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“Keep nagging and you’ll be eating dinner on your own with the kid,” he warned, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “I’m doing you a favor by being here, Sam. I told you that I’d come round last night to see the kid open his presents, but I’m not your fucking bell boy.“
“You did more than come around,” she spat, voice trembling. “You spent the night.”
“Right, I’m off,” I muttered, striding off down the footpath, before I got dragged into their domestic.
I didn’t have the heart or the energy to deal with anyone else’s drama this morning.
My head was full, and my shoulders were buckling under the pressure of my own shit.
I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, but I didn’t reach for it.
I couldn’t.
Because if I glanced at that screen and saw her name flashing, I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to reject her call.
“Joey!” Ollie was standing in the doorway when I stepped foot in the garden a few minutes later. “Santa came, Joe! He’s been to our house this year! He came!”
“Did he?” I replied, somehow managing to muscle up the enthusiasm he needed from me in that moment. “That’s because you’ve been washing your ears properly.”
“Uh-huh!” Nodding brightly, my little brother grabbed my hand and dragged me inside. “You were right, Joe. You said he would come if I scrubbed them good and hecame!”
“Good morning,” Mam greeted me in the front hall, clad in the same old dressing gown she always wore. The one Darren bought her the Christmas before he left. It didn’t matter that she’d been given a new one since. She continued to cling to the past, and her first born, by wearing the thread worn robe. “Happy birthday.”
“Oh shoots, I forgot!” Ollie yelped, slapping his forehead. “Happy birthday, Joey.”
“Cheers, kid,” I replied, before asking my mother, “Where is he?”
“Bed.”
“Good.” Repressing a shudder of revulsion when my eyes landed on my mother’s stomach, I focused on the outstretched arms of the toddler on her hip. “How’s my Seany-boo?” I asked, lifting him into my arms. “Did Santa come to my Seany?”
“O-ee,” Sean babbled, pressing his spit-slobbered hand to my cheek. “O-ee.”
Sidestepping my mother, I moved for the sitting room, where Tadhg was sitting under the tree, looking exceptionally dejected in comparison to our younger brothers.
“You didn’t come home,” he accused, not bothering to look up from the toy train he was holding in his hands.
“I know.”
“Where were you?”
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“None of your business.” My brows furrowed. “You got a train?”
Tadhg nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”
“But you’re almost twelve.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t played with trains since you were seven.”
“I know.”
“That’s probably for Sean or Ollie,” I offered, setting Sean down and reaching for the wrapping paper. “Ma – Santa must have put the wrong name on it.”
