Chapter 7: Attic
The upstairs storage space in Malcolm's childhood home could hardly be called more than a dusty old closet. It was filled with memories of decades long passed. Big skirts, high hair, cradles and high chairs. His parents bought this house when they were first married. His mother's beautiful shock of red hair filled pictures of the two renovating an old shack into something liveable. Something for just them and their future children.
These are the things Malcolm recalled when he spoke on the phone with their new real estate agent. The woman assured him that they were in the right hands and that she'd have a list of places complied the very next day. Malcolm still continued to scroll through properties on his work computer, ignoring the growing pile of paperwork resting on his desk.
"Aren't you supposed to be leaving soon?" Sam called to him from the open door to his office. She held a cup of steaming tea between her chilly hands.
"Aren't you supposed to have already left?" He glanced at clock on the corner of his computer screen. "I said you could leave at two."
"You said that we would both be leaving at two this afternoon." She stepped further into the room and revealed a rolling suitcase that she had hidden behind her legs. "Encase you forgot, we both have trains to catch, and significant others that are waiting for our arrival."
Just the idea of Clara waiting for him at home was enough to get Malcolm out of his chair and out the door. Sam rolled her eyes as she watched his retreating form walking towards the stairs. His computer was still on, his desk in disarray, and the office door left wide open. With a shake of her head, Sam walked over to the desk and started cleaning up the disorganized pile of papers.
Good thing she wasn't leaving until tomorrow.
Rainy Glasgow hadn't been Clara's first choice for her and Malcolm's week-long getaway. But when Malcolm had been pushed into forced vacation time she let him pick their destination. She attempted not to grumble too much, as she was just thankful that they were getting time off together for the first time.
When Malcolm had first brought up the idea of visiting his family, Clara had been over the moon with the idea. Despite the strides they had made in their relationship, and the relatively big moves they were planning to make soon, meeting Malcolm's mother and siblings was a big step. But now that their departure was imminent, the familiar fluttering of nerves was starting up in her stomach.
"There's nothing to be worried about, love," Malcolm whispered in her ear while they waited for the train to arrive. Stuffed suitcases sat at their feet, over flowing (in Clara's case) with clothes for the week and presents for Malcolm's nieces and nephews.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Malc," she growled lowly. Malcolm looked pointedly down at the bottle she was holding. There were small torn pieces of the label on the floor by her feet. "I'm not worried about anything."
"Do I need to call the water company and ask what they did to you then?" he took the bottle from her hands and pretended to look for the customer service number. "Always the smallest font on these damn things. Don't know—"
"Would you put the fucking bottle down?" Clara rolled her eyes but didn't make a move otherwise. "I don't want them to hate me. I don't exactly have the best track record with mother figures."
The sudden gloom that came over her expression was unmistakable, and Malcolm felt the urge to engulf her in his arms. That feeling was always there in one shape or another, but this time as a need to protect rather than consume. Clara's eyes always grew misty when she thought of her parents; especially her mother.
"Don't forget my sister and brothers too." Malcolm finally said jokingly. He knew his response was probably a few seconds too late but trudged on anyway.
"Fuck off Malcolm." Her voice was low and even, but he felt an inner warmth at the smirk she was attempting to hide.
The smirk had gone just as quickly as it came though. Malcolm shifted in his seat, moving closer to Clara, and wrapped and arm around her shoulders. She moved too, nesting her head under his chin, and squeezing his knee was a steady hand.
"They already love you. Everything I've told them about you just makes them want to meet you more. There's nothing to be worried about, darling."
"At least they will like me more than Jill, right?"
"You could be the Prime Minister, and my Mum would still love you a great deal more than my brother's wife."
"I'm guessing your Mum hates the Prime Minister?"
"Not as much as she hates Jill."
It was less than six hours, and one car ride later that Clara also began loving the Prime Minister more than Malcolm's sister-in-law. The cup of tea that she'd accepted upon their arrival would have to be a lot stronger if she was going to make it through the night.
"Here," Malcolm's sister Connie sidled up next to Clara in the living room, handing her a much-needed wine glass. "I love my brother, but that woman is utterly horrible."
"Malcolm warned me several times before we came," Clara replied in solidarity. She knocked back the remainder of her tea, then deposited the cup on a nearby table. "Even with all the warning, I didn't want to assume…"
"That she'd be this awful?" Connie shook her head as they heard the woman in question's obnoxious laugh echo through the house for the umpteenth time. "My husband is not nearly as funny as her chortles would make it seem."
"What are you ladies talking about?" Andrew, Malcolm's youngest sibling, asked with a nervous glance towards where Jill was now standing. She appeared to be making her way slowly in their direction.
"Clara was just telling me about the job she's just interviewed for," Connie offered. "Education Department."
"Pulled you over to the dark side, has he?" Andrew laughed. "I suppose it will do the young ones some good to have someone on their side."
"God knows no one else at that department…"
"Oh, my goodness! I don't think we've even met!" the shrill voice cut through their conversation, interrupting Clara and her train of thought. "I'm Jill!"
"Um, I'm…"
"Oh my God, Con! Why didn't you tell me Malcolm was going to be here?" Jill interrupted again, her wine swished precariously in her glass as she moved her arms around. "I don't know if you remember what happened last Christmas between…"
"Malcolm wasn't here last Christmas, Jill." Connie rolled her eyes as though she'd gone through this more than one. Clara imagined that was probably the case.
"He totally was! I remember, because…"
"I don't believe we've met before! I'm Clara," the lightness in her tone didn't go unnoticed by the people beside her; they gave her eerily timed winks.
"Oh, Clara!" I didn't see you there. I was just reminding my sister here of an occurrence that took place between myself and Malcolm last Christmas."
"And I was just reminding you that Malcolm wasn't here last year." Connie almost growled her words and Andrew's shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh.
"If I'm not mistaken," Andrew started," weren't you and Malcolm away over the holidays, Clara?"
"Yes, in Greece," Clara played along even though she wasn't totally sure what was going on. "Have you been?"
