Driving Home for Christmas

by A. L. Michael

‘There’s an ice bucket in the garage, love, why don’t you fill it up and bring it in here, save all the moving around?’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Lucas followed her to the kitchen, and out down the steps into the garage. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

  ‘Should have brought a coat. And shoes,’ she mumbled as she walked down the stairs on tiptoe, pulling the light switch, which illuminated a single bulb in the middle of the room.

  ‘I can solve that problem!’ Lucas laughed, sweeping her up into his arms, until she had her arms around his neck in panic.

  ‘What the bloody hell did you do that for? You scared the shit out of me!’ she laughed against his chest.

  ‘I was trying to protect your delicate toes from getting frostbite.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, White Knight that you are. But I’m trying to find the ice bucket.’

  ‘Megan? It’s Christmas. And these are the only moments alone we’re going to get,’ Lucas pointed out, and something about the softness of his voice made her stomach drop. She was meant to be pushing him away, preparing to leave, getting ready to go back to her old life, except with the added stress of an ill Anna who needed taking care of.

  But somehow his lips found hers and she clung to him, desperately craving him, winding her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, making mewling noises into his mouth.

  ‘Put me down,’ she breathed, and he did instantly, a look of worry on his face.

  ‘Did I do some—’

  ‘No,’ she said, reaching up to him, pulling him closer by the belt loops in his jeans, sighing with relief as he put his arms around her, resting on her waist. She was encased, safe and warm as he dropped small, delicate kisses against her mouth, waiting for her to push further. She did, licking at his bottom lip, her hands grasping for him. It never used to be like this, it never used to be desperate and needed and necessary. Their kisses had been slow and languorous, exploratory. Now it felt like she’d burst if he didn’t touch her. She slowed him down, putting her hands on his chest, breathing deeply.

  ‘Merry fucking Christmas indeed,’ he breathed, touching her cheek tenderly. ‘Nope, definitely not an angel.’

  ‘Told ya.’ She stuck out her tongue. ‘Can we find this frigging ice bucket and go inside now?’

  ‘Oh, were you actually looking? I thought it was all a cunning plan to get into my pants.’ He put an arm around her.

  ‘You followed me!’

  ‘Yeah yeah,’ he laughed, taking her hand and pointing with the other, ‘here, look, ice bucket.’

  Lucas led her back up the stairs and into the kitchen, still holding her hand. Skye looked up as they came into the living room, eyebrow raised at the sight of her mother holding hands with someone, even if it was Trouble.

  ‘Shall we give Mum her present now?’ she asked Lucas, eager and ready to go.

  ‘Sure, if that’s all right with everyone?’ He looked around the room, and the only person who looked nervous was Megan. ‘Go grab your guitar then, Skye.’

  She thundered up the stairs to grab the red fender, and when she returned, Lucas had unpacked a mini amp which he put on the floor, and plugged both his and Skye’s guitars into it. He adjusted her strap, was talking to her quietly and confidently, kneeling on the floor with his guitar over one knee whilst she stood to the side in a power stance.

  ‘You ready?’ he asked her, and then in a pitch-perfect Elvis impersonation, his nose turned up, he said, ‘This song goes out to a very special little lady in the audience. Merry Christmas, Mumma.’

  Skye giggled, and there were various chortles around the room. Megan rolled her eyes.

  The two of them launched into a sweet rendition of ‘Lonely This Christmas’, complete with ‘bom bom boms’ and ‘oohs’ from Skye. Lucas had stopped his impersonation, and was just singing as himself, looking to Skye to join as they got to the chorus.

  Watching him smile at her daughter made her heart hurt, as they serenaded her together. Why couldn’t it be like this? Why did she have to deny everything? Why couldn’t she let him help her this time around? Heather was sneaking looks at her, and Megan was sure her mother was thinking the same thing.

  They reached the end, both throwing their heads back as they held the note at the end, ‘thiiiis chriiiiistmaaaaas’, with Skye ending with a few ‘aaahs’ and very delicately finger-picking the ending slow tune of ‘Jingle Bells’. They looked at each other, looked at their audience and bowed.

  The small crowd in the living room went wild, clapping and whooping, and Megan just sat there frozen with how lovely this scene was, overcome with the regret. If she had said yes to Lucas all those years ago, maybe this would have been her life. But it was too late to worry about all that.

  ‘That was the best Christmas present I could have ever asked for,’ she smiled, wiping at her eyes, ‘thank you so much, both of you.’

  ‘That’s not the whole present,’ Skye said proudly, nudging Lucas, ‘go on, give it to her.’

  He shuffled forward, still on his knees, smiling up at her.

