7
Christmas was soon juggernauting towards me, as out of control and unstoppable as ever. Inga and Matt had decided to spend the holiday season in London, so there was nobody to distract me from the relentless festive cheer except Alex, and Alex had no idea whatsoever that I needed to be distracted. Though he probably wondered every now and then why I was alternately over quiet or snappy, even though I tried very hard not to be either. All I wanted to do was sleep or run away, and although I knew life would be much easier if I just told him the truth, I didn’t have it in me to do it.
One thing was certain, I wasn’t going to be able to use my Great-Aunt Alice card very easily this year—not now Alex and I were living together, a fully-fledged couple. It had been different last year, because we’d only been living together for a matter of months, so I’d got away with it. But this year Alex would expect either to visit Alice with me or to drive down to Hampshire before Christmas to bring her back to spend Christmas with us and his family. So, short of inventing a brand-new lie, I was stuck with actually celebrating Christmas.
The idea filled me with dread. But it was one day, that was all. Well, two probably because Alex had agreed we would stay over at his parents’ house on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. But it would be fine, surely? Alex and his parents were all so outgoing they wouldn’t notice if I was quiet. And Alex was good for me in so many ways. He loved me. He deserved for me to do something good for him, he really did. Even if he wouldn’t be aware what a huge deal celebrating Christmas with him and his family would be for me.
So I told Alex that Great-Aunt Alice had a friend coming to stay this year and we didn’t need to visit her. Alex accepted it without question, which made me feel like an utter shit, because of course it would never occur to him that I’d be anything less than absolutely honest with him.
Alex’s parents gave us a warm welcome when we arrived on Christmas Eve.
“Come in, come in, lovely to see you, Lily. Let me take your coat. Goodness, your hands are freezing. Go and stand in front of the fire to get warm. Hello, Alex, darling.”
Alex kissed his mother. “Hi, Mum. I see you’ve gone for the minimalist effect with the Christmas decorations again.”
“Your mother doesn’t do minimalist, son, you know that. The fridge is so full I’m sure it’s going to crash through the floor into the cellar,” said Alex’s dad. He turned to me. “Should you hear a loud thud in the night, Lily, that’s what it’ll be.”
“Don’t listen to him, Lily. I’m sure your sleep won’t be disturbed by anything. In fact, speaking of sleep, I’ve got a surprise for you two. Come upstairs, I’ll show you.”
“It can wait until they’ve had a sherry and a mince pie, can’t it, Janice?”
“It’s all right, Dad,” said Alex. “Mum’s got me intrigued. Lead on, Mum.”
So we followed Janice upstairs, where she threw open a bedroom door with a flourish. “Ta-da!”
As Janice spread her hands to indicate the bed, I looked, not realising the significance at first, just seeing a bed. A comfortable-looking bed, but just a bed, nevertheless.
Then Alex exclaimed, “Mum! You bought a new bed!”
Ah. So that was what the fanfare had been about.
Alex turned to me. “I was expecting us to be sleeping in my old single bed together. Either that or my old single and a mattress on the floor.” He went over to kiss his mum on the cheek. “This is fantastic, Mum. Thank you.”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Janice.”
She smiled. “You’re both very welcome. Right, let’s go down and see about that sherry. Or we have heaps of other drinks if you’re not a sherry drinker, Lily. Alex tells me it’s your birthday tomorrow too?”
I forced a smile. “Yes, it is.”
“I always feel sorry for people with a Christmas birthday. Did you feel left out as a child, or did your parents give you double the amount of presents?”
“Sometimes I felt left out, yes.” Which was the understatement of the year.
Both Janice and Stanley were lovely to me. It wasn’t their fault that the Christmas-hits album playing in the background as we settled down to play board games was the exact same album Mum had been playing that fateful Christmas day I’d gone out to meet my friends, ignoring Violet’s pleas for me to stay at home. And it wasn’t their fault, either, that all evening I felt like an actor playing the part of Lily at her partner’s parents’ house, playing games and laughing along with family banter.
By the time Alex and I went up to bed, my head hurt from the strain of pretence, and my jaw ached from smiling a fake smile. Alex hadn’t seemed to notice anything was wrong, and I was glad about that, mentally awarding myself an Oscar for my acting skills, wondering how on earth I was going to keep it up all the next day as well. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep for worrying about it, but finally I did drift off.
