Chapter 28
I try to creep out of the house as quietly as possible.
My mum is in the kitchen, wailing along to ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham!
on the radio and doing what I have no doubt is an absolutely appalling job of icing some Christmas cookies (what she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm).
The thing is, the creeping is as much for her benefit as it is for mine.
But when I put my hand on the doorknob and check my bag for my house keys, the door opens towards me and Stephen emerges, carrying a bag clinking with bottles.
‘Ah!’ he says, as if he’s surprised to see me. ‘Just went on a Baileys run!’ He holds up one of the shopping bags jubilantly. ‘Where are you off to?’
I keep my voice low, even though he’s not someone I’m naturally inclined to confide in.
‘I’m meeting my dad,’ I say through gritted teeth.
I’m the nervous kind of excited about seeing Dad, something that happens vanishingly rarely since he lives in Singapore with his new (actually not even that new at this point) wife.
‘Who?’ he says loudly, wrinkling his nose and squinting at me through his goofy glasses. Bloody Mum and bloody Wham! – what a racket.
‘My dad,’ I hiss a little bit louder.
‘Oh!’ Stephen finally catches on. ‘Well then, I’d best leave you to it.’ But before I can complete my creep into the cold December air, he catches my arm. ‘It’s one thing not to tell her who you’re meeting, but one of us should at least know where you’re going. You know, in case something happens.’
I suppose that’s sensible. ‘A pasta place in Covent Garden. So if they drop a nuclear bomb on the piazza, you’ll have to tell Mum.’
Stephen nods and lets me go on my merry (Christmas) way.
I walk to the station, and when I take my phone out of my pocket to touch in on the card reader, I see a message. My stomach drops.
I’m so sorry but there’s a huge crisis at work and I’m the only one who can sort it. I’m going to be chained to my laptop in the hotel room from now until Boxing Day. I’ll send you some extra ￡ for Christmas and I really hope I can see you soon. Maybe you can come visit?
I feel that prickly shame feeling sweep over me.
I just stare at my phone for a second, trying to decide what to do now.
I could slink back home, pretend I never left.
I could go and lurk at the Dog & Bell, drink a Guinness on my own and play on my phone.
But it’ll be rammed with Christmas Eve drinkers.
Instead, without really deciding to, I find my hand tapping my phone against the card reader and going through the barrier.
When the train pulls in, I get on it, and I change at London Bridge as if I’m still going to meet Dad.
But I’m not. I’m on my own, and maybe that’s what I need instead. Time to think.
Central London is heaving. Last-minute shoppers and tourists are thronging every street between Charing Cross and the piazza.
Every café is spilling over with people, every pub has people standing outside, bundled in their winter coats.
I know I’m meant to hate it, but . . . I kind of love it.
It means I’m in a place where other people want to be.
I can’t imagine living somewhere boring that people want to escape.
I’m already in the place they escape to.
Strings of fairy lights zig-zag between the buildings that are close enough together, and the huge Christmas tree between St Paul’s Church and the piazza is illuminated with what must be thousands of tiny bulbs.
It’s all a little bit magic. I pull my sky-blue faux-fur stole more cosily across my chest and buy a fancy hot chocolate to sip as I walk.
And that’s all I do: I just walk. I’ve been let down by a man once again and this time it’s actually worse because it’s my literal actual dad, and I could let that send me off into a tailspin but I’ve decided the time for tailspinning is over.
As I walk, through the busy streets towards Chinatown, then down to Trafalgar Square and Downing Street and to the river, I think.
I think about the sense of shame I felt when my dad cancelled on me, as if it was something I should be embarrassed about rather than him.
I can’t control what he does, all I can control is how I react to it.
I can’t control how Felix treated me last term, but I can try to see next term as a fresh start.
Work hard, get good grades, record good stuff for Tyler’s podcast, spend more time looking at art.
I’ve got a lot of time on my hands now I’m not occupied with chasing Felix, I suppose.
It’s really time to get things back on track.
After a couple of hours of walking, I decide it’s time to go home. Dad tried to steal this evening from me but I wrestled it back off him by sheer force of will and I already feel a little bit more prepared for a new year.
On the train home, I realise that I hope Mum is still up when I get in, and when I see the lights on in the living room a sense of relief sweeps over me.
‘Where have you been, darling? Did you have a nice evening?’ she asks over her shoulder, all curled up on the sofa.
I feel a little lump in my throat, glad I’m here with her now. ‘I just went for a bit of a walk. To see the lights and all that.’ I glance over at Stephen who can tell something’s off but knows better than to ask and will probably assume I just feel guilty for spending time with my dad.
‘Lovely! There are cookies in the kitchen in the red tin!’
I smile, knowing they’re going to look dreadful. ‘I’ll take one up to bed with me. See you in the morning.’
‘On Christmas!’ Mum says, gleefully, holding her arms out for a slightly tipsy hug.
New Year’s resolution: maybe be a bit less hard on her.