Chapter Seven #2
“I was thinking of next weekend.” Dave bit back a smile. “Only, I thought we’d do something different this year. Maybe I’ll put a cardboard cut-out of a tree on the driveway, and string some lights over it. That’ll do, right? That’s all we need.” He sat back and waited for the explosion.
Chris didn’t disappoint. He gaped at Dave, aghast. “A cardboard tree? That’s horrible. And outside? Dad, you’re turning into Scrooge.”
Dave burst out laughing. “Now, would I do that to you? When you finish school on Friday, I’ll take us to the garden centre, and we’ll pick out a really good tree.”
Chris smiled. “Like we used to with Papa?”
Dave nodded. “I’ll even let you choose it—providing you don’t choose one that’s ten feet tall.”
“And Jeff can help us decorate it, after we’ve made the mince pies,” Chris announced.
Dave folded his arms. “You seem to be making all the decisions today.” Not that the idea didn’t appeal to him.
“Aw, please, Dad?” Right on cue came the puppy dog eyes and the trembling lower lip.
“Fine.”
Chris gave a bounce on his chair. “Great. Now call him. But don’t tell him about the tree. It’ll be a surprise.”
“I can’t call him. He’s at work.” And it wasn’t the kind of job where he could answer calls.
“Then send him a text.”
Chris was certainly solution-oriented.
“Fine. I’ll send him a text—you finish your homework.”
Chris’s weary sigh made him sound much older.
Don’t grow up too fast, sweetheart. Dave wanted Chris to stay a child as long as he could. Adulthood was right around the corner, with all its stresses and pressures. Hold onto these days, Chris.
He went over to the couch where his phone sat on a seat cushion, and composed a short text.
Call me when you get a chance? Thanks.
Then he returned to his reading, the house quiet apart from the little sighs and snuffling noises from Chris. Half an hour later, the phone rang, and his pulse quickened when he saw it was Jeff. “Are you done for the day, or are you on a break?”
“Break. Still got another two hours to do. What’s up?” In the background, Dave could hear the screams and noise of the fairground.
“Next Sunday. Any chance you could not be working? Only, Chris wants to learn how to make mince pies, and he’d like you to help him.”
There was a pause. “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do. By the way, you’ll have to teach me too. I’ve never made pastry in my life.”
Dave chuckled. “It’s all in the thumbs.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what my mum said when she taught me.
So I’ll pass on her wisdom.” Another sigh from the table made him smile.
“Chris is having a hard time. He’s doing research on the environment.
Apparently his teacher has them contributing to a project on how they can all save the planet.
” He lowered his voice. “The only thing is, all I can think about is George Carlin’s rant about it. Have you ever heard him?”
There was another pause. “Yeah, a few times. I’ve watched him on TV and YouTube.”
“Well, he did this great monologue all about the environment. I can hear him now. ‘Save the trees, save the bees. Save the whales, save those snails.’ And he came up with a classic quote. I think he said, ‘the planet is fine. The people are fucked.’” That last word came out in a whisper.
Jeff burst into laughter. “I love that speech. It’s one of my favourites. I don’t suppose you’ve ever listened to Bill Hicks? An American comedian, dead now, but what an amazing guy.”
Dave was grinning. “Love his stuff. I’ve got three of his DVDs on my shelf.” On impulse, he added, “Maybe one night you could come over and we could have a Bill Hicks night. I’ll make popcorn.”
“I’d love that. Oops. Santa’s elf is giving me the evil eye. I guess it’s time to get back in the chair. I’ll let you know if I can get Sunday off.” And with that, he disconnected.
Dave placed the phone on the cushion, still smiling.
“You need to put money in Papa’s jar,” Chris murmured.
Damn. There was nothing wrong with Chris’s hearing.
The squat glass jar sat on a shelf beside the chimney breast. Chris had stuck a label on it years ago: Papa’s Swear Jar.
Dave had contributed to it frequently in the weeks and months following Matt’s death, mostly ranting at the unfairness of it all.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sworn in Chris’s presence.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.” Dave got up and went over to the jar. Guilt flushed through him, and he took out his wallet, removed a five-pound note, and squeezed it through the slot Matt had cut into the lid. Then he glanced at Chris.
He was smiling.
“So is Jeff coming?”
“He’ll let us know.” Dave narrowed his gaze. “Homework.” When Chris pushed his bottom lip out, he relented. He’d made lots of notes. “Fine. Ten more minutes, then you can choose a DVD, and we’ll watch it before dinner.”
Weekends were for him and Chris anyway.
Chris beamed. “Thanks, Dad.” He went back to his notes, humming happily.
Dave shut down the laptop. He’d read enough. Besides, he couldn’t keep his mind on what he was doing.
He was thinking about Jeff.