The seventh setting

For a moment, Hannah stood by her car at the end of the driveway, cold white flakes falling silently around her, reminding her of childhood, when Christmas had felt soft and light, frosted with the essence of secrets and mystery. At the top of the drive, an expensive looking Range Rover belonging to Peter, her brother-in-law, looked down at Hannah’s battered old Renault, which sat meekly close to the roadside, an appropriate distance away from the house.

Hannah curled her cold fingers around the handles of the bag of gifts, took a deep breath of snow filled air, and trod carefully up the driveway, towards her parent’s front door with its somewhat foreboding ornate holly wreath.

The cold of the door knocker shot through Hannah’s hand as she heard its metallic call descending into the hallway beyond. Hannah waited, blowing into her hands, and turned to look out across the snow-laden suburbia that she found herself in, where she would, for that one day of the year, be part of the family.

“Hannah…” The warmth and aromas of home cooking escaped through the opened door as Hannah turned and saw her father, dressed in a shirt and tie, a perplexed expression across his face. He turned back into the house, calling down the hallway, “Doreen! Hannah is here…” he turned back, wringing his hands, and looked at his daughter in a manner that made Hannah feel at odds with herself, as though she’d gone to the wrong house, at the wrong time.

“Dad, good to see you,” Hannah edged forward, picking up the bag of gifts, “aren’t you going to let me in? It’s cold out here.” From inside the house she could hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, carols on the radio, and the warming smell of mulled wine filled her nostrils.

“I’ll, erm, I’ll let your mother know,” said her father as he disappeared down the hallway towards the kitchen, leaving the front door, neither open nor closed. Hannah pushed it gently and stepped inside, shaking off her coat and quickly removing her boots, knowing her mother’s wrath if she marked the carpet.

She was hanging her coat in the hall closet when she froze for a moment, her mother’s agitated voice ascending from the kitchen. “What do you mean, David? That’s not what I had planned,” then the kitchen door slammed closed and Hannah was left with only the sound of her own breath, blood pulsing in her ears, thudding, warming her from the cold in a far from homely manner. ‘No doubt mum’s getting all stressed about everything as usual’ she thought as she looked in the hall mirror and ruffled her unruly dark curls. She summoned her resilience, fortifying herself as she thought of her mother, a woman who insisted on perfection, her house, the matching cutlery, immaculate dinner service, her beloved ornaments and soft furnishings, everything had to be perfect, even her husband and especially her children.

The kitchen door swung open and Hannah turned, smiling for a moment as the distinctive frame of her mother, tall and dominating, hastened down the hallway towards her. “Hannah, well, this is a surprise.”

“Surprise, why?” Hannah’s smile melted away as she checked with herself. ‘Why would me being here be a surprise?’

Her mother flustered, looked back down the hall towards the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose, now that you’re here.”

“It’s Christmas day mum, why wouldn’t I be here? I always come at Christmas.” Hannah forced a small laugh and wondered if perhaps her mother was unwell, warmth had never been one of her qualities, but Hannah found this new degree of frostiness alarming. “Is there anything I can help you with, in the kitchen maybe?”

“Of course not. Your sister’s in the living room, why don’t you go and talk to her? We’ll have to set another place I suppose,” and with that Doreen turned on her heels and rushed back into the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind her.

Hannah stood motionless in the hallway, she looked in the mirror, her face pale against her hair’s dark spirals, she touched her cheek, ‘am I still here?’ she thought, ‘surely… at Christmas?’ Hannah picked up the bag of gifts and on silent feet, moved into the dining room, a large room overlooking the immaculate garden beyond. The fire was lit and the table exquisitely set with all manner of cutlery and the finest glass and china. Hannah set down her bag, thinking how her mother would have fussed until she was satisfied that everything was in place, all six place settings… ‘They really weren’t expecting me…’

Hannah’s younger sister, Sharon, was married to Peter, owner of the Range Rover and other symbols of success. They had two young children, Hugo and Claudia and the little family represented everything Doreen had ever wished for; a picture-perfect daughter with a detached house in the Cotswolds and two flawless grandchildren. She often boasted about Sharon and Peter’s accomplishments to anyone who would listen, leaving little doubt about which of her daughters fulfilled her dreams.

Hannah and Sharon had never been especially close, they’d done all the things that sisters should do but Sharon had always played the part of the younger sibling to her advantage, tugging at her parents, batting her blue eyes and flicking her sleek honeyed locks like a fairy-tale princess. Hannah, in contrast, had been the one who resisted her mother’s plans for perfection, challenging and charting her own independent, artistic and bohemian path, even when it meant going against family expectations.

