I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Tom Becker

  I place the key in her palm and fold her fingers over. “It’s all yours.”

  *

  Hours later, my throat sore from talking all night, my body fizzing from lack of sleep and the memory of what it was like to kiss Amy under the tree, on the lawn and in the kitchen, on the sofa and the front step, I turn down Nan’s road and speed up to a half-jog.

  I let Bazza know I’d pick my stuff up later, but I sneak into Nan’s house, wanting to surprise them.

  They’re up already – Theo’s an irritatingly early riser – and the chat and laughter coming from the kitchen disguises the sound of me kicking off my shoes and dropping my jacket on the stairs. I follow the hiss of a frying pan and the smell of toast until I’m in the door to see Mum and Theo at the table, poring over whatever game’s on the back of the cereal packet, Nan with her back to me by the toaster.

  “Who’s for toast?” she calls out.

  “I am,” I say, enjoying the way Theo cackles as Mum nearly jumps out of her skin and Nan turns round to eyeball me.

  “Thought your father was to pick you up from your friend’s house, Samuel,” she says. I hear the veneer of irritation with which she varnishes her words, but now, when I listen – when I look – I understand that Nan’s feelings are built on something much more solid than that.

  “Felt like coming home, didn’t I?” I say.

  If Only in My Dreams

  –

  Marcus Sedgwick

  It was the black.

  It was other things, too. It was the way the sun rose and set fifteen times a day. It was the near absence of taste. It was the claustrophobia of living in a confined metal tube, the intensity of sharing that tube with two others for months on end. It was the long, long silences, cut up by bursts from the radio. It was all of these things and more, but above all else, it was the black that was to blame.

  It was there all the time, and yesterday, when Grey had made the EVA, it only got worse – the black at his back. Floating on his tether, as he made his way down the length of the station, he’d seen Amira give him a brief thumbs up through the Destiny window, before she returned to Commander Hirsch’s side to monitor the spacewalk.

  – You know this is only the third EVA on Christmas Eve, Grey? I mean, ever.

  So much Commander Hirsch had told him as they’d prepped the suit. It didn’t make him any happier about the fact he had to go outside the station, work his way to the end of the P5/6 truss and try to fix the fault with the solar array there, the blackness pawing at his back the whole time.

  It took five hours, during which the sun rose and set, rose and set, rose and set three times in all as they flew round the dark side of the Earth, each time emerging to a new and uncaring sun, clipping its way up out of the planet, each time filling Grey with the sense that they had been doing just this for several billions of years. And each time, he’d been caught night-dreaming, as Hirsch had been asking something about the EVA.

  – Grey, you still out there, buddy?

  – Yeah. I’m here. Go again.

  – We need the reading on the array.

  – Uh, yeah. Copy that. Give me a minute…

  – OK. Copy. As long as you’re still out there.

  Am I still here, Grey thought, am I? Yes, I am. I am. I know I am because I can hear myself thinking, and that means I’m here.

  But as he took the reading of the array’s angle and as he found that it wasn’t moving freely due to debris in the joint, which had happened before, and as he cleaned it and lubricated it so it would turn to the sun as it was supposed to, he didn’t feel anywhere at all. All the time, the black kept pawing and clawing at his back, even through his suit, even through Hirsch talking to him, even as he made his way back into the airlock, array fixed and working well. As he divested himself, with Amira’s help, of the suit, he knew he’d brought a bit more black back inside the station with him.

  He said nothing of this to Amira, of course, nor to Commander Hirsch.

  – You OK, Grey? Amira had asked him when they took his helmet off.

  – Yeah, sure. Just tired.

  – Well, your shift’s done. Get some rest.

  He’d nodded and smiled at Amira and then left her to finish stowing the EVA suit while he drifted to his pod. On his way there, he’d stopped by the largest window in the station, the Cupola window, and bathed his eyes with Earth until Hirsch told him to get to his bunk and get some sleep.

  – Just stopped to say goodnight, he said. I was on my way there.

  Except… Except it was only when he started tying himself into his sleeping rack did he realize that the Cupola wasn’t on the way from the airlock to his pod. And he also realized that Commander Hirsch hadn’t pointed that out.

  He knew why that was. There were just the three of them. The days of crews of six had gone; expense was being trimmed wherever possible, and that included running the station half full. That put extra work into their hands, of course, and that was OK, because there’s only so much you can do with your spare time in a space station anyway: exercise more, read more, email more, phone home more, and there’s something weird about an astronaut who calls home more than home calls him. But there was extra pressure on the three of them, and Hirsch was a good commander; it didn’t work to fly by the book on every little thing. Three people, alone in a metal tube, flying round the Earth at 17,000 miles an hour for six months; you had to allow some slack, here and there.

