15. Present Day – Christmas Day
15
PRESENT DAY – CHRISTMAS DAY
JOSIE
T he angel costume, winking at me through its dry-cleaning bag, feels like it’s mocking me. That fucking costume started this whole mess.
I flick the plastic-wrapped white satin and feathered wings to the side, searching for my red dress. Got to look the part today. It’s Christmas, after all.
Underneath a mountain of socks in my dresser, there’s a photo of Marcus and several failed attempts at sketches of him. I keep trying to capture his face but my portraits are terrible. My old bitch of an art teacher used to say that in order to be truly good, I needed to work out what was blocking me. My inability to draw noses is what’s blocking me.
Despite the sketches being bad — I’d never share them with anyone — I could never bring myself to toss them away. So, in the bottom of the drawer they’ll stay, along with his photo that I peek at daily. I’m worried I’ll forget what my brother looked like. I have been since it happened.
Grabbing some tights, I softly shut the drawer. Disappointment stabs at me as I slide the fabric up my leg, a daily reminder I’ve lost my precious anklet.
My nails, an alternate red and white for a candy cane effect, glint in the mirror as I smooth over my dress and check my silhouette.
Ignoring the souvenir hangover from Chunk’s party, I grab the bag of gifts for my family and head out, not wanting Jamie to be on his own any longer than he needs to be today.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I sing out, but not too loudly, as I let myself into my parents’ house. This place makes me feel like I can’t take a deep breath.
I hang my coat on the rack and kick off my boots as my brother’s deep voice does his best impression of Louis Armstrong. ‘Zat you, Josie Claus?’
There’s a pounding of feet and then Jamie, still in his pyjamas, engulfs me in a bear hug as he towers over me.
‘Got here as soon as I could,’ I whisper in his ear, his floppy hair tickling my nose.
He tightens his grip as the sound of our mum’s footsteps get nearer.
‘Is it too early to start drinking?’ he murmurs.
As she rounds the corner, I brace myself to paint on the facade. Try to rein myself in. My parents’ disapproval is not something I want to deal with today. Any day, really.
Calm down. Grow up.
So I try to keep my voice lowered, my colours dull. I try not to rise to arguments.
‘There you are, Jo Jo. Jamie, are you still not dressed?’ She tuts and pulls me in for a bony hug. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. Really, why you couldn’t stay here, I don’t know.’
Because a small part of me dies every time I come home.
I take a breath and tell myself to keep cool. Don’t rise to the bait. Keep the peace. I force a smile to my face. ‘I’m here now. Where’s Dad? Can I do anything to help?’
She pats her silvering auburn bob back into place. ‘A bit later please, love.’
‘Let’s do presents.’ Jamie lumbers off towards the living room.
Dad’s sat in his armchair next to the stunning tree Mum has decorated, all white and silver. Co-ordinated and classy. I prefer my little one at home where all the colours are welcome.
‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’ I drop a kiss on his freshly-shaven cheek, catching the scent of his soap. He presses a hand to my face briefly — his gesture of affection.
Jamie’s already rummaging through the bag of gifts I brought. I shoo him off and unload it under the tree.
‘That one’s to Mum from both of us,’ I mutter to him, gesturing towards a silver envelope.
I swallow a twinge of pain. The customary Christmas spa voucher should be from all of her babies. I carry on the tradition Marcus started for more than just Mum’s sake. We all need it.
Today will be okay. Jamie and I will stick together and we’ll all get through it as best we can. And we’ll help Mum get through it, too. The hole my big brother left seems especially large at this time of year, and being there for each other is the only way I can see to patch it.
I might not have any molars left, I’m grinding my teeth so hard. And as for a tongue? I’m biting it as best I can, while not actually drawing blood. It feels like the walls are going to close in on me.
‘Mum, can I go and get anything from the garage?’ I’m desperate for a break from the scrutiny. ‘More wine?’
‘Yes, please. There’s only one bottle of bubbly in the fridge here.’ She looks to Jamie. ‘And could you grab the veggies we need for lunch as well?’
Jamie nods and I swear he’s never moved so fast as we head outside.
We cross the driveway to the outbuilding where my parents park their cars and keep overflow storage. It’s only when we’ve clicked the light on and the door shuts behind us that Jamie lets himself sag.
‘She’s doing my nut in,’ he grumbles as he swings himself up to sit on the chest freezer.
‘It’s a hard day today.’ I try to mediate as I count potatoes into a box.
‘It’s hard for all of us. Any family occasion, Christmas or birthday or whatever. She sucks all the fun out of it with her …’
‘Nit-picking,’ I offer.
‘Bitching,’ he counters.
‘It’s her way of dealing. Her way of trying to get some control. And,’ I hold up a carrot to correct him, ‘she nit-picks all the time. It doesn’t have to be a family occasion.’
Mum’s always been a control freak. It comes from a place of love, her way of protecting us, I guess, since Marcus died. But her scrutiny can feel smothering.
He rolls his eyes and then chuckles. ‘True. It’s lucky for you. You’ve managed to get out. Now, they only have me to focus on.’
I place a length of brussels sprouts on top of the other veggies.