But two hours later, Alex was shaking me awake because I was screaming my head off.
“Lily! Lily! You’re having a nightmare. It’s all right, I’m here. You’re safe.”
I was panting, choking, my senses overwhelmed as I tried to struggle from a horrific re-enactment of the events of that distant night. Alex was bending over me—I could see him, feel his touch on my arm, but it was as if he was behind some kind of a veil, and the terror was a living thing, clawing at me, trying to push me under again into the nightmare.
Somebody knocked on the bedroom door. “Whatever is it? Is everything all right?”
“Lily had a nightmare, that’s all. Sorry we woke you, Mum.”
Alex was stroking my hair as he spoke, gentling me out of the horror. Or trying to.
“Are you all right now, sweetheart?”
Somehow I managed to push myself upright, leaning back against the headboard, my pyjamas drenched in sweat, my heart still slamming against my chest.
“D’you want to talk about it?”
Sleep was impossible. Without the sleeping tablets, the nightmares had come straight back. Would come again if I went back to sleep. No amount of rationalisation or distracting games of Trivial Pursuit could change that.
“It ... it’s ... Auntie Alice,” I lied. “I dreamt something dreadful had happened to Auntie Alice. That she needs me. It was all so real, it was like ... a premonition.”
I picked up my phone from the bedside table.
“Lily,” said Alex, “it’s two o’clock in the morning. You aren’t seriously going to call her, are you? It was a nightmare, that’s all. I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll call her in the morning to check, but I’m sure there’s absolutely—”
He broke off as I got out of bed and began to pull my clothes on. “Lily, what are you doing?”
“I have to go to her. I have to check she’s okay.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“I have to, Alex. I’m sorry.”
Alex was starting to look really freaked out now. I could hear the rumble of his parents’ voices in the next room. I was making a scene, being ridiculous. But the thing was, I wasn’t capable of doing anything else. I had to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. I had to escape.
“This is ridiculous, Lily.” There was an edge of frustration in Alex’s voice now. “How are you even going to get to Hampshire? It’s Christmas, for goodness’s sake. Even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, there are no trains running.”
I left the bedroom and began to make my way downstairs. Alex followed me, dressed only in his boxer shorts.
“Look, give your aunt a ring if you need to set your mind at rest. If something has happened, I’ll drive you there myself.”
He took hold of my shoulders, the frustration gone, leaving only love. “We’re a partnership, you and me, Lil. You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. I’m here for you. I’m here.”
He was too good for me. Too good to be lied to. Tears suddenly sprouted from my eyes. He pulled me to him and held me while I sobbed. Behind him, I caught a glimpse of his mother in her dressing gown, a worried expression on her face.
“Are you sure everything’s all right, Alex?”
“It’s fine, Mum. Go back to bed.”
“Are you sure? Shall I make a pot of tea?”
“Honestly, we’re fine. Thanks.”
“Well, all right, then,” she said uncertainly, making her way back upstairs.
“Tea might not be such a bad idea, eh?” Alex said to me after she’d gone. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
I sat at the kitchen table, dumb with misery, while Alex scurried about making tea, dressed in his father’s gardening coat from the peg by the back door, and I decided with a sense of dread that it was time to tell him something approaching the truth.
Alex placed two mugs of tea on the table and sat down opposite me, reaching for my hand. “D’you want to phone your aunt?” he asked.
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “There’s no point.”
He stroked my fingers. Brought them to his lips. “It might put your mind at rest. It was just a nightmare, though, I think. A horrible one, to have kept you in its grip like that. You looked as if you were still there, Lil. Still in it. It scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault. None of us can help what we dream, can we?”
I gave a shaky sigh. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Alex. Something you don’t know about me.”
He frowned, looking worried. “What?”
“I ... hate Christmas.”
He flapped a dismissive hand, his expression clearing. “Well, you’re not alone, are you? Lots of people say that.”