  Grey told himself to be more careful, though. He had always had the sense of not being like other astronauts. He was British, for one thing, and that was still a rarity, but then Amira was Pakistani, and a woman, too, so she pretty much trumped him for rarity. It wasn’t where they were from that counted, he knew, or the fact that his was his first mission, because the same was true of Amira. It was something else; it was the way that Amira and Hirsch were so professional, so focused, and yes, he was a trained pilot and an able scientist, too, but somehow he’d never got over the wonders of space travel. It still delighted him to glide through the station, weightless. And he still amused himself when no one was watching by squirting a bubble of water out from his drinking tube, letting it quiver in the air in front of him like a living silvery thing, until he gobbled it up. And he could never not look at Earth. He would stop at Destiny or Cupola whenever he could and grab even a single second of the view. His sleep pod had no window, unlike the disused Russian ones on the other side of the station, which each had a view; some of Earth, yes, but some of…

  Maybe it was better not to have a window. He would either spend all the time he should be sleeping staring at the blue-green ball where seven billion people lived, or he’d be able to see the blackness, all the time, and it would be able to see him.

  So he was careful not to mention these kinds of things to Hirsch and Amira, because he did not want them thinking he was strange, he did not want them worrying about him, because there were only the three of them, and they all needed to know that everything was fine, just fine.

  It was for these reasons that Grey did not talk about his dream that night, the night after the EVA when he had brought some more of the black back inside the station with him. But because he did not voice his dream, it stayed all the more strongly with him, unable to be let out. It vibrated inside him all morning, as he did his morning exercises, and ate his breakfast with the others, in silence, during which he was lost in his thoughts of it, right up until the point at which Hirsch said, “Happy Christmas”.

  Grey blinked.

  – I thought… he said. Then, I mean, you’re Jewish.

  – Doesn’t mean I can’t wish you a happy Christmas, does it?

  Grey smiled.

  – No, I guess not.

  – Going to be a quiet one for you this year.

  Grey nodded.

  – An English atheist, an American Jew and a Pakistani Muslim, he said. It sounds like the beginning of a racist joke.

  Amira laughed.

  – What’s t
he punchline? she asked.

  Grey shrugged.

  – I’m not sure I’d want to know.

  Hirsch cleared his throat, melodramatically.

  – ’Twas the night before Christmas, he announced. When all through the house—

  – Commander, what are you doing? asked Amira.

  – It’s called poetry, and I am reciting it for the benefit of Grey here, in order to give him some old-timey Christmas-type feelings. Instead of a present, because I don’t have a present.

  – Oh, said Amira. I see.

  – When all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with—

  – Commander? asked Grey.

  Hirsch pretended to be annoyed.

  – Now what?

  – Nothing, Commander. Only… Why do you know that poem?

  – Because we all had to learn to recite it in third grade. Yes, even us Jews. Can I go on now?

  – Oh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.

  And so Hirsch did. He recited ‘A Visit from St Nicholas’, all fifty-something lines of it, and as he did, Amira’s smile grew wider and Grey’s gaze drifted until, when he finished, they both cheered and applauded as if they were crazy, then all three of them got the giggles while the station flew on at 17,000 miles an hour, and the sun came up for the second time that day and the black yawned away to infinity, infinity, infinity.

  When they finished laughing, Amira clapped her hands together twice, so sharply that Grey and Hirsch snapped to attention.

  – Now I want to give you a present, too, she said.

  – Don’t tell me you learned to sing ‘White Christmas’ when you were six, said Grey, or I might die laughing.

  Amira stuck out her tongue at him.

  – I did not. Sadly. However, I will tell you a folk tale from where I was born and that will be my present to you. It’s about snow.

  – Snow? asked Grey.

  – Yes, there’s snow in Pakistan, too. Not just in your Christmas songs.

  And she told them a tale, a very old one, about a king of the place known as Gilgit. It was a strange story about Azru, the youngest of three fairy brothers, who becomes human and destroys an evil tyrant by using fire to melt the snow wherein his soul is contained. In doing so, he abolishes the rites of human sacrifice the tyrant had insisted upon and frees the tyrant’s daughter. They fall in love, and Grey saw that it was the sort of story that finishes with a happy ending.

  – Thank you, he said, very seriously. That was very beautiful.

  – It’s a little strange, Amira said. But it’s the only story I know with snow in it. And you have snow at Christmas, don’t you, in England?

  Grey smiled, but it was not a happy smile.

  – We used to, he said. When I was a boy. But they decided to do away with it.

  – Who did? asked Amira, not understanding.

  – I don’t know, said Grey. Whoever decides these things. Whoever it was who screwed our climate up.

  – Oh, said Amira, I see. Then Grey felt bad, because he believed that with that touch of bitterness he’d tainted the presents he’d been given. So he decided he ought to give something back.

  – I’d like to tell you a story, too, he said.

  – It’s your Christmas, said Hirsch. Definitely not mine.

  – Yes, but Christmas is about giving presents. Not receiving them.

  – Isn’t that the same thing? asked Amira.

  – Depends on your point of view, I suppose, said Hirsch. OK, then, give us a present. Tell us a story.

  Grey looked at them both, hesitating as the black rushed around inside him, forever, and all he could think of was his dream; that dream, that terrible dream he’d had the night before, from which he’d woken, but would never really wake from. Not ever.

  – What is it? asked Hirsch.