Hannah imagined Sharon and her perfect family in their Christmas finery and took the stairs to the bathroom to tidy herself in preparation for the ensuing inspection. As she padded up the stairs she glanced at the family portraits, spaced precisely in intervals as she ascended. There was a silver framed picture of Sharon and Peter on their wedding day, then one from the same day of her parents with the happy couple, next were studio photographs of Hugo and Claudia in their smartest outfits, followed by a wedding anniversary picture of Doreen and David on a sun soaked tropical beach, then an old school photograph of Sharon, sleek hair and that sugar laden smile. There the pictures ended and Hannah, unsurprised, but a little disappointed at her absence from the homely gallery, used the bathroom and readied herself for her audience with Sharon.

Her father was moving awkwardly in small circles at the bottom of the stairs as Hannah descended, and she couldn’t help but notice how small he seemed, not so much in stature, but his entire demeanour, the loud and raucous father of her childhood, now somehow staid and reserved, as though part of his personality and vigour had been extracted and put away in a drawer somewhere.

“Hannah, your mother… she…”

“It’s okay dad, I know,” Hannah gave an empathetic smile.

Hannah’s father placed a hand lightly on his daughter's shoulder, the hand that had once been a source of strength and reassurance, emitted a chilling quality causing Hannah to shudder. His eyes met hers for less than a second, his hand recoiled and he turned back towards the kitchen, “I really should be helping your mother…” he said absently, and then he was gone again, leaving Hannah standing alone at the foot of the stairs.

“What’s wrong with Mum and Dad?” Hannah perched on the cold surface of the pale leather armchair. On the sofa opposite, sat her sister Sharon, enveloped in a body hugging red velvet dress, Hugo nestled up against her, slowly turning the pages of a picture book, while Claudia, hummed softly to herself, playing with her dolls on the floor.

“Wrong? Why should there be anything wrong?” Sharon looked up as her husband returned to the room.

“Nothing wrong here, Hannah,” Peter said, his tone easy. He lifted his son onto his knee and sat beside Sharon, his gaze locking onto Hannah’s for a second too long, “or at least there wasn’t…”

Peter’s words hung momentarily in the air, then Sharon cut in. “That’s an interesting outfit,” her eyes hovering over Hannah’s homemade print skirt and knitted jumper. “Peter bought me this for Christmas,” her hands smoothed over the red velvet, slow and deliberate, “isn’t it gorgeous?”

Peter nodded, his approval marked by a faint smirk as he slid his hand through Sharon’s honey-coloured hair.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I left your presents in the other room,” Hannah said abruptly, rising to retrieve the bag of small paintings and homemade jams she’d brought.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they can wait…” Sharon’s words were frosted, and she waved a hand dismissively. “We didn’t expect to see you, so I haven’t got you anything.”

“Why is that?” Hannah asked, holding her voice firm, riled by the chill in Sharon’s response. “I mean, it’s Christmas, for goodness’ sake. Why wouldn’t anyone be expecting to see me?”

Peter cleared his throat, the sound jarring. “I think maybe Doreen thought you’d have… other plans. You know, more your sort of thing. Isn’t that right, Sharon?”

Sharon didn’t answer immediately, her gaze drifting toward the window where snowflakes swirled, unsettled and unpredictable. “Sometimes,” she said at last, her voice distant, “things just don’t fit.”

Claudia got up from where she was playing with two dolls and carried one of them over to her father. “This doll is granny,” she said holding up a doll in a long blue dress, “she likes everything to be nice, and she doesn’t like scruffy things!” Claudia bounced the doll up and down on Peter’s knee.

“Who’s the other one?” asked Sharon.

Claudia looked at her mum, her lips tightly closed, then at Hannah, then at the floor, “the other one is Auntie Hannah,” she said, poking her foot at the other doll who was clumsily half dressed in a pair of brown trousers.

A heavy silence followed. Hannah opened her mouth to respond, her throat dry, but the moment was broken by her father’s appearance in the doorway.

“Dinner is served,” he said, “come on children.” Claudia dropped the doll in the blue dress to the floor, its painted face landing upward with an unblinking stare, and Hugo slid down from Peter's knee, both of them rushing towards their grandfather. As he took both of them by the hand, he shot a glance at Hannah with a trace of something she couldn’t place - pity perhaps, or a warning. “I think your mother has managed to set another place at the table,” he said plainly.

The family group made their way out of the living room, leaving Hannah alone, surrounded by the trappings of Christmas, the lavishly decorated tree, the little dishes of sweets and chocolates, the children’s toys that they’d unwrapped earlier that day, all so perfect, ‘but why does this all feel so wrong?’ Hannah looked outside at the falling snow as it quietly covered the world beyond, creating an idyllic winter scene that felt suddenly out of place. From the other room she could hear the excited chattering in anticipation of the hearty meal they were about to enjoy. Then the voice of her mother, piercing and shrill. “I’ve forgotten the crackers! Isn’t granny silly! Peter, would you be a dear and get them? They’re in the spare bedroom on top of the drawers.”

“It’s okay mum,” Hannah put her head around the dining room door, “I can do that.”

