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15
CHRISTMAS EVE
LIAM
The house is eerilyquiet when I let myself in. I expect the TV, or Ella, on high volume as I take a quick scout around the place but nobody’s here. Christmas Eve—where is everyone?
Louise is likely taking part in the Christmas Eve tradition of drinking from lunchtime until falling-over-time. If this year is like previous Christmases, Mum will drag Dad out for a last minute shopping trip.
Will I ever get a warm welcome walking through this door from anyone apart from the dog charging round the house in excitement? I head upstairs with my rucksack, back to the tiny room with the single bed. A world apart from Dylan’s. Yeah, I could’ve spent the few days back at my place in London, or come back earlier, but the band sticking together until the press attention lessened made more sense.
I spoke to Honey once a couple of days ago, when I answered my phone without checking who called. The call ended with tears and her apparent undying love for me. After several days around Dylan and Sky, seeing what a genuine connection between two people looks like, I had nothing for her. Yeah, I can’t run forever—me and Honey need to talk—but Cerys has been on my mind and in my dreams since I left. Until she’s out of there, there’s no room for Honey.
I missed Cerys. Bloody weird, but I did. I asked Louise for her number the other day but all I got was a lecture about how I should leave her alone. That pissed me off, but I figured I’d see Cerys again when I came back to Wales, and next time I leave I’ll take her number with me.
My real bedroom door is open, and I pause on the top step. Last time I walked in there, toys covered the floor along with books and clothes. Now, the brown carpet is clear. I push open the door. The open curtains allow the winter sun to shine into the clean and tidy room. Even my guitars have been rearranged where they were when I left years ago. This is my bedroom again.
I drop the rucksack on the floor and my heart drops with the bag. Looks like I should’ve tried harder to get Cerys’s number because I don’t think I’ll see her again anytime soon.
* * *
With a well-earned Christmasbeer or two, I lounge in front of the TV waiting to see who comes home first. My hassled Dad arrives with his hands full of shopping bags.
“Back are you? Beer. I need one,” he says. “Help your Mum with the shopping.”
Getting Dad a beer and shaking my head at his gruff greeting, I do as he asks and go outside to Mum.
“Liam! Why do you always sneak back?” she asks.
I kiss her head. “I didn’t decide until this morning.”
“How’s Jeremy?” I can’t believe she still calls him this. Jem hasn’t been Jeremy since he was in primary school, apart from if we want to annoy him. If Bryn really wants to piss Jem off, he sings him the Pearl Jam track of the same name. “Terrible business about him and that poor girl.”
“Mmm.”
She catches my look. Mum is used to me refusing to discuss Blue Phoenix business with her. A few years ago, the press began to understand I tell my family nothing. If I keep things that way, my parents and sister are left alone.
How soon can I ask Mum the question about Cerys’s whereabouts without arousing her suspicion? Inside the house, we unpack the bags together and I remember Cerys’s words about my non-rock star behaviour. As if I’d behave like Liam the rock star at home. Mum won’t stand for bad language and manners so, like all kids returning to the home of their childhood, I’m back to my childhood self again.
“I see I have my bedroom back,” I say, shoving vegetables in the fridge.
“Oh, yes. Cerys and Ella went home.”
“Home?” My stomach plummets. I suspected but didn’t want to believe she’d go back to the guy who treated her like shit. “To her parents or Cardiff?”
“Craig came for her yesterday,” says Mum matter-of-factly, as if she’s gone home after a holiday.
“Oh.” I pick up the mince pies from the table and open the box, taking one out to eat. “They sorted things then?”
“Well, I think they’re going to try. I hope so, for the sake of that little girl.” She slaps my hand as I pick up a second mince pie. “Liam! Don’t eat them all.”
I chew on the sweet pastry that really doesn’t go with the beer I’m drinking. Is that right? Should Cerys go back to someone who hurts her, for the sake of Ella? Cerys said Ella doesn’t get attention from her Dad. Maybe Louise has the full story.
* * *
Louise and companysit in the same spot as the other night: the night I kissed Cerys. I pass the Christmas tree and picture Ella’s Christmas Eve beside a different one. Shaking the thought away, I head for the pub.
Cerys is right—I’m the sweet guy who fails at the badass rock star act. I’m not much better at the dark and brooding like Dylan either, and I knocked drugs on the head the first time Jem ended up in rehab. I’d say I don’t fit the clichés until I think of Honey. Yeah, well, our relationship isn’t what the world wants to think. Honey hasn’t told the press about our situation and neither have I. Are we both unsure?
