A Holiday Without a Schedule
The extractor hood was humming in the kitchen as Andrew re-read the family group chat message for what felt like the third time.
Are you all set? Were absolutely buried in salads already, as usual, typed his wifes cousin, tagging on a sweaty-smile emoji.
He set his phone down beside the chopping board, which bore a lone carrot. That was all he was prepared to peel tonight.
More slicing reports coming in? Helen asked, poking her head in with a clothespin between her teeth. Shed been hanging towels to dry by the radiator, wanting everything fresh for the holiday.
Andrew nodded, prodding the phone screen: Theyve made three massive bowls of salad and stuffed a pike. Theres photographic evidence.
Helen popped out the peg to glance at the chat, chuckled, Each to their own bit of fun.
She sounded unbothered, yet Andrew recognised that tell-tale tension in her voice. Not surprising, really. December 28th, just gone 7pm, and their dining table wasnt buried under lists of menus, shopping plans and maps of who to pick up from where.
Last year, come this date, theyd been wrestling a trolley at Tesco, debating an extra Swiss roll and bickering over whether Andrew had ordered the cab for Auntie Margaret. The year before blurred into a slog of endless queuing, toasts, and washing up until the small hours. Each time Helen swore next year would be differentbut somehow, it never was.
This December, theyd had The Talk in the car, parked outside their block of flats. Andrew remembered the cold, their breath clouding the windscreen, and the soft snoring of their dog, exhausted after a weekend at the allotment.
I cant do it again, Helen said, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. Im just so tired of spending the whole holiday in the kitchen.
Hed watched the dim fairy lights in the lobby window. He felt it toothe pressure, the compulsory phone calls, the guests who came just for a quick one and stayed until sunrise, and above all, always being the hosts of everyone elses big night.
Lets just not, he replied. Lets skip the marathon this year.
At first, they tiptoed around the idea. Maybe cut the guest list. Maybe order some food in. Then Helen finally exhaled, What if we skip it entirely? No one but Rosie, obviously. And my folks, for just the day, no turning it into a sleepover.
He was more surprised by the relief in her tone than the idea itself.
Orno one, he said. Well drop their presents over on the 31st, stay a couple hours, and celebrate here, just us.
Helen had paused long, then nodded. It felt like a game at the time.
Now, three days before New Year, it was becoming real.
Mum, Dad, Rosies voice floated in from the halltheir twenty-year-old daughter. Cant find my boots.
Probably under the side table, Andrew called back. You chucked them there last night.
Rosie popped into the kitchen, wearing one woolly sock and fiddling with her phone.
Sorted! she grinned. Hang onis no one coming round for New Year? I told my friend I couldnt go to hers since were having a family do.
We are, Helen smiled. Just with a lot less chaos.
So, what, its just me and you two? Rosie squinted at her parents. Youre not going to make me watch Jools Annual Hootenanny, are you?
Were not watching it either, Andrew replied. The plan is: do nothing at all. Its a packed itinerary.
Rosie snorted, threw on her coat and scarf, and, heading out, asked, Does Gran know youre not inviting anyone?
She knows, Helen sighed. Granddad too. Said it was odd, but theyll cope.
What about Aunt Susan? Rosie pressed.
Aunt Susans still texting salad updates, Andrew reported gloomily.
Rosie snorted, waved and dashed off, slamming the door. The dog, whod been snoozing on the doormat, lifted his head, let out a sigh and settled back down.
So, Andrew said, returning to his carrot. Were actually doing this.
Helen didnt answer straight away. She went to the window, pulled back the curtain. Outside, strings of lanterns hung, children sledded off mounds of snow while bundled-up parents shuffled their feet.
Were really doing this, she whispered. Im a bit scared, if Im honest.
December 31st did not begin with an alarm. Andrew woke up in full daylight, more shocked by the peace than anything. Past years had always started with a banging pan, bubbling stock, someone ringing up asking, What time should we come?
Today, just the ticking clock in the kitchen. Rosies door was shut tight. Helen snuggled under the duvet beside him.