“No,” I said, “you don’t understand. Christmas is ... traumatic for me. Those nightmares. They’re not a one-off.” I took a deep breath. “Alex, something really bad happened to my family one Christmas. Something that comes back to haunt me every year.” I steeled myself to look up at him, encountering bafflement and concern in his eyes. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but I covered his lips with my fingers to silence him.
“Don’t ask me to talk about it, Alex. Please. I just can’t. But, you see, because of what happened, I don’t do Christmas. I never have since then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I shut myself away until it’s over.”
He frowned. “What about Great-Aunt Alice?”
I shrugged. “There is no Great-Aunt Alice. I made her up.”
“But Inga said ...”
My gaze dropped to the table. “I lied to Inga too. To everyone. I’m not proud of it, it’s just ... what I have to do. I stay at home over Christmas. Or I book myself into a hotel. Then I wait it out. Sleep. Drink. Do whatever I need to do to get through it.”
I looked up again, taking in his bewilderment. “I realise that makes me sound like a crazy person. Sometimes I think I am exactly that. Or at least someone who needs therapy, anyway. But that’s just the way it is. Only this year, with you wanting me to come here so much, I thought I’d give it a try. I hoped being with you would make a difference. Make it bearable. But it hasn’t, Alex, and I’m really sorry, but I have to leave.”
Alex was still staring at me across the table. “I can’t take this all in, I really can’t.”
More tears trickled down my cheeks. “I don’t blame you.”
“What shall I tell Mum and Dad?”
“Whatever you need to. Whatever you think best. Look, don’t ruin their Christmas. Stay here.”
But I didn’t need to see his expression to know that Christmas for this household was already ruined. Janice had gone to so much trouble to make everything perfect. She’d bought us a brand-new bed, for goodness’s sake! Me leaving would cause a strained atmosphere it would be impossible to ignore. But I couldn’t help that. If it were possible for me to stay and pretend everything was okay, I would. But it just wasn’t.
“I can’t leave you on your own in this state. And it’s your birthday tomorrow. I’ll tell Mum I—”
“No, Alex. I’ll be all right. I told you; I’m used to it.”
He sighed. “I’ll get dressed and take you home.”
“Thank you.”
When we reached our house, Alex turned the engine off and made to open the car door, but I put out a hand to stop him.
“Go back, Alex. Go back to bed. Tell your parents I’m sorry. That I hope they understand.”
He looked at me, his eyes sad under the streetlight. “This isn’t just a fling for me, Lily,” he said.
My heart squeezed inside my chest. “I know that.”
“Then you should know you can trust me.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I do. I do know that.”
“But not enough to confide in me, eh?” He sighed. Raked a hand through his hair. “We ought to be dealing with this together, whatever it is. It shouldn’t still be affecting you all these years later.”
“I know.” I did know. Sort of. But what guarantee did I have that opening up the excruciatingly painful can of worms would make any difference? Ignoring the whole thing, stuffing the memories down inside me, had served me reasonably well so far. I supported myself. I painted pictures. I’d just got a new qualification. I had my friends. Alex. I was doing okay, really. Except for the Christmas thing.
He sighed. “Will you at least promise you’ll speak to someone? Get some help?”
But I couldn’t promise that. Just the thought of bringing that night into appalling Technicolor made me want to run. To vomit.
“Don’t pressure me, Alex. Please.”
“I’m sorry, I just ...”
“Look, I’ll try, okay?” I lied. “That’s all I can say.”
He nodded. “Okay.” His voice was so sad, it made my heart turn over. Especially when he said, “Happy birthday for tomorrow.”
I opened the car door. “Night, Alex. Happy Christmas.”
I went upstairs and got into bed. Not that I expected to sleep. Which was just as well because I didn’t. Instead I lay there imagining Alex having to deal with the aftermath of my flight the next morning. Defending me in the face of his parents’ disappointment and annoyance. Poor Alex. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. I didn’t deserve him, I really didn’t. Would he even have got involved with me if he’d known what he was taking on? If he had any sense, he’d be lying sleepless in bed himself, trying to decide how to dump me.
Not that he would. Deserve it or not, Alex adored me.
I wanted suddenly to talk to somebody. No, not to somebody, to someone. To Violet. My sister.
It was hardly surprising my thoughts turned to her, tonight of all nights. I thought about her almost every day anyway—more so since Inga had moved away. And now it was Christmas.