  Grey didn’t want to say, he didn’t want to say anything. It was just the three of them in their little floating tube and it wouldn’t do to get weird, or say something strange, and his dream was right up there. And he even knew why he’d had it, he really thought he knew why, but that didn’t make it any less powerful. He knew all the stories about astronauts, of course, right back to some of the guys from the golden days – the Apollo missions – and how there was something about floating in space and looking down on the Earth that could unnerve the sanest of them. It was something about seeing the planet – with everyone and everything it had ever been – adrift on the black ocean of the universe. Some had turned to God, but Grey knew that route wasn’t open for him – he had too much imagination for that. But what was there instead? There was nothing. There was just the infinite black nothing arcing away into endlessness behind his back as he peered down through the Destiny 20-inch window.

  – You OK? Hirsch said.

  – Yeah, said Grey, I’m really fine. It’s just… I mean, I had this dream last night and…

  He fell into silence, which lasted until Hirsch said:

  – I know what you mean. I have some real strange ones when I’m up here.

  – You do? asked Grey.

  Hirsch nodded.

  – This is my third expedition and there’ve always been dreams. But I gotta tell you, nothing beats the one I had last night.

  He slapped Grey on the shoulder, gently, left his hand there for a moment and it was weird, very weird to know that both men were realizing that they hadn’t touched any other human being for six months.

  – Tell us your dream, said Grey.

  Hirsch told his dream, his nightmare vision of the Earth.

  – I was asleep, he began. In my dream, I was asleep, right here on the station and then something woke me up. I don’t know what it was, but I felt like I heard someone scream and I woke up. And I went to Cupola to look out of the big window, and there was the Earth.

  Already Grey was looking at the commander with growing unease, but he could only listen in silent and mounting horror as Hirsch went on.

  – And the Earth was sitting there, looking just like it always does, the sun was on its face and it was green and the oceans were blue, just like normal and then it started… Well… I mean, it started to rot.

  – What? whispered Grey. It started to…

  Hirsch threw up his hands.

  – I’m no writer, he said. I mean, it just started to rot. Bits were turning black and kind of shrivelling, and—

  – Collapsing, said Grey, interrupting.

  – Yeah, said Hirsch, but how did you—

  Grey ignored him, he ignored the question, but he finished the dream for him.

  – It turned black, he said. First the land, and you could see mountains collapsing, and then when they collapsed, the oceans started to turn black. The blackness seeped into the oceans like they were stagnating and thickening and then finally the whole Earth started to tremble and shake, somehow, and then it imploded. It just imploded, sucked into itself, and all that was left behind was a quivering hole in space.

  Hirsch stared at him, and there was a much longer silence then, until finally the commander asked a question he already knew the answer to.

  – How did you know that?

  – Because it was my dream, too, Grey said. Exactly.

  The two men stared at each other for a very long time, and so unnerved were they that it took them a very long time to notice that Amira was holding her hand to her mouth, tears running down her face.

  – What? asked Grey. What’s wrong?

  It was very hard to hear Amira’s reply, because she spoke so softly, but when she repeated herself, they just made out what she was saying.

  – I dreamt it, too, she whispered. I dreamt it, too.

  Grey realized that Hirsch still had his hand on his shoulder. He turned and reached a hand towards Amira and then, in all silence, the three of them held hands in a ring, and the station flew on at 17,000 miles an hour around the place we all called home, and the blackness hammered itself around them, infinite, inf
inite, infinite.

  Family You Choose

  –

  Cat Clarke

  Starter

  Paneer bhajis, mixed vegetable pakoras, cheese and

  pineapple on sticks

  “Could you pass the ketchup, Effie?”

  Who the hell has ketchup on a bhaji? I reach for the bottle, knocking my elbow against my glass. Red wine spills all over my plate and starts spreading across the table with alarming speed.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s fine!” Sarah is up from her chair and at my side in the blink of an eye. She swipes her paper napkin over the table. Some drops hit the wooden floor, but the dog, Rocky, makes swift work of them.

  My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and they were already flushed after half a glass of wine. Still a total lightweight.

  I dab at a few spots of wine with my napkin, but Sarah tells me not to bother. “It adds character. Anyway, this table has been a write-off ever since the Great Pan Incident of 2013… Hasn’t it, Priya?” Priya just smiles and shrugs. It’s obvious that the big black mark in the middle of the table was her fault. When I look closer, I see all kinds of dents and scratches in the dark brown wood. It’s a table with history, that’s for sure. Unlike the glass and steel monstrosity my parents bought last month.

  The guy sitting opposite me smiles the tiniest smile you can imagine, then quickly covers his mouth as if embarrassed about it. His name is Lionel and he is the neatest, tidiest-looking person you’ve ever seen. He also hasn’t said a single word since he got here. AJ introduced us, and Lionel smiled and nodded and gave a little wave, but that was it. He came in carrying a cardboard box oh-so-carefully, like there was an unexploded bomb inside. Everyone seemed very excited about it, so I’m guessing it’s not a bomb after all. I’m hoping for tiny adorable kittens.

  “Here you go, Effie,” says Sarah, putting a new plate in front of me and piling it with more food than I could ever possibly eat. “Red-wine infused bhajis sounds like one of AJ’s creations, but maybe that little experiment is best saved for another day.”