‘I know,’ I sigh. ‘I come back when I can.’
‘You’re a good big sis, really.’ Jamie leaps down and starts poking about in some of the bags and boxes at the side of the garage. ‘I don’t blame you.’
I tip my chin up, craning to see what he’s doing. ‘Well, you’re a most excellent brother,’ I say over the rustling. ‘So …’
Jamie pulls out an old baseball cap and turns to me. He pulls it on, the flat peak shadowing his face, and strikes a hip-hop style pose that makes me giggle.
‘What is all that?’ I move towards him, suddenly struck with a pang of both dread and excitement. ‘It’s not Marcus’s.’ Asking the question as much as giving the statement.
‘Nah. I don’t recognise it.’ He pulls out a bracelet with wooden beads and a leather strap. ‘I dunno. Bag of stuff for charity?’
I take the bracelet. It’s warmer than expected against my skin, and the smooth beads feel peaceful somehow. I slip it on and tighten it so it doesn’t slip off my wrist.
Jamie’s still going through the bag. He pulls out a novelty flip-flop shaped bottle opener, turns it over and slips it into his pocket with a shrug. Next he examines a lighter, flicks it, but nothing happens.
‘Any more hidden treasures?’ I chuckle, bemused.
He tosses the lighter back in. ‘Just junk Mum’s getting rid of maybe.’
He returns the hat and then leans back on the cupboards with a demeanour that’s too solemn for an eighteen-year-old on Christmas day.
‘Wait here.’ I know something that’ll lift his spirits for a bit. ‘I left one of your presents in the car.’
I nip out of the garage and over to my Beetle to grab the joke present off the back seat. It was a prank I remember Marcus talking about when he was eighteen, and I smile to myself at the thought of his approval for corrupting our younger brother.
Not wearing a coat, I hug the parcel to keep warm and return as quickly as I can.
‘Merry Christmas.’
Jamie, back to riffling through the bag of crap, looks up, intrigue bringing a boyish light to his face. Wish he wasn’t growing up quite so quickly.
But actually, almost-adult Jamie is fun to hang out with, especially at times like this.
He takes the parcel and gives it a squeeze. ‘Soft but heavy.’ He scrunches his brow like he’s trying to work it out.
I keep my face straight and he shrugs, ripping into it.
A blue sweater that perfectly matches his irises unfurls, but his pleased expression soon falls. As the clothing opens up, a bottle of Smirnoff Ice rolls out and he catches it against his body.
He stares at the bottle for a second, then lifts his gaze to me. ‘You Ice Pranked me? At Christmas ?’
‘Tis the fucking season,’ I drawl.
He huffs out a laugh of disbelief, uses the flip flop bottle opener to ping the cap off, and sinks to a knee. Clearly already versed in what the prank requires, he raises a hand in the air and puts the bottle to his lips. I chant out his name over and over as he glugs away, downing the alcopop in one. A pro.
As he gets back up, he mutters, ‘Brutal, sis.’ Then wipes his mouth on his wrist and reveals a wicked curl to his lips. ‘Wanna play a game at lunch time?’
‘Always.’ I beam back. ‘Charades?’
‘No, like a drinking game.’ He tosses the empty bottle in the glass recycling box. ‘We have to take a sip every time Mum tuts.’
‘Fuck, I’ll be hammered. But I’m staying here tonight, so … okay.’ I shrug, happy to have some quality time with my bro.
‘You are?’ His voice kicks up in pitch, and I get the familiar stab of guilt that I’ve abandoned him.
‘Of course. Now, we need some contentious topics as well.’ I rest against the chest freezer and fish a couple of mini candy canes out of my pocket. I pass one to Jamie and unwrap the other. ‘I’ll drink every time she asks what we’re doing with our lives.’
‘I’ll take love life, then,’ Jamie says, accepting his inevitable fate of instant inebriation, as he pops his candy cane in his mouth and crunches down.
‘And you have to finish your glass if she tries to set you up with one of her friend’s daughters,’ I add, and then take a long suck on the minty treat.
‘Okay, but you have to do that when she asks if you’ve got a proper job yet.’
I give a resigned smile. ‘Shit, we’re gonna need to take some extra bottles of wine over. This could get messy.’
Finishing his candy cane with two more chomps, Jamie then grabs the box laden with vegetables and a bottle of champagne from the rack. Still savouring my sweet, I pick out a white wine and a red, and then close up the garage behind us.
We take the supplies into the kitchen and mum immediately spies the candy cane hanging from my mouth like an old cigarette. ‘Don’t ruin your appetite, will you.’
Must keep the peace.
‘I won’t,’ I reassure her, refraining from spelling out that I’m an adult, it’s the world’s smallest candy cane, and besides that, it’s Christmas . Instead, I paste on a smile. Am I the only one who regresses to feeling incapable — childlike — when they go back home?
While I set about washing the potatoes, Jamie puts the wine away.
‘Can I get you a drink, Mum?’ He holds up a champagne flute.
‘That’d be nice. Thank you darling.’
The bottle pops and, soon, he sets an elegant stemmed glass down by the sink for me with a, ‘Cheers.’