He stretched, glanced at his phone. A handful of work emails, no rush. Yesterday, colleagues all wished each other at least a proper restthough everyone planned to dodge reports right up till midnight.
Andrew padded to the kitchen, tugged on his dressing gown. Coffee. Toast. Cheese. Yesterday, Helens handwritten menu note went up on the fridge under a seaside magnet: Potato salad, herring, something simple for mains. Thats it.
Andrew boiled eggs, diced them, chopped ham and pickles. All this was done quicker than theyd have written the usual shopping list.
When he dumped everything into a mixing bowl, he paused. The bowl looked nearly bare compared to their usual industrial-size batchthey used to fill it for an army, so theres plenty and leftovers. Now plenty meant just the three of them.
He caught himself reaching for another pack of ham and forced himself to stop.
No, he said aloud. Its enough.
For who? Helen mumbled, drifting in with sleep-mussed hair and a dressing gown.
For us. Im resisting the urge to stockpile potato salad for regiment.
She peered in the bowl, frowned. Looks a bit sparse.
Theres three of us, he reminded.
I know, but She stirred the bowls edge, like checking its depth. What if someone pops round?
We agreedno drop-ins.
She shrugged, poured herself coffee, leaning back against the table.
You know,” she confessed, “I lay awake thinking Mum will absolutely ring this morning and say theyre coming over. And I wont manage to say no.
Shell ring, Andrew agreed. Then youll say were seeing them tomorrow. Just as planned.
Helen took a sip, sighed. Alright. Well see.
By lunchtime, they packed the carpresents, and a pie Helen had baked just in case. The trip to her parents was forty minutes, Andrew joked about the traffic, Rosie flicked through her social feed, occasionally showing them memes about holiday mania.
Helen, against her own assurances, instantly joined her mum in the kitchen. Andrew clinked shot glasses with his father-in-law, talked politics and petrol prices. Helens mum grumbled everything was now all wrong, shot pointed glances at the clock as Helen reminded them they had to head off soon.
So youre really doing itjust the three of you at home? her mum asked as they bundled into coats. And Susan, with her kids?
Susans having her own bash, Helen zipped her scarf. Were mixing it up.
Mixing it up, mixing it up, her mum muttered. We always used to get together, it was fun.
Helen could feel that familiar wave of guilt rise. She very nearly blurted, Fine, come to ours tonight, but Andrew, seeming to sense it, laid a hand on her shoulder.
Well see you tomorrow, he said. Youll get another chance for a proper visit. Tonight, were just staying in.
Her mum looked at them both, then sighed. Your call. Just dont moan later that we left you out.
Back in the car, Helen kept silent. Rosie traded group messages, giggling at her friends voice notes.
Mum, she put her phone away. Theyre arguing about whether its better at home or out clubbing. One says familys special, the other reckons you should party hard while youre young. Where do you stand?
I think its special not to pass out face-first in a salad from exhaustion, Helen grumbled.
Andrew added, Next year, you go wherever you fancywell cope.
Rosie sniffed. Well see. This year, Im here with you two.
By eight, the flat was strangely tranquil and spacious. Dinner set for three, a modest salad in its bowl, herring, roast chicken, and a bottle of fizz. Twinkle lights pulsed, not half as brightly as Helens parents living room where everyone usually piled in.
A bit empty, Helen admitted, fussing with the napkins.
Were just used to the racket, Andrew replied.
Rosie stepped out in jeans and a jumperno tinsel dress Helen used to buy ahead of time.
So, whats the dress code? she twirled. Thought youd be strict.
Whatever feels comfy, Andrew grinned.
Blimey, Rosie teased. Youre suspiciously mellow.
They sat down. The telly was on, but not blaring its usual line-up of endless variety acts. Andrew pulled up a classic film he and Helen loved at uni.
No shouty TV tonight, okay? he suggested. How about something calm.
What about the countdown? Rosie asked.
Well keep the chimes, Helen smiled. Im not ready for total anarchy.
