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If it’s possible, Jess’s eyes widen even more.
‘They’re getting my room, aren’t they?’ she says to Mum.
‘Don’t worry, there’s a sofa bed in Billie’s office,’ Mum whispers back.
‘Why can’t they sleep on that?’ she replies.
Dad is talking but I’m listening to Mum and Jess. I start listening again.
‘… if that’s okay,’ he says.
‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ I reply. ‘So you’re staying until…?’
‘That’s what I mean,’ Dad says. ‘It’s going to be after Christmas, at least, but like I said, it’s just the two of us, we’ve got lots of food to bring with us. Gail would love to bring her Christmas tree.’
I blink a couple of times. I didn’t hear that right. Any of it. Surely! He wants to stay until after Christmas and Gail wants to bring her tree?
‘We’ve got a Christmas tree already,’ I tell him. ‘Tell Gail it’s okay. But thank you.’
I roll my eyes at myself for adding on that lame thank you at the end.
‘It’s no trouble,’ he replies. ‘She’s really quite fond of it. She’s already wrapped it in clingfilm, for easy transportation – she saw a video online, it’s really quite impressive.’
By all means, spend extra time in the house with asbestos in it, wrapping the Christmas tree in clingfilm.
‘Well, okay then, I’ll send you the address from Mum’s phone,’ I say. ‘And we’ll see you soon.’
There isn’t an ounce of enthusiasm in my voice. You would think Dad would be able to detect it but he’s oblivious, as usual.
I hang up the phone.
‘Two more for Christmas,’ I announce with a sigh.
‘No!’ Jess blurts.
‘I’m proud of you,’ Mum says, rubbing my shoulder. ‘I raised you right.’
‘Yeah, you did, he didn’t, that’s why this sucks,’ I point out. ‘They’re bringing their own Christmas tree, apparently. Wrapped in clingfilm.’
I glance around the room. Lord knows where they’ll put it.
Jess hands me the now empty coffee cup.
‘Well, I guess I’ll go vacate my room,’ she says, angrily.
‘Sorry, sis,’ I tell her.
‘It’s not your fault,’ she replies. ‘He could have guilted me into doing the same.’
‘I’m proud of you both,’ Mum tells us. ‘I’m going to make you both the best crêpes of your life.’
Mum heads to the kitchen, to resume making breakfast, and Jess plods upstairs to move bedrooms.
That’s quiet-ish Christmas out the window. Quiet, comfortable, cosy, calm – all over. Ah well, I suppose it’s a relief. It’s like when you get a new phone, and you’re terrified of scratching the screen, but then you do and from that moment on you never worry about it again. My dream Christmas is over. At least now things can’t get any worse. I hope.
7
I rub my hands together, to warm them up, for all the good it actually does.