“Oh, you’re still here. Well you know where the room is I suppose.”

The spare room had been Hannah’s bedroom until she’d left home for art college when she was a little over sixteen. The small room at the back of the house had been redecorated over twenty years ago, not long after she’d left, and nothing remained to show that the young Hannah had ever listened to her records, read books or filled her sketchbooks there. It had been years since she’d been in the room, and standing at the window, Hannah recalled the details of the view, the slightly crooked lamppost across the street, the telegraph wires where birds would gather in the evenings, the silver birch in the garden opposite, the only things that still remained from the days when this room had been hers. Now it was filled with ornaments that Doreen had no care for, old books, boxes of papers, pictures that had fallen out of favour.

The box of six luxury Christmas crackers lay on top of the chest of drawers, and Hannah was about to take them downstairs when she recognised a stack of photo albums on a shelf, immediately drawn to them, recalling the images they contained like a imprint on her mind, so often had she looked through them as a teenager. She reached for a red album with gold edging and opened it, finding the first photograph just as she remembered it, her grandparents, smiling, raising a glass during a family gathering. Now both of them were gone and Hannah touched the image gently, remembering the love and warmth she’d always felt when she was with them. She anticipated the next photograph as she turned the leaves of the album, a day trip to a castle on the coast, it had been a hot day, she and Sharon had played on the beech, they’d had their photograph taken in front of the castle gates, there was Sharon in her pink t-shirt and shorts, but there was no Hannah, just an outline where a small pair of scissors had deftly removed her entirely. ‘Maybe it’s been used for a locket or something’ Hannah’s hand trembled slightly as she flipped over to the next photograph, her and Sharon dressed for the school disco, except the image had been cut away at one side, so all that remained was Sharon in her sparkly outfit. ‘No, this can’t be right,’ Hannah flicked the pages, revealing wretched, manipulated versions of what once had been, altered, cut or torn. She turned the pages, more and more twisted and altered images, each a wrench in her gut, a blade in her side. Gasping, she moved desperately to the end of the album, to the snapshot of her and her father, sitting in the garden, Hannah on his knee, she let out a small cry as she turned to the page, the face that had once been hers, now gone, and looking out at her from the glossy image of that cherished day, was the smiling visage of Sharon, fixed into the space in the picture where Hannah had once belonged.

“What on earth are you doing up here? Everyone’s waiting!” Hannah turned to see her mother, dark and imposing in the doorway, she gasped as she saw the photograph album in Hannah’s quivering hands.

“Mum,” Hannah held back a sob, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s too late for that.,” Doreen glared at her daughter, “you’ve had long enough to make something of yourself. Still living in that grotty little flat, no proper job to speak of. Surely you must know it’s not good enough! Give that to me, you’ve no business going through things that don’t concern you.”

“Don’t concern me?! How?” Hannah fought to keep down the bile that was rising in her stomach, determined to get answers from her mother, determined not to flee. “How can this not concern me? I’m your daughter for god’s sake!”

Doreen shot across the room, snatched the album and put it back with the others, she then picked up the box of Christmas crackers, clutching them to her chest. “Of course, I only bought six, now get back downstairs, the food will be getting cold. I might have known it would all turn out like this if you were here.” And she moved to one side like a guard at a door, waiting for Hannah to leave the room.

In the hallway, outside the dining room, Hannah stood, numb and empty. In the room beyond she could hear the children chattering and Peter telling her father about his latest business plans. Then Claudia’s voice, “Mummy, has Auntie Hannah gone yet?”

Doreen bristled past carrying the crackers into the room. “Come on children, time to pull the crackers,” and then the door closed with a slam leaving Hannah motionless and alone. She stared into the hall mirror, her eyes puffy and swollen with confused tears, her throat so tight that even if she were able to find any words, they could not have left her mouth. The world she’d known for the last forty years suddenly collapsed in on itself, shattering into hundreds of pieces, the memories she’d held on to, the family that she’d striven to be a part of, the constant disappointment in her mother’s eyes. And then something deep inside Hannah moved, suddenly jolting and clicking into place, like a final piece of a jigsaw that had been missing for eternity, ‘I don’t have to do this any more.’ 

The sounds of laughter echoed from behind the dining room door as Hannah pulled on her coat and boots. She took a moment to remember her childhood home, moving through the living room and then into the kitchen where she noticed her bag of gifts stuffed down the side of the pedal bin. There was nothing here that she needed to see any more and she quietly opened the front door and stepped out into the cold afternoon. The air felt clean and new as she stood on the doorstep, looking out across the twinkling houses, and for the first time in a long time, the feelings that had dominated her life for so long, lifted and dissipated like flakes into the snow filled air.

As Hannah drove away in her little car, the snow continued to fall, thickly coating the driveway of her parent’s house, erasing the footprints that her boots had made, as though she had never been there at all.