They ate, chatted. Rosie filled them in about her lecturers holiday assignmentthink about your futurewhich had started endless debates in her group chat. Helen noticed she wasnt jumpy, leaping up every minute to warm dishes or lay something out. Andrew found it was actually comfortable sitting without squeezing aside for yet another guest.
Nine oclock: Susans call.
So, howre you coping? she asked. Were packed here, kids are manic, the fridge is bursting. Its brilliant fun. Shame youre missing it.
Helen, phone to her ear, glanced at their compact dinner, Rosie showing her dad a silly video at that moment, feeling a twinge of guilt.
Were fine, Helen replied. Just trying a different vibe.
Yeah, heard about that, Susans voice was prickly. Well. Happy New Year.
After, Helen returned to the table but wasnt so chattythe shame youre missing it stuck in her mind.
All OK? Andrew asked, as Rosie darted to the kitchen.
Im fine, Helen replied too quickly. Just odd.
At half eleven, Helens phone buzzed again. The family grouptables groaning with food, kids sparkling in tinsel, captions like such a pity you didnt come, and not the same without you. Someone sent a photo of her and Andrew from years backbehind all the relatives, looking tired, forced smiles.
Helen stared at it and suddenly welled up. Tight in the chest, her eyes prickling.
Ive ruined everything, she blurted. Theyre all together, and were stuck here.
Were together too, Andrew said softly.
But its not the same, she snapped, standing so quickly her chair scraped. Look at themtheyre having a proper knees-up. Were just like no one asked us.
They did, Andrew reminded. We chose not to go.
Maybe we chose wrong, Helen said anxiously. Maybe we should have just done the usual. If I text now, maybemaybe theyll say come over. Its not too late.
Mum? Rosie returned with juice, pausing in the doorway, alarmed.
Nothing, Helen said, but her voice cracked. Silly, really.
She grabbed her phone, started typingWe can still pop in, if its not too late Her hands were shaking.
Andrew watched, knowing they were on a knife-edge: tomorrow, waking up exhausted again, having done the holiday all over for someone else.
Helen, he stood up, gently taking her wrist, Give it a moment.
Let me, she pleaded, not meeting his eyes. I just need to ask. Maybe theyre waiting.
They wait every year, Andrew replied. Question iswhat are we waiting for?
Rosie stood, clutching her juice carton, silent. Her confusion turned to resolve.
Mum, she stepped closer. Honestly, Im glad were home. I wasnt sure how to say it without upsetting Gran, but those family marathons wear me out. Every year, I sit at the long table wishing I could leave.
Helen looked at her, startled.
Seriously? she asked.
Yup, Rosie shrugged. Love you allbut when its forced, I just want to bolt. Tonight it feels peaceful.
Helen set the phone down. The half-written message flickered on screen.
Im just worried well become separate, she said. No onell have us back.
We wont be outsiders, Andrew said. Were just not signed up everywhere. Homes allowed, too.
He was calm, but inside he felt that familiar worryfalling off the family script, becoming other. But hed already come to terms with it.
Alright then, Andrew proposed, Tonight, its as planned. Tomorrow, if we fancy, well visit someone. Because we feel like itnot because its must-do.
Rosie nodded, And next time, well decide first what we want, not just follow the script.
Helen rubbed her face, breathed in deep.
Okay, she agreed. Its just us tonight.
She deleted the message, flipped the phone face down.
I still feel guilty, she admitted. Like weve abandoned someone.
One night isnt going to undo years of habit, Andrew answered. Weve spent ages following the old rules.
Can I say something cheeky? Rosie offered. Maybe youve both been dragging everyone along, but they were dragging you too. Youve had the right to say enough for years.
Helen chuckled through her sniffles, Thanks for stating the obvious.
Anytime, Rosie replied, mock-serious.
They returned to the table. Midnight wasnt far. Television cycled soft music; no one really listened.
Lets play a game, Andrew suggested. Stop clock-watching.
Cards? Rosie perked up.
Done.