Where was she? Still abroad? Back in the UK without having told me she was home? I wondered whether she was thinking about me too. Whether she was happy. Alive. But of course she was alive. I’d have heard if something had happened to her. Wouldn’t I?
Violet had finally got in touch with me again three years ago, before she went travelling. She called me out of the blue after years of silence, asking me to meet her in a café near the station. I hadn’t known what to expect when I showed up. What to feel, even. I was a bundle of excited nerves, my gaze sweeping round the tables, searching for her. And there she was, sitting at a battered metal table, drinking a bottle of Coke as if it were beer. Alive. Real. Within reach.
My little sister.
I couldn’t, mustn’t start blubbing. My hands needed to stop shaking too. She wouldn’t want any of that. I was meant to be the one in control in our relationship. So, I waved to her, pointing to the serving counter, indicating that I would get a drink before I joined her. Giving myself time.
She looked so different. Of course she did. She was a young woman now. And yet I could still see in her the little girl who’d followed me around everywhere, demanding attention. I’d given it to her mostly, putting aside my sketchbook or my homework to listen to her, to paint her nails, fix her something to eat.
Joining my sister with my coffee, I wondered if she still thought about those times—Violet and Lily against the world—or whether the events of what happened afterwards had obliterated all those memories.
“It’s been a long time, Vi. It’s so good to see you.”
Where have you been living? Why haven’t you been in touch? God, Vi, I’ve missed you so much. D’you think about that night as often as I do? Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay, Vi. I’ve been so worried.
Somehow, I don’t know how, I managed to keep the questions in. Violet didn’t say it was good to see me too. Just knocked back more of her Coke and shrugged, giving me no indication why she’d contacted me again. I supposed I shouldn’t feel hurt, but I was, deeply. It was as if roles had somehow reversed—that it was me with the puppy-dog eyes now. But she’d got in touch, hadn’t she? Suggested we meet. That had to mean something.
“So, travelling, eh?” I said in an overbright voice. “Where are you headed first?”
“France, to work on a campsite for the summer. Then maybe Italy. I don’t know yet. Depends what happens. Who I meet.”
I nodded as if it was fine not to have a plan. To tumbleweed your way through life. Well, it was, when you were Violet’s age.
“You will be careful, won’t you?”
Violet’s eyes were a dark, dark brown, not green like mine and Mum’s.
“I can take care of myself.”
She sounded hardened. Toughened up by the foster care system in ways I didn’t want to think about.
“I’m sure you can.”
We’d seen each other now and then at first, after she’d been fostered out, but it wasn’t so easy. Something seemed to go wrong at every foster home Violet was placed in. Almost as if she was deliberately sabotaging them.
For the first year, she’d begged me to let her come and live with me, but there was no way the local authority was going to sanction that, even if I’d felt capable of it. I was only sixteen, after all. Not much more than a child myself. In the end, she stopped asking. Our meetings became less and less regular, until eventually, they dried up altogether.
“I’m really sorry, Lily,” one of her foster carers told me over the phone. “But Violet doesn’t want to see you just now.” The poor woman babbled on with excuses about new schools and homework pressure, but I didn’t really listen, knowing they were all fake. I knew why Violet didn’t want to see me. Because she blamed me for everything that had happened. I knew it because I blamed myself too.
Lying in bed with Alex’s ruined Christmas on my conscience, I remembered how Violet and I had struggled to find anything to say to each other in that station café. How every topic of conversation was a minefield. How she asked me nothing about my own life, as if she had no interest in what I’d been doing since she’d seen me last. How it was almost a relief when it was time for her to go and catch her train. And how, at the same time, I’d wanted to run to the station after she’d left to beg her not to go, consumed by a mixture of overwhelming love and terrifying helplessness. Exactly the same way I’d felt as a nine-year-old, trying to rock her to sleep in my arms.
After she’d left to catch her train, I’d made my way home, a complete emotional wreck.
Violet. How I wished she were here now, asleep in the spare bedroom. That we could wake up in the morning and reinvent Christmas together, just me and her. And, yet again, as I’d done so many times, I wondered where she was. Whether she was happy. Whether she was safe.