Alabaster Roses

[.1] "more than kin and less than kind."

                                                                [.1]
                                    “more than kin and less than kind"
                                                                         - Shakespeare; Hamlet 

THE CONGRATULATIONS BANNER hung over the head of Ambrose Larkin like a bloodied guillotine; each letter of the word an executioner and he the guilty perpetrator. From the moment he walked through the door of his mothers home and heard the voices of his loved ones drifting down the hall he'd wanted to leave, but it just so happened that his six month 'success' coincided with Christmas day - and unfortunately for Ambrose, he was the guest of honour. Tonight he wouldn't be able to fade into the background and slip out the door when no one was looking; this was the first time he'd seen any of his family in months and his mother, who had been pestering him with nightly phone calls, always mentioning how disappointed she would be if he didn't show up, seemed determined to make the most of his presence. 

From his seat at the head of the table, the one place he'd wanted to avoid, he couldn't escape the concerned glances that found him every time he so much as moved. Ambrose wondered what was going through their heads. He'd done his best to scrub up for this evening, but the red snowflake jumper his mother insisted he wore was so oversized it only made him look smaller than he already was. With the exception of his brother, not one other person had seen him since six months ago... and for some, it was even longer.  

"Ambros'!" A hand clapped his back, "it's been too long." Without looking, Ambrose knew who it was. No one else in his family dared touch him with so much force - they thought it would break him - but that was why Ambrose loved his uncle, he treated him like he was normal. 

"Uncle Oskar," said Ambrose standing and embracing the stoic old man. "I see mum got her hands on you as well." He looked down at the thick green reindeer jumper that was too short for his uncles extraordinary height. "We look ridiculous." 

"Ambros'," his uncle held him at arms length and grinned, all the crinkles around his eyes and mouth showing themselves. "After a weekend with your mother, your little bit of silence is appreciated." Ambrose wanted to kick himself, sometimes replying felt so natural that he forgot it went unheard. His uncle squeezed his shoulders gently, "thank you. I know this can't be easy." 

Ambrose gave a small smile. How could it be that the uncle he hadn't seen for over a year understood him better than his mother who was with him more than anyone? Just as Ambrose was about to sit back down there was a clatter of glasses from the hallway. With a bottle of champagne in one hand and champagne flutes laced through the fingers of the other, his brother Hamish made his entrance. There was an instant change of atmosphere; his aunt Ada, a tiny woman with a face full of hard lines and nothing in common with his mother except blood, and her husband John, a fat balding man with a similar standoffish personality as his wife, who had only given Ambrose the briefest of greetings, erupted into smiles. 

His mother and Oskar tried to hide how pleased they were that someone with a bit of life about him had arrived, but Ambrose could see the relief in all of their faces. Hamish, with all the prowess of an over glorified lion, set the glasses on the table and took the seat to the left of Ambrose. Neither said a word to each other as Hamish basked in the compliments the rest of the family threw at him regarding how 'well' he looked. No one had said that to Ambrose when he'd arrived. Apparently, he thought, feeling somewhat estranged, I don't qualify for what is considered 'well'. 

A few moments later Oskar took his seat opposite Hamish. The knees of all three Larkin men knocked under the tiny table. "Hamish," said Oskar leaning cross the table, "how are you? Und how is business? I always hear good things."