They laid out the deck, bickered over rules, laughed as Rosie tried (and failed) to cheat. Helen noticed her laughter felt realnot polite, not performed for a crowd.
They did tune in for Big Ben. As the chimes rang out, they clinked glasses and wished each other health and rest. That last wish surprised them, but it fit.
I want you two to learn to actually relax this year, Rosie said, raising her glass of juice. Me included.
Andrew said, Agreed.
Helen smiled, Its worth a go.
The first days of holiday passed slowly. They really did sleep lateten, eleven sometimes. Andrew finally read a book hed bought months ago, sprawled on the sofa in joggers. Helen sorted old photos on her laptopnot for an urgent holiday post but simply because.
Rosie alternated between popping out with mates and staying inwatching series, sketching on her tablet. Sometimes the three of them wandered to the park, watching kids tumble down iced slopes, while grown-ups warmed themselves with coffee-to-go.
One afternoon Andrew realised he was simply bored. Not workplace bored, but adrift: too quiet, not enough to do.
He looked out the window, watched teens set off daytime fireworks on the green. A flutter of anxiety: was he wasting precious time?
Helen, he called, Want to go somewhere? Shopping centre, a film? Were just sort of stuck here.
Helen glanced up.
Dont want to go shopping, she replied. Its a mob out there. Id see a film, but not today. Ive just got comfy doing nothing, for once.
Doing nothing Andrew echoed. But what if we dont do anything useful all break?
Whats useful? Helen teased.
Well, he scratched his head, Sort out the storage, visit my folks, call your aunt, start that bathroom DIY
DIY over holidays is wild! she snorted. We will see your parentsIm not hiding from people. I just want a break from running in circles.
Andrew felt a rush of irritation.
I just cant sit still, he admitted. Feels lazy.
You work flat out all year, Helen soothed. Youre allowed a lazy week.
Easy for you to say, he grumbled and retreated to the kitchen.
He compulsively organised plastic bags by size. After five pointless minutes, he laughed at himself, though the restlessness lingered.
That evening, scrolling social media, Andrew frowned. Friends posted ski-trip pics, shots from Mallorca, boozy nights at spa hotels. Every caption: Active holidays only! No couch potato here!
Andrew found he was peevishnot just with himself, but at this urge to always compare.
Whats up? Rosie peered over his shoulder.
He showed her a couple of posts, groaning, Lookeveryones out living while we’re just
Were living too, Rosie shrugged. Differently.
She paused. Want me to teach you not to look at stuff thatll only make you feel bad?
He smiled, Youre coaching me like an old man.
Well, you two taught me not to drink coffee after six, or Id never sleep, she replied. Flicking through his feed, she declared, Here, someones hiking in Walessure, but they probably caught three trains to get there. Spaits boiling. Youre here, at home, in joggers, with nowhere to rush. Thats decent.
You say it like an achievement, Andrew teased.
It is, for you lot, Rosie said earnestly. You dont know how to rest.
He was going to protestbut had nothing.
The next day involved a row. A little one, but sharp. Andrew watched telly all morning, Helen kept pottering about. By midday, she snapped.
Youll get square eyes.
Youre shuffling bits around all day. Is that productive?
At least Im doing something.
Im doing something toorelaxing.
Thats not restful; its hiding.
He paused his programme, looked at her.
Is sorting our flat not hiding? he asked. You cant just sityou go hunting for next job straight away.
They glared across the room, each recognising their own anxieties in the other.
Tell you what, Helen slumped. Half a day, you binge whatever you want; half a day, I promise not to tidy. And in that time, zero complaints.
Deal, Andrew nodded. And once a day, something together. Doesnt matter what.
Walk, Helen suggested. Or a film.
Board game, Rosie called inthey hadnt realised shed overheard. I vote for games.
Thus, their first proper holiday rule. It didnt kill their quirks, but it gave them boundaries. Andrew binged TV less guiltily, Helen sometimes flopped beside him, hands empty, just watching.
