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15
SKY
The Berkshire houseechoes as Dylan closes the heavy door behind us, empty after Mum’s small house and unfamiliar after weeks away again. For the few days between the wedding and Christmas with Mum, we stayed in Wales for Liam’s wedding, then headed back to London for our last minute Christmas shopping. After the last nightmare days back in the public eye, the large property and security fences, which normally feel wrong, are a welcome sight.
Jan took her Christmas holiday too but has dropped by to switch on the heating and leave a welcome home note. I cautiously eye the stack of envelopes, remembering the last time we returned from overseas and our surprise note from Lily. There must be dozens of Christmas cards. Bright envelopes in reds and silvers, more than I’ve ever received before.
I pass by into the kitchen. If one is from Lily, I’ll freak out. We haven’t heard anything from her since her creepy communication in October, and my fear we had a stalker ebbed. Maybe Lily was looking for a reaction we refused to give her.
Lily is the past and can stay there.
I walk out of the kitchen with mugs of tea, and I have to bite my tongue at the scene in front of me. Dylan sits at the large table, opened cards and empty envelopes strewn in front of him.
“For somebody who hates Christmas, you seem overexcited by Christmas cards.” I place the mug next to Dylan and ruffle his hair.
“I wanted to go through them before you, in case....”
Dylan doesn’t need to say, of course he’s thought along the same lines as me.
He sets a gold and silver card on the table next to half a dozen more.
“My mail’s filtered these days anyway. That’s why there’re only cards. I’ve been sent weird shit in the past.”
I pull a chair out and sit. “And I don’t want to know.”
He grins and holds up an envelope. “I like that the cards are addressed to both of us.”
“Hmm.”
“Not all. There’s a thick one for you there.” He indicates a brown padded envelope and I eye it suspiciously.
“Where from?”
“Postmarked Bristol.”
I don’t recognise the black writing on the envelope. “Probably another old school friend trying to be ‘friendly’ again now I’m with you,” I say making inverted commas with my fingers. “Tara told me a couple of old school friends asked for our address.”
“It happens. Funny how suddenly you hear from ‘friends’ who wouldn’t give you the time of day because now it looks good to be connected to you.”
“I’m beginning to see.”
“Yeah.” He gestures at the table. “Uh? Where are the biscuits, Sky?”
“In the kitchen. You never said you wanted any.”
Dylan tuts. “I’ll get them myself, then.”
“Yep.” I sip my tea and look at him from over the mug.
“You fail at being a dutiful wife,” he says and pokes me. I make a choking noise and he laughs at me. “Chocolate?”
“Please.”
The mood lifted the moment we stepped through the door, away from what should’ve been a relaxing Christmas. We’ve invited Mum and the family to stay when Blue Phoenix finish the tour in March and agreed to a belated wedding celebration in the summer for everybody upset we didn’t invite them to the event.
Family and friends. Zero celebrities, apart from the band.
I tear open the padded envelope and pull out the contents: a small book decorated in purple and blue. I envy crafty people who make beautiful things. I never had the patience for the scrapbooking craze. Once, I attempted to create a book memento of a holiday, but one lost fight with a hot glue gun, and I gave up.
