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‘Can I just borrow Billie for a moment?’ Gail asks. ‘Just… something upstairs.’
Oh, God, what is she going to do? I think I might have seen Black Christmas too many times, my imagination is running away with me.
‘Yeah, okay,’ I reply anyway.
I follow Gail upstairs to the guest room she and Dad are staying in. Gail rummaged around in a bag, eventually pulling out a small blue box with a gold edge.
‘I owe you an apology,’ she starts.
I feel my eyebrows shoot up. I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
‘You’ve extended us this huge courtesy, by letting us stay here, in your home, at a special time of year,’ she continues. ‘But I must admit, knowing that your dad’s whole old family – no, just family – was going to be here, it did make me feel slightly defensive, and that may have come across as hostility on my part. But you’ve been a gracious host, we’ve had everything we needed, and I just want us all to have a nice Christmas tomorrow.’
Who can blame Gail, being a bit freaked out to be moving in with the step-kids she’s never met and her husband’s ex-wife? That takes one hell of an understanding person. I wasn’t in anywhere near as awkward a position, and I went so nuclear to avoid it I ended up at a sex party.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I reply. ‘I could have been more welcoming; I could have cancelled some of my plans. I’m sorry you’ve felt like you couldn’t mix with us.’
Gail smiles. I see a visible wave of relief wash over her and I feel it myself too. Any issues I have with my dad are not ones I have with Gail. Perhaps we can establish some sort of relationship. That would actually be really nice.
I really, really, sincerely hope my dad isn’t messing her around – because of my mum, or anyone else, really. He’s already ruined one family with his antics. I would hate to see him do it to another.
‘Anyway, to show you that I want to make an effort, and to thank you for letting us stay here, I wanted to give you this,’ she says as she hands me the blue box. ‘I was going to wait until morning, but I thought having this conversation tonight might make the next few hours easier.’
I laugh.
‘Oh, yeah, imagine playing Monopoly for eight hours in awkward silence,’ I reply.
I carefully open the box. Inside there’s a delicate gold locket on a chain. It doesn’t look like something new; it looks like something she’s had for years.
‘Oh, wow, it’s gorgeous,’ I say.
‘It was my mum’s,’ she replies. ‘And her mum’s before that. The idea was always that I pass it down to my daughter, but then I had horrible boys.’
Gail smiles and laughs and it’s like I’m in a room with a whole new person. A person I could really like.
‘You can’t give this to me,’ I insist.
‘You are my daughter now,’ she points out. ‘I know Jess is too, but you’ve put a roof over our heads, so… 1-0.’
‘I will treasure this,’ I tell her sincerely. ‘Thank you so much.’
Moved by such a sweet gesture, I close the box, reach out and throw my arms around her. I release her just as Dad joins us.
‘Are you two doing okay?’ he asks.
‘We couldn’t be better,’ Gail replies. ‘Now, come on, let’s play games before you dad and Declan fall asleep together watching TV.’
I get the sense that Gail thinks Declan and I might still be together, or that we might be heading that way, which isn’t surprising, given that he’s here for Christmas. Now doesn’t seem like the time to set her right. It’s Christmas, and Christmas really is a time for peace and good will to all men – yes, all men. I might not be spending it with the one I want to, although I have been messaging him all day. I’m trying not to let my imagination run away with me, but the idea of him taking on a job gives me this twisted feeling in my stomach. Imagine if he lives locally, even if it’s just for one project, it would give us the chance to see if what we have between us is real, or just for Christmas. If Santa Claus could pull some serious strings, that would be great. In fact, it’s all I want for Christmas.
31
‘Good morning, girls,’ Mum sings loudly. ‘Alexa, play “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Michael Bublé.’
‘It’s not an Alexa,’ Jess and I say in unison, both still face down in our pillows.
‘Okay, Google.’
‘It’s not a Google,’ Dad calls from the other room.
