I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Tom Becker

  Tamsin beamed. “That’s so kind of you both! I hope you lot are paying attention,” she added, looking at her own children.

  I didn’t stay to hear their responses. Laden with as many plates as I could carry, I hurried out to the blissfully silent kitchen.

  Laying down my pile of crockery, I rested for a moment against the cool counter and willed my head to stop spinning. But before I could even catch my breath, I heard Owen dumping his dishes beside my pile.

  “You OK?” he asked. “They can be a bit…”

  “Loud?” Except it wasn’t the volume, not really. It was the way they had three conversations at once and still managed to follow all of them. It left me dizzy.

  “Much, I was going to say. They can be a bit much. If you’re not used to them, anyway.” He hitched himself up to sit on one of the stools at the counter beside me.

  “Just a bit,” I agreed. “But you are, right? Used to them, I mean.”

  Owen shrugged. “I guess. Rob and I have been friends since we were little kids.”

  “He doesn’t like me being here, does he?” Might as well be blunt.

  “Probably about as much as you like being here.”

  I sighed. Who really likes being somewhere they’re not wanted?

  “It’s just weird,” I said.

  “Yeah.” And that was it. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. We just stayed there, in the quiet of the kitchen, not talking.

  It was kind of nice.

  Owen propped his elbows behind him on the counter, staring up at the ceiling, and I took the opportunity to study him without him seeing me watching.

  The hair I’d thought was too long when I first saw him seemed to suit him now. It softened his edges somehow – the hardness of his jaw, the sharp line of his cheekbones. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew from earlier how direct they were, how deep they looked.

  It was weird, in a way, his being best friends with Rob. They didn’t seem anything alike from the little I’d observed. Rob was talkative where Owen was quiet, outgoing where Owen was reserved.

  “Hey, Mum wants us to fetch pudding and bowls and stuff.” Rob appeared in the doorway and Owen’s attention snapped back from the ceiling to his friend. Rob nudged him with his elbow as he walked past to the fridge. “Your fault, showing me up.”

  “Sorry, mate,” Owen said, throwing a swift smile in my direction. It was secretive, like we shared something Rob could never understand – how it felt to be an outsider.

  Owen got up and took a stack of bowls from Rob. As he passed me, he paused for a second, close enough that his arm brushed against mine. “You’ll get through it,” he murmured, before carrying on.

  I watched him walk away, still feeling the warmth where we’d touched, until Rob said, “Are you coming?”

  Back in the dining room, Tamsin dished out chocolate pudding.

  “She’s got more than me,” Millie objected.

  I held out my bowl to swap, but she pulled a face and held her own closer. I sighed.

  “You’ve all got exactly the same amount,” Tamsin said.

  I picked up my spoon, focusing on my pudding, and tried not to wince or react at all when Tom’s foot collided with my shin. It could have been an accident, I supposed.

  I was not going to let them get to me. I wasn’t.

  But that didn’t mean I had to stay here and take it either.

  “So, did we decide what game we wanted to play?” Dad asked, sounding incredibly cheerful.

  I wasn’t used to Dad being cheerful. It felt weird.

  “Actually,” I said, looking down at my unfinished pudding, “I’m kind of tired. If you don’t mind … I thought I might go up to my room and get ready for bed. Maybe read for a while.”

  Dad looked up. “Are you feeling OK, honey? Do you want me to fetch you some paracetamol or anything?”

  “We haven’t even listened to my new Christmas CD yet,” Tamsin said, looking disappointed. Around the table, though, my step-siblings were looking secretly gleeful.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured Dad. “Just … tired. It’s been a long few days.”

  “OK. If you’re sure,” Dad said, not sounding convinced at all.

  “I am. Goodnight, everyone.” I smiled around the table, hoping it looked sincere. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  “Wait!” Millie jumped up, arms waving. “You haven’t hung up your stocking! Santa might not come if they aren’t all there!”

  My stocking. It hadn’t even occurred to me that with Millie in the house that would still be a thing. “Um, I don’t think I brought one. Don’t worry. Father Christmas will probably just leave my presents at home with Mum.”