‘Jamie, why don’t you peel the sprouts?’ Mum suggests. ‘I got them from the local farm shop. I know the owner, Jane. She’s got a daughter about your age. Lovely looking thing, she is.’
I roll my lips together, trying to stifle a laugh, and deedily focus on giving the potatoes a second rinse. I can picture my brother’s face and, I know if I look at him now, I won’t be able to control myself.
There’s a gasp. ‘Jamie! That’s champagne . You know, if you’re thirsty, you could have had some water. Goodness me,’ Mum tuts and I hide my snicker with a swig of my drink.
The morning goes by in a blur of sipping and peeling to Mum’s fretting and, before I know it, we’re sitting around the table with a huge Christmas lunch spread in front of us.
Mum raises a cracker towards Jamie. ‘Let’s start with these.’ Her eyes widen. ‘It’s tradition.’
We’ve always pulled our crackers first, ever since I can remember, then worn the flimsy paper crowns with pride for the whole meal. Marcus would always fight for the blue one.
My parents don’t talk about him much. It’s too hard for them, I think. But traditions like this — they’re bittersweet. And I cling to them to keep a little bit of him alive.
I offer my cracker to Dad, firmly holding my end as he grips the other and pulls. I give a whoop as the cracker breaks at his end, leaving me the prize. I set aside the reindeer magnet, and carefully unfold the purple crown and balance it on my head.
Mum gives a grimace and tuts, ‘Really, Josie. Did you have to dye your hair such a shade of pink? Between your dress and your hat, it’s quite the eyesore.’
Inhale, exhale.
‘I like colour,’ I say calmly, quietly, politely , as I take another sip of my drink.
‘Who wants to hear a joke?’ Jamie asks, deflecting the attention from me. Bless him. He continues before anyone can answer, unfolding the slip of paper that was tucked in his cracker. ‘What do you do if you see a spaceman?’
‘Something about Uranus,’ I shout out. That wine must be taking effect.
‘Do you two have to be so loud?’ Mum tuts and we both take a swig, not even attempting to be subtle anymore.
‘Park your car in it, man,’ Dad says in a hazy hippy voice.
Mum raises her voice over our collective groans. ‘Speaking of cars, Jamie, what’s the latest with yours?’
‘I’m still saving for a motorbike.’
My dad’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on a serving spoon, but he doesn’t say anything. It shocked me, too, when Jamie had announced he wanted to buy a motorcycle. After Marcus died riding one, it’s definitely something I would never try. But when I talked to him and heard his reasoning, I got it. He doesn’t want to live his life afraid of what might happen. He doesn’t want to be controlled, not by fear, and definitely not by our parents.
‘I need to get a job actually, to help save up,’ Jamie continues.
‘Yes, well,’ Mum piles some turkey on a plate and passes it to him, ‘ I won’t be contributing to buying you a death trap.’
‘They’re not—’ He catches Dad’s eye and then mumbles, ‘I’m not asking you to.’ He places his plate down on the table and reaches for the roasties, one of the three types of potatoes we’ve made this morning.
When we’ve finished dishing up, Mum announces, ‘This all calls for a toast, following the month we’ve had.’
Dad uncorks a bottle of white wine and starts to top up her glass.
She fires Jamie her special look, which, whenever laid upon you, makes you feel equal parts guilty, ashamed and completely irritated. ‘You gave us quite a scare with your car accident.’
I give Jamie’s knee a squeeze of solidarity under the table as Mum continues, ‘The thought of losing two of my babies in car crashes. No, thank you.’
Eyes glistening, she shakes her head, and I know she’s remembering back to the horrific night that Marcus died. In the painful silence, we all are.
‘Mum, Jamie was alright in the end.’ I move my hand to smooth hers. ‘It’s okay.’
And this is why Jamie and I put up with her ways. She can’t lose any more of her babies, even if we are fully grown.
Dad finishes filling up all of our glasses as Mum says, ‘That wait in the hospital aged me about ten years, you know.’
Recalling the ordeal is enough to almost fully sober me. I think back to the interminable night in the hospital a few weeks ago when Jamie and Chloe, Ella’s younger sister, were in a car crash. Jamie got away with a bit of whiplash and a written-off car, but had stayed by Chloe’s side until she was in the clear, leaving Mum, Dad and I stewing in the waiting room. We hadn’t known if he was okay or not. I probably aged about ten years as well.
To make the whole evening worse, Scott had shown up, too. My shoulders dip as the horrid memories flood back. His unexpected appearance had ignited a small glimmer of hope that he’d changed his mind about just being friends. But no, he’d turned up out of some misplaced guilt from the night of Marcus’s accident eight years before.
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I hold out my glass. We need to change the subject. And quickly. ‘To good health.’
I force a grin that I don’t feel. My weak attempt to continue with my self-appointed role of keeping Christmas light, fun.
‘To good health,’ Dad repeats, ‘and absent loved ones.’
When Mum places her glass back down, she levels her gaze on me. My turn now, apparently. ‘So, have you got any news? How’s things with looking for a job?’
‘I’ve got a job, Mum,’ I say through a smile.
‘But a proper job, darling.’
I fix my smile in place as I raise my wine glass to my lips.