They visited Andrews parents in a couple of days. The house was busy but quieter than before; his folks seemed older, guests fewer. They talked, ate pie, discussed the weather and ailments.
You two seem awfully chilled this year, Andrew’s father remarked over tea. Used to be your schedule was stacked.
We fancied some breathing room, Andrew explained.
About time! his mother chimed in unexpectedly. Somebodys always got to hold the fort. Rest, love. Properly.
He was shockednot the scolding he expected, but approval. In the car, he told Helen.
Turns out not everyone thinks weve betrayed family tradition.
Maybe its me that worries, Helen admitted. Years and years on autopilotstepping off is hard.
We dont have to leap, Andrew said. Step by step.
She nodded.
The rest of the holiday passed like thatstep by step. One day, just home, books, easy cooking. Another, a city adventuretraipsing round Oxford Street, marvelling at the lights, ducking into a snug café where nobody needed hosting or ferrying.
You know, Helen said as they watched the crowds from the window, nursing hot chocolate, I like not having the day mapped out. I wake up wondering not what must I do? but what do I fancy?
So, what do you fancy? Andrew asked.
Today? She pondered. Nothing much. Just walking with you.
He smiled. I want not to berate myself when nothing amazing is happening.
Thats tricky, she agreed.
We can practise, he suggested.
They watched the passers-byshoppers, photographers by the big tree, tired toddlers tottering after parents. Everyone had their own version of celebration.
On the last morning of the break, cold and clear, Rosie went off to see a friend, promising to be back by dinner. The flat was unusually, wonderfully quiet.
Want to walk? Andrew asked. No dog, no one elsejust us.
Id love that, Helen replied.
They bundled up, wandered to the park. The snow crunched, cold stung their cheeks. The crowds had thinned; a few skaters, a bundled parent, a pram.
They walked, talking little. The silence felt comfortable. Helens mind flitted to Mondayemails, calls, requests for favours. But there was, at last, a strange calm.
You know, Helen said, pausing at a bench, I thought missing a big party would break something inside me. That I wouldnt be a proper daughter or hostess anymore.
So? Hows it feel? Andrew asked.
Nothing broke, she grinned. Turns out you can be fine without it.
I thought that if I wasnt always useful, Id be kind of surplus, Andrew confessed. But actually, you can just sit on a sofa and matter. Even if only to you and Rosie.
Especially to Rosie, Helen nodded. She sees everything.
They walked a bit more, then rested on a bench. Andrew slid off a glove, took her hand.
Lets agree, he said. Next year, we wont automatically invite everyone. Well decide what we want firstthen see what fits.
Deal, said Helen. And if I lose the plot, start mass-texting the family to come, you stop me.
If I book us into every event in town, you stop me.
Im in.
They sat quietly, then headed home. The stairwell smelt of pine and clementinessomeones music drifted out, soft.
At home, Andrew put the kettle on, fetched biscuits. Helen lit a candle on the sill, the kind made for no reason except a bit of wintry comfort.
You think well always do this? she asked, pouring tea. No more sprints?
Who knows? Andrew said honestly. Maybe some year, well want the crowd again. But if so, itll be our callnot a duty.
She nodded, still a tiny bit anxious, but now the feeling was bearable.
In the evening, Rosie came backnose pink, grinning.
At my mates, her folks went off to a spa, she said, toeing off her boots. They left her a note: Were off for a break. Youre grown up, youll cope. She was upset at first, but then said it was actually pretty cool.
There you go, Andrew said. Everyones learning.
Im learning too, Rosie chimed in. Turns out I like it when youre not franticjust at home. Even if you bicker over telly and the charity-shop bags.
Helen laughed.
Well try to do more just home, she promised.
Three of them snuggled up on the sofa, started Rosies choice of film. Tea went cold on the table, biscuit crumbs everywhere. Fireworks popped outside but their gentle laughter wasnt drowned out.
The holiday theyd worried about missing turned out not to depend on the noise, or the crowd, or the lists. It was right therethree people, letting themselves rest together, without proving to anyone how things should be.
And that was perfectly enough.