  Millie’s face fell at that and Tamsin stood up, her smile looking strained finally. “Don’t be silly, Heather. Of course he’ll come here for you tonight! And as it happens, we got you a stocking to match the rest of the family, didn’t we, love?”

  Dad nodded and reached over to grab a bag from the sideboard. “Here we go.” He pulled out a quilted tartan stocking with my name stitched across the top in silver thread.

  “Want to help Heather hang it up, Millie?” he asked.

  Millie nodded enthusiastically and raced out to the lounge. I took the stocking from Dad and followed.

  In the lounge, a fire crackled in the grate – a real one. And on either side hung stockings – one for Tom, one for Rob, one for Millie – and an empty hook ready for mine.

  “It goes here!” Millie pointed at the hook, then watched to make sure I got it right.

  I had a feeling she was more concerned that everything was perfect for Santa when he brought her presents than she was about me getting mine.

  “Great.” I reached across and hung the loop over the hook, then stood back to look at them all hanging together. Like a real family. Weird.

  Millie skipped off back to the dining room, asking again at the top of her voice about playing Snakes and Ladders. I watched her go, then headed for the stairs.

  “Night night, Heather,” Tamsin called from the dining room.

  The others echoed her, and Dad appeared in the doorway as my foot hit the first step.

  “Your room’s up these stairs, then up the smaller stairs on the landing,” he said. “You’re sure you’re OK? You don’t want to stay up and play games?”

  “Sorry,” I said, with a yawn for emphasis. “I’m just really tired.”

  “Yeah.” Dad didn’t sound like he believed me. “Well, hopefully you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I lied.

  *

  Of course, once I got up to my room, I was wide awake.

  I changed into my pyjamas – my fleecy ones with penguins on, because they made me feel marginally more at home – and sank back on to the bed to message my friends for a bit. But they were all busy with their families and couldn’t chat for long. I pulled out the book I’d packed, but I couldn’t get into it. There was no telly in my room, and only so long I could play games on my phone without getting bored, so in the end I gave up and turned the lights out, curling up under the covers and trying to sleep.

  Maybe it was the strange room, or the single bed shoved under the eaves, or the way the window frame rattled in the wind. Maybe it was the laughter coming from downstairs. Or maybe it was just me, feeling lost.

  Whatever it was, I couldn’t sleep. So instead, I found myself listening.

  I heard Millie protesting about having to go to bed, half an hour or so after I left. I heard the boys laughing, with Dad’s deeper laugh in there, too. As expected, they were all having much more fun without me.

  After a while, I heard the front door open and Rob call, “See you Boxing Day, yeah.” If Owen replied, I couldn’t hear it. Probably he didn’t. He didn’t seem like the sort to talk more than he had to.

  I settled back against my pillow again and listened to the sounds of a household going to bed. Rob and Tom bickering as they climbed
the stairs, their heavy footfalls thudding through the house. Dad and Tamsin talking in quieter voices, a low hum that buzzed in the air. Then the stranger, unfamiliar noises of the house – the clanging water pipes, the creaking floorboards.

  Was everyone else asleep? I couldn’t tell. But in the tiny attic bedroom, the air seemed to grow thicker and hotter as I imagined them all, happy and home and exactly where they wanted to be. While I was stuck up here, alone and miserable.

  I threw off my blankets, got up and paced. How was I ever going to sleep in this strange, noisy room? My self-imposed exile meant I’d already been up there for hours and the walls felt like they were closing in.

  Because it was in the attic, the bedroom had a skylight instead of normal windows, but the pitch of the roof was surprisingly shallow. Unless you were right at the edges of the room, it was still possible to stand upright. The skylight was even high enough that I needed to stand on the rickety old dressing table to shove the window open.

  Beautiful cold air rushed around my overheated face and I pushed myself up just a bit further to suck it in, feeling my lungs coming to life again as I breathed in freedom. I’d felt like I was suffocating in that room, in that house. Out there, in the night sky, for the first time since I arrived, I felt like me again.

