A Christmas That Never Came

Chapter: An Unexpected Coda

After the previous chapter, I believed my story had reached its end. I felt I had said what I needed to say and that the past, however imperfect, had been honestly recorded.
 Yet events over the following weeks unsettled me deeply, and I have found that I cannot move forward without acknowledging what occurred and how it affected me.

It began around two years ago, at Christmas time. Keren and I were invited by Carolyn and Alex to a Christmas gathering at their restaurant. The invitation included staff and a small number of selected customers, and was described as an informal occasion for drinks and savouries.

At first, everything appeared to be going well. People were talking easily, enjoying one another’s company, and the atmosphere felt relaxed. Karen and I each had only one drink, as I was driving. After a couple of hours, as the gathering began to wind down, Alex stood up from where he had been sitting with a customer and approached me.

Without warning, he began verbally abusing me. In front of customers and staff, he told me that I was no longer welcome and that I should leave, along with several other remarks that left me stunned. Chairs and tables were already being cleared away, and the evening was clearly ending.

Bianca was there, and I attempted to help her, unsure what else to do in the moment. Alex approached me again and said, “You are still here — go.” Carolyn had already left before any of this occurred. Karen and I left quietly, confused and shaken, particularly as some of the people present were friends.

The following day, while waiting for a doctor’s appointment, I received a long and hostile text message from Alex. In it, he accused me of dishonesty, selfishness, entitlement, laziness, and of being a burden. He acknowledged that he had been intoxicated the night before, but attempted to justify both his behaviour and the content of the message. There were also deeply personal and offensive remarks that were distressing to read.
 After that message, I heard nothing further from him.

On 15 December 2025, Phillip and his family arrived from Sweden to visit relatives in Australia and New Zealand. Carolyn and Alex collected them from the airport, as Carolyn had offered her car for their use during the visit. I had offered to help with transport but was told everything was already organised.

Phillip and his family were taken to Carolyn’s home, as their Airbnb was not available until later that afternoon. They were able to relax by the pool. While they were there, my grandson Kevin rang me, and we spoke briefly. As they were only about ten minutes away, I said to Karen that I would go over for a short time, check that everyone was settled, and give them a hug.

When I arrived, the family were by the pool and the gate was locked, so we spoke through the gate. Alex’s car was in the driveway. He came out briefly, spoke to Phillip, and returned inside without acknowledging me. Kevin assured me that transport and luggage arrangements were already in place. I stayed no more than ten minutes, said my goodbyes, and left. I did not enter the house, and there was no exchange of words between Alex and me.

As I drove home, I received another text message from Alex — even more abusive than the first. It accused me of crossing boundaries, hurting my daughter, and contained language that was cruel, degrading, and threatening. Once again, I did not respond.

By early January 2026, I remained deeply unsettled by what had occurred. These events cast a shadow over what should have been a joyful Christmas spent with Phillip and his family. I felt the need to record them, not to inflame the situation, but to be honest about my experience and the effect it had on me.

In the days that followed, I found myself replaying ordinary moments in my mind — money repaid, help offered but never requested, brief visits made with good intentions. None of it seemed extraordinary or harmful, and yet it had somehow been transformed into accusation. I began to question myself in ways I never had before.

What troubled me most, however, came later.

When I spoke to my eldest son about what had happened, his response was simple:
 “That’s Alex — that’s the way he is.”

I understood what he meant. I also understood that this explanation was offered as a way of closing the matter. What I could not understand was why it was expected to be enough.

It was not the hostility alone that caused the deepest hurt, but the quiet acceptance of it — the sense that the behaviour required no challenge, no examination, and no defence of the person on the receiving end. I was left feeling that the accusations, however unfounded, were easier to live with than the discomfort of addressing them.

Christmas 2025 was never really about where the days were spent or who hosted whom. It was about how difficult it became to feel included or at ease after what had occurred. Plans were left uncertain until the last moment, and although time together did eventually happen, the joy of it was diminished by what remained unresolved.

Karen and I did spend meaningful time with Phillip and his family toward the end of their visit. Having them in our home, sharing meals and conversation, meant a great deal to us. That time reminded me of what family can be at its best — warm, unguarded, and kind.

This chapter is not written in anger, but in sadness — and in the need to tell the truth as I experienced it. Some explanations may never come. What remains is the impact of being hurt, and of being asked, gently but firmly, to accept it as normal.
 With my son’s words in mind—“That’s the way he is”—I knew there was nothing more to explain, only something to accept. 

 For readers who wish to understand the tone of these exchanges more fully, the messages are available here: Message from Alex.