he’d grudgingly have a glass of something sparkling and would want to start eating as soon as possible. As soon as the meal was over he’d start looking at his watch. We wouldn’t get a proper drink or our relaxing Christmas Day until we’d taken him back home.

In recent years, his day centre had organised a team of volunteers to cook an extra portion for lunch and take it round to the oldies in the village. He preferred to stay at home on his own and have that instead of coming to ours.

He’d been reminded that his Christmas lunch would be later than usual. Reminded several times.

“We don’t want a repeat of last year!”

“What do you mean?”

On the days that his day centre normally delivers a hot lunch it arrives at 12:15. On the dot. But he was told that Christmas Day would be different. It might not get to him until 2.

At 12:20 he was twitching. At 12:30 the bloke next door popped round to wish him a merry Christmas.

“Oh, it’s you! I thought you were my lunch delivery.”

“WHAT!!? You’ve got no lunch!?”

“No. I think they’ve forgotten me.”

Bloke Next Door is a busy-body. A village know-all. He would sort things out.

He phoned everyone he could think of. Everyone except anyone who knew what was going on.

Finally, he phoned Lesley to give her an earful.

“Why isn’t your dad with you? Why haven’t you organised anything for him!?”

“Did Dad tell you he didn’t want to come here?”

“No?”

“Did he tell you that his day centre have organised a volunteer to bring his lunch round?”

“No”

“Did he tell you his lunch isn’t due until 2?”

“No”

Goodness knows how many other people had their Christmas Day disrupted by him. I don’t suppose they got an apology either.

I’d been chatting with a cousin last night about trying to stick with our standard plan today. That plan went out the window straight away this morning.

“I haven’t started cooking yet. I thought we ought to check that he’s got himself up safely before I commit and put the roast in the oven.”

I’d normally start cooking at 7am. He didn’t emerge on camera until 9:30. By that stage The Dog was up and needed to be taken out. Once the day had started going off-script there was no stopping it. We didn’t sit down to eat until 8pm.

In the meantime, we checked on the webcam to see how he was during the day. He took an age to have breakfast and then sat in his armchair and promptly fell asleep. We saw his lunch arrive. We saw him at the dining table and then back in his armchair. Sound asleep again. He went to bed at 7pm.

The phrase of the day became…

“Can you zoom in a bit? I can’t tell if he’s still breathing!”

He was. Laboured and irregular. But he was still breathing.

Bloody hell.

Author’s Note

My Mum is in a nursing home in a small village in the Thames Valley. The photo is not of the home. I used an AI image generator to give the reader some idea of the home she’s in.

All, some or maybe even none (you’ll never know!) of the names have been changed to protect privacy and hide real identities. If you think you recognise someone then let me know and I’ll edit the post or remove it entirely