  At least I did until a voice said, “If you’re coming out, I’d bring a blanket.”

  I jumped, whacking my shoulder on the window frame as I turned to face the voice. There, up on the roof that joined Tamsin’s house and his, was Owen. He leaned back on his hands, his ankles crossed, like lounging around on a roof was perfectly natural.

  “What are you doing out there?” I asked, shuffling my feet around on the dressing table to get my balance.

  He shrugged. “Same thing you are, I expect. Getting some fresh air.”

  “Escaping.” Suddenly I realized what the look I’d noticed on Owen’s face earlier was. It was desperation – the feeling of being hemmed in with no escape. The way I’d been feeling since I arrived.

  But what made Owen feel that way? Why was he escaping to the roof on Christmas Eve?

  “If you’re planning on running away, I should warn you that the nearest main road is three miles away.”

  “I’m not running away,” I said hotly. “But I am coming out.”

  I don’t know why I said it. I hadn’t had any intention of climbing out of the window. But if he could do it…

  I took a step higher, on to a small shelf above the dressing table, praying it would hold my weight as I grabbed the window frame and levered myself out until I could sit on the edge of the window. Owen watched, his face pale in the moonlight.

  “I’ll be honest, I didn’t actually expect you to do that,” he said, as I crawled across the tiles towards him, my heart hammering against my ribcage. He was right – it was cold out on the roof, but my fleecy pyjamas and thick socks kept the worst away. Owen was still fully dressed, in a hoody and jeans.

  “Honestly? Neither did I.” I sat gingerly beside him, taking care to balance my weight so I wouldn’t topple off the roof. His hand brushed against my back, as if he thought he might have to catch me, and the surprise of his touch made me shiver.

  “In fact, you’re not much like I expected,” Owen went on.

  “Well, I didn’t expect you at all.” Why was he so chatty all of a sudden? He’d barely said a word all through dinner, but now he seemed to want to talk. Maybe it was the darkness, or the fact that I was in his space.

  “Yeah. The extra not-a-stepbrother. I guess I didn’t come up in conversation when they were persuading you to come here for Christmas.”

  “There wasn’t much in the way of persuading,” I said. “It was decided for me.”

  “Is that why you’re so grumpy about it?” Owen asked. “Because you shouldn’t take it out on Tamsin, you know.”

  “I’m not,” I snapped. “And I’m not grumpy.”

  “Right.” Owen surveyed me steadily. “That’s why you went to bed at eight thirty.”

  “I was tired.”

  “And yet here you are. Up on the roof. At nearly midnight. With me.”

  “With you,” I echoed, returning his stare. What was I doing up there? This was crazy.

  But for the first time since Mum left that afternoon, I felt like I was right where I was meant to be.

  “It must be strange, I suppose.” Owen’s gaze shifted away from mine and he changed position carefully. “Spending Christmas here, I mean.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s… Everything’s different. And I don’t … I don’t fit here.” Why was I telling him? Then again, who else was I going to tell?

  “I don’t think you’re trying to,” Owen said.

  “You seem to fit in well enough,” I shot back. “I mean, it sounds to me like you’re round an awful lot.”

  “I’m Rob’s best friend.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke, but I could see his fist clenching as he brought his knees up to his chest. I’d hit a nerve. “We hang out.”

  “Yeah? Because it seems to me more like you were avoiding something else, maybe.” I hadn’t figured it out before, but now it made total sense. Owen didn’t quite fit here either – but I was sure he fitted here better than at home. Why else would he take such care to fade into the background, to not draw any attention? Just in case someone realized he was there and threw him out? Why else would he be hanging out on a roof at midnight on Christmas Eve?

  We were both misfits.

  “Maybe I am.” He shrugged, his fingers relaxing again. “Don’t think it’s any of your business though.”

  “Perhaps it isn’t. But…” It could be, I wanted to say. I wanted to have something good come out of my visit here. If talking to Owen was that thing, I’d take it.

