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1982
Christmases at Seaglass were always magical, until my parents got divorced. Nana made a bigger effort than ever to welcome my mother, my sisters, and me, but it didn’t feel quite the same without Dad there. I’ll never forget the Christmas of 1982. I was seven, Lily was eleven, and Rose was twelve. We had a huge tree that year—delivered by boat—which we all helped decorate. We made paper chains, and a wonky chocolate Yule log, then on Christmas Eve, the Darker family women watchedE.T.It was my first ever trip to the cinema, and I loved every minute of it. But the home movie I can see on Nana’s old TV now didn’t capture any of that. It starts on Christmas Day 1982 and, as usual, begins with Lily.
If Father Christmas really did make a naughty list every year, then my sister would have been at the top. But she still got all the gifts and toys she wanted as a child, even when money was tight. I think Nancy thought that the tantrums would cost her more in thelong run. High on Lily’s wish list that year was a Walkman. As soon as she had unwrapped it, Lily listened to iteverywhere,even when she was eating, or roller-skating, or watching TV, which made little sense to me. And she was always singing along to something, normally very badly. The song I most remember her murdering that year was “Physical,” by Olivia Newton-John.
“I’m bored of filming this now,” says twelve-year-old Rose from behind the camera.
“One more lap, I’m getting faster every time!” says Lily, whooshing past the outside walls of Seaglass on a newer, bigger pair of roller skates.
“The slush puppies are nearly ready!” I hear seven-year-old me say, and it’s a shock when the camera turns in my direction. We’re in the garden that my mother loved so much, and it looks freezing cold. I’m wearing a fluffy bobble hat and one of Lily’s hand-me-down coats. I remember the wooden toggles I found inexplicably difficult to fasten. I’d had two operations on my heart that year, and I do not look well. I’m far too skinny and there are dark circles beneath my eyes. But I do look happy, playing with my Mr. Frosty toy and making syrupy crushed ice drinks for the Care Bears my sisters were too old to play with. The bears had been gifts from Nana. Mine was pink with a rainbow on its tummy. Lily’s was blue with a raincloud, and Rose’s bear was turquoise with a shooting star—she was obsessed with the solar system that year.
“Stick out your tongue!” said Rose from behind the camera, and when I did, it was stained red from slush puppie syrup.
The camera turns a little further, and I see Conor. He’s sitting at Nana’s ramshackle old garden table, wearing two sweaters, a paper crown, and a frown. He appears to be deep in concentration while writing something.
“Hey, Conor! What are you doing? Working on another article for the school newspaper?” asked Rose.
“No,” said the lanky but handsome boy.
“What is it then?”
“It’s the Darker family tree. I’m making it for your nana, to say thank you for having me.”
I don’t remember him being with us that Christmas, but I suppose he often was at Seaglass whenever his dad wasn’t… well enough to look after him. I do remember the family tree, though. It inspired Nana to paint her own version of it on the wall next to the staircase, with all our hand-painted faces and dates of birth. The shot seems to linger on Conor’s face for a long time.
“Who is that?” Lily said, skating past the camera again, which turns 180 degrees to reveal the sandy causeway.
The tide was out, and Nancy came to stand beside us. We all stopped and stared at the silhouette of a Dad-shaped figure in the distance. I looked up at Nancy’s face, and the strained smile stretched across it confirmed that it was him. I dropped my slush puppie, Lily pulled off her roller skates, and I think Nancy must have taken the camera from Rose, because the next thing I see is the three of us running toward our father, who we hadn’t seen for six months. He was dressed as Father Christmas, but barefoot, with his red trousers rolled up to his knees to avoid getting the costume covered in seawater and sand.
We ran across the causeway to greet him as though he were a brave knight returning from battle, which I know must have hurt my mother at the time. She was the one who stuck around to take care of us when he took off—sort of, when my sisters weren’t at school, or we weren’t all dumped on Nana—but we were just children, and didn’t understand the politics of parenthood when peoplegot divorced. Nancy waited where she was on the stone steps that lead up to the house, filming the moment. When my dad went to kiss her on the lips, she turned her head so that he kissed her cheek instead.
One of the best things about Dad coming back from touring around the world with his orchestra were the guilt-induced gifts he brought with him. Don’t get me wrong, we were very happy to see the man, but we were also eager to see what he had bought us. My sisters and I followed him inside and stood in the doorway of the music room, watching Dad as he opened his giant suitcase, instead of unpacking in the bedroom he used to share with our mother.
Lily was never backward in coming forward, and blurted out the question we were all wondering about the most.
“Did you bring us presents?”
“Maybe,” Dad said, and we cheered. When my mother said “maybe,” it meant no, but when my father said “maybe,” it meant yes. One word, two meanings. We might have only been children, but we were more aware than anyone that our parents spoke different languages.
Lily’s smile slid right off her face when she opened her gift, tearing the wrapping paper without even bothering to read the neatly written tag.
“I’ve already got a Walkman! I unwrapped one this morning!” she whined.
Our father looked genuinely sad. “Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Mummy said that was what you wanted this year…”
“TherealFather Christmas bought it for her,” said seven-year-old me.
“There is no real Father Christmas. Why are you such a baby?” snapped my sister, glaring at me as though it were my fault that shereceived the same gift twice. I knew she was telling the truth about Santa, and suddenly my whole world—not just Christmas—felt like a lie. I started to cry.
“Lily, that’s enough.Imentioned the Walkman to your father a few weeks ago, but he forgot to tell meandFather Christmas that he was going to get you one. Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure we can change it for something else. Why don’t we do this properly? Conor, can you take the camera for me? We don’t all need to be huddled in the doorway. Girls, give your dad some space and we’ll open the rest in the lounge.”
Lily folded her arms and went into full sulk mood as my dad gathered up all of the presents.
“I got you another gift, Lily. Just a small one,” he said, trying to redeem himself. We shuffled into the other room, all with one eye on the gifts my father was carrying, while my mother wrestled us out of our hats and coats.
“For god’s sake, Frank. We said one present each.” Nancy’s words sounded like they got stuck behind her teeth. Her gifts were like her love for us and always came with a sense of economy. We sat impatiently in our familiar seats in the lounge. I sat closest to the Christmas tree and the fireplace, and instantly went from being too cold to too hot, so I took off my sweater. I was wearing a red woolen V-neck dress underneath, covered in white lace snowflakes. It was a gift from Nana, and I wanted to wear it every day.
“I know we said one present each, but I couldn’t resist. I found this in a little shop in Vienna and thought of you,” Dad said, giving Lily a small pink parcel.
