Love At Christmas, Actually. Jenny Oliver
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sat opposite gingerly, then leaned in, head on her hand, as if it was the most important question in the world. ‘What’s your favourite?’
‘Chocolate fudge! Or maybe Oreo Cookie Cheesecake that Mum makes.’
Skye looked up at her and smiled, then dove into the lemon drizzle cake that Heather was so worried about.
‘Well, maybe we can try and make that while you’re here?’ Heather smiled, looking tentatively at Megan.
Megan shrugged, half-smiled and nodded, realising she hadn’t really said anything since she’d set foot in the house. It was like she was shell-shocked.
‘Whe……’ She cleared her throat. ‘When’s Matty down?’
Heather briefly looked disappointed, but threw herself into it. ‘Tomorrow, I think he’s going to bring Jasper round to meet Skye. I think there was talk of going to see the carols in the town square, have some hot chocolate, play some hook a duck?’
Megan wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this, sitting there sipping her tea, back straight as a rod as her mother tried her hardest to make things easier. But to play along with it was to forget, and to start an argument was to throw all this away, this chance they’d been given. Limbo.
She smiled. ‘Sounds great, doesn’t it, kid?’
Skye nodded, face full of cake.
‘Dad joining us at all?’ Megan asked, sure that her father was hiding somewhere in the house, unsure of how to deal with emotional situations.
‘I think he’s in the den. Doing some work on…something.’ Heather shrugged helplessly. She’d never been good at lying. That was the problem that night, her horror and disgust so clear on her face before she could wipe the slate clean. She’d been unable to hide it, and Megan was unable to unsee it.
‘How about if I go?’ Megan suggested tentatively, certain of how to deal with her father, rather than the mother she had disappointed so very badly.
Heather nodded. ‘You know where it is. Me and Skye can talk about all the fun things we can do this week, can’t we?’
Skye nodded and made a shooing motion at her mother, patting her grandmother’s hand. That child was an emotional manipulator of the highest degree. Or she was just enjoying herself. It was pretty hard to tell.
Megan walked out of the kitchen and through into the living room, pausing a moment to admire Old Piney, still holding up after all these years. The tree had been modernised just a bit, the lights now a classy white instead of multicoloured, the ornaments all slightly more organised, more co-ordinated than they had been. At the top she saw a little red clay hand print that read ‘Jasper’s first Christmas’ and thought perhaps she should have brought Skye’s as a gift. To let her really be part of this family. So far, so…awkward.
She padded through the living room to a dark door at the end, and knocked briefly.
‘Dad?’ She pushed the door open further, to see him sitting at his desk, facing the window. His shoulders were shaking.
‘Dad, it’s me,’ she said gently, ‘can I come in?’
She saw him nod, desperately trying to wipe his eyes, and when he turned around he was smiling shakily. His hair had mostly greyed since she’d last seen him, his eyes light and kind, with more wrinkles around the edges. He looked well though, although still hunched over, feeling too imposing when he stood tall.
‘I’ve waited such a long time to hear those words,’ he said softly, making to put his arms around her, and then pausing. ‘Is it okay…if I…?’
She nodded, reaching up to hug him, and felt him start to shudder again. ‘Oh Megan, I’m so ashamed, I’m so ashamed of us. Of how it happened, how it got this far…’
‘I know,’ she shushed him. ‘I got your presents every year though.’
‘You knew that was me?’
‘Dad, no one else would send me classic rock albums and bars of Galaxy,’ she laughed. That had been their thing, growing up. She would lie on this sofa in the den as he played Bob Dylan, Neil Young, any of his ‘greats’, and eat chocolate with her eyes closed, just listening. It got harder and harder as she got older, as Heather’s dream for the Megan she wanted, the Cambridge-bound Megan, got in the way. They never really had time. But those childhood memories were blissful. Her dad always said no one took any time to listen any more. ‘You might as well have sent a note saying “teach your daughter about good music”.’
‘And did you?’
Megan made a face, ‘She really, and I mean really, loves Elvis.’
‘Costello?’ John said hopefully.
‘Presley.’
‘Oh,’ he shrugged, ‘well, at least it’s not that Yasmin Beefer or whatever his name is.’
Megan laughed, ‘I wholeheartedly concur. Until she starts singing “Heartbreak Hotel” on Sunday mornings at six am. Do you want to meet her? Maybe you can win her over to the dark rhythms of rock and roll.’
John nodded again, head down, and Megan could see he was getting tearful once again. She patted his shoulder. ‘Come on, Dad, you’re going to love her.’
‘I already do,’ he said, and let her lead the way.
***
June 2002
‘You can’t keep doing this.’ Lucas was rocking back and forth on the chair in the library, looking like a Judd Nelson wannabe. He had detention again.
‘Says you. What was it this time?’ Megan didn’t even look up from her biology book.
Lucas shrugged, looking at the ceiling. ‘Forgot my homework? Was late to something? I don’t even really notice any more. I am, apparently, a bad seed.’
He swung his chair legs back down with a thunk. The older librarian was on duty, Mrs Cranson, and she shh’d him with a glare. He put up his hands in defeat and moved over to where Megan was studying.
‘No,’ she put her hand up, eyes still focused on her work, ‘no time to talk.’
‘Meg, you’ve got to stop this, you’re pushing yourself way too hard. They’re just GCSEs. They don’t matter.’
‘To you,’ she snorted. ‘Look, Lucas, I have exactly twenty minutes to finish my biology revision before I’ve got to go to my dance class, and then my music class, and then when I get home I have a maths tutor, and our exam is tomorrow, okay? I don’t have time to entertain you because you’re bored in detention again.’
She looked up at him, and her eyes were bloodshot, strained with dark circles. Her skin looked pale and drawn and she looked like she’d lost weight. Sure, they weren’t best friends or anything, but he’d known her since they were kids, and he liked Megan. She was a crazy control freak perfectionist, but that wasn’t really her fault. She used to be funny, be sassy and sarcastic, but the teachers wouldn’t mind because she still got all the answers right.
She didn’t seem sassy any more. She seemed grey.
‘Meg, come on, you’re going to make yourself ill. Have you eaten today?’ Lucas rifled through his messenger bag, covered in badges and pen marks, and produced a chocolate bar. ‘Here.’ He threw it in front of her face.
‘I am not hungry!’ she hissed. ‘Look, I’ve had four Red Bulls today and you are making me waste that energy that I need to get this shit done!’
‘SHHH!’ Mrs Cranson shot her death glare at Megan this time.
‘Oh for –