  He sighed. “Home… Well, it sucks, quite a lot. So I spend some of my time at Rob’s instead. That’s all.”

  “Sucks how?”

  “My stepdad… Let’s just say he’s not like Rob’s – like your dad, I mean. And I’d rather be up here freezing my arse off than in there with him tonight.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling guilty for pushing. I might not want to be here, might not want to be welcomed into Tamsin’s house … but she had welcomed me, even if her kids were less keen. And maybe Owen had a point. Maybe I hadn’t really tried to fit in either.

  Time to change the subject. “So, what were you expecting, then?” I asked. “I mean, if I’m not what you expected…”

  Owen shrugged, but his body seemed more relaxed than it had, now we’d moved away from the topic of his stepdad. He stretched out his legs again and his thigh pressed against mine, warm in the cold night. Despite the warmth, it made me feel odd. Like thousands of tiny snowflakes were landing on my skin.

  Then he said, “Rob said you were sulky and difficult,” and the moment was ruined. I shuffled across so we weren’t touching any more. Rob had met me all of once – what the hell did he know? “But…”

  “But?” I clung to that word. I wasn’t sulky or difficult. I just… I had no idea how to act in this situation. How to suddenly be part of a new family.

  “But I guess I saw something he didn’t. At dinner, I mean. You didn’t look sulky. You looked…” He paused for a moment, watching me, and I wondered what he saw now, out here in the moonlight. Then he said, “Lost, I guess. Like you knew you weren’t supposed to be there, and were hoping no one noticed you were.”

  I couldn’t help it – I laughed.

  Owen scowled at me. “It wasn’t that funny.”

  “It wasn’t funny at all,” I said. “It’s just … I was thinking exactly the same thing about you.”

  “Huh.” He looked away. “I guess you could be right. Maybe.”

  “So neither of us fit,” I concluded, but Owen shook his head.

  “You could, if you wanted to. Tamsin wants you to, and Rob and the others will come round soon enough. They’re good people, really, once you get to know them. Me… I’ll only ever be
the charity case from next door.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” But I wasn’t. I’d been there less than half a day. How could I know?

  “It is. And that’s OK. I’m lucky that they let me hang out there as often as they do. And it’s not forever. A few more years and I’ll finish school, move away, and I’ll never have to see him again.” He gave me a sideways look. “Same for you, I guess. I mean, if you really don’t want to be part of the family…”

  I froze at his words. I was sixteen and so fed up with other people deciding my life for me, I’d forgotten that soon it would be up to me to make those decisions. I could live where I liked, spend Christmas with whoever I wanted.

  And I realized, suddenly, that if I had to choose … I would want to see my dad at Christmas, whatever happened. Always.

  Maybe next year I’d be with Mum, and come to Dad and Tamsin for Boxing Day or whatever. And maybe Christmas would never be the same as I remembered, and maybe I’d never really be at home here, but the opposite – to not be wanted or welcome here – that was unthinkable.

  I glanced over and found Owen watching me. “So. Not so bad here after all?”

  “I didn’t say that. I mean, they wanted to play charades.”

  “They wanted you to want to be here,” he countered, and suddenly I felt ashamed. Maybe Rob was right. Maybe I was sulky and difficult.

  My face felt hot again, even in the cold air, and my head buzzed with Owen’s words. I was all set to shimmy back down through the window and hide under my duvet until Boxing Day when his hand crept over mine, squeezing my fingers. That shiver I’d felt when we first touched was back – and multiplied. Like Christmas lights flashing up my spine.

  “You’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s not easy, I guess.”

  “I want to do better at it,” I whispered, and he nodded.

  He let go of my hand and glanced down at his wrist, pressing a button to light up his watch. “It’s midnight. Christmas Day.”

  “I should get to bed.” I shuffled forward, inching down the roof in a seated position. Then suddenly, I felt my foot slip and I jolted forwards, losing my balance. The tiles grated against my legs and panic flooded my body until Owen grabbed my arms, pulling me back against him.