Coming Home For The Holidays

Author Fiona Gibson was excited for her sons to return home from uni for Christmas, but soon realised things weren’t what they used to be...

- Fiona Gibson

The fridge was crammed with smoked salmon and exotic cheeses. Our sons’ beds were made up with plump pillows and the best linen, and I’d even bought new bedside lamps. Hours were spent trawling for films we’d enjoy watching together, and I dug out board games we could all play. Our twin sons, who had left for university that year, were coming home for the holidays. My husband Jimmy and I could hardly wait.

They rolled into our flat a little later than expected. As excited as if George Clooney had dropped by, I fussed around them, firing questions and festooning them with drinks and snacks. I shared our thrilling news about joining a gym and changing our brand of tea, and demonstrated our new kitchen bin that opened when you waved your hand over it. They listened politely and gave us a speedy summary – disappointingly short on detail – of recent events in their respective student flats. Then came the announcement: “We’re going out.”

“Out?” I gasped. “But where to?” And what about us? I wanted to add as they dashed off to meet friends.

Like a sullen teenager, I prowled around our flat, crunching moodily on chocolate Brazil nuts, unable to settle.

“They’re still not back,” I said to Jimmy, many hours later at 3am. Well, of course they weren’t. They were out having fun with friends they’d grown up with. At 5.30am, I was faintly aware of our sons shuffling in, banging doors, making toast.

An almost empty nest