  ‘I don’t know if you remember this, Megs, it was a long time ago, but I always planned to give it to you, and I never got the chance. And now you’re here, and I’m so grateful.’ He reached into his pocket and brought out a small brown box.

  Please let it be earrings, she thought desperately, please please don’t make this big awful gesture of love when I’m leaving. Please.

  Lucas clicked open the box, and of course, there was a ring inside. It was vintage, silver art deco with a square setting, with tiny little diamonds around the main one, and lines etched into the ring itself. It looked ancient and magical. Anna would have loved the ‘Gatsby’ of it.

  Heather gasped and clapped her hands, Claudia raised an eyebrow at the ring in appreciation, and Skye just stood there, looking so happy at the whole spectacle. This was what she wanted. She wanted Lucas to be her dad. And he wanted to be. And Megan was the only one causing any problems in this situation.

  Did she love Lucas? Sure, in that first love, always sort of way. She was attracted to him, sure, and she loved kissing him, loved being near him. But it had been ten years. And then it had been ten days.

  ‘Don’t freak out, it doesn’t mean what you think it means.’

  Lucas was grinning, looking up at her like she was taking everything too seriously.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Don’t you recognise it?’ He proffered the box and she took it, staring deeply into the stone, analysing the setting. Had she seen it in a shop once? Was it a movie prop? She didn’t recognise it at all, but to say that seemed so…unfair.

  The phone rang, jolting them all from the moment, but as Megan’s eyes stayed on Lucas’ hopeful ones, her fingers tracing the bumps of the silver in her hands, she heard her mother’s voice as she answered the phone, and knew immediately. Anna.

  Chapter Thirteen

  May 2002

  ‘Hey, you weren’t in school today.’ Megan dropped down on Lucas’ bed, loosening her red school tie and throwing her backpack on the floor.

  He was sat on his bed reading a book, and looked up. ‘My nan died.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry!’ Megan assumed he’d just bunked off because he didn’t feel like it. ‘You okay?’

  He shrugged. ‘I only met her a couple of times. She seemed nice.’

  He didn’t point out that it was because his mum had never made the effort, that his nan had made a point about the men moving in and out of their lives, and his mum had cut her out. And then she was gone, and they had no one else. Just Linda, and the man of the moment. It was pretty depressing, really.

  Clare came running in, and stopped when she saw Megan, waving shyly. Megan waved back, and gestured for the girl to come in, her brown hair in two plaits, blue eyes wide. The girl spun a ring around her finger and brought it over to Megan to show her. It was gorgeous and expensive-looking, vintage-style silver with a huge diamond in the middle, and little diamonds in a s
quare setting all around the edge.

  ‘Clare, are you meant to have this?’ Megan made sure she spoke slowly so Clare could read her lips.

  Clare shrugged and pointed at Lucas.

  ‘Is she meant to have this?’

  He looked up briefly. ‘No. Apparently that’s my inheritance. God knows why. Clare’s got a necklace, but Mum won’t let her have it. So she’s playing with that ring.’

  ‘How did you get it?’

  ‘My Nan posted it to me, I got it yesterday. Here.’ hHe reached into his bedside cabinet and lifted up a collection of papers. ‘There’s the whole story.’

  Megan looked down at the paper. ‘You sure it’s okay to read this?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he shrugged, then looked at Clare. ‘Actually read it out, and I can sign it, so Clare can hear the story too.’ He beckoned his little sister to sit on the bed, taking hold of the ring and holding it up.

  ‘My darling boy,’ Megan started, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to, but this ring is for you. Your grandfather Jack gave this to me when I agreed to marry him, many, many years ago. But even more important than that, this is the ring your grandfather used when he asked me the four times before that one. I was young, unsure. Jack was a strong, gentle man who waited for me for many, many years. He was sure and steady in his feelings. Once he knew what he wanted, he fought for it. Or in my case, he waited until I was ready to love him back. I hope this ring is a reminder for you of that steadiness of love, and that sometimes things don’t always go to plan the first time around. I wanted someone to know our story. I hope one day you find someone who you would ask to marry you five times, someone you would keep asking every day until the end of time. Love you always, dear boy. Be good. Nanna.’

  Clare’s eyes widened as Lucas stopped signing, a few seconds after Megan stopped reading.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ Megan sighed.

  ‘It’s stupid.’ Lucas rolled his eyes, running the ring over in his fingers. ‘If she didn’t say yes the first time, why would he keep making a fool of himself?’

  ‘Because he loved her.’

  ‘Because he was a stalker, more like,’ Lucas guffawed, sticking the ring back in the little brown box, and sliding it into his bedside drawer. ‘If you want something, why wait all that time? Why not just go for it?’

  ‘Because love is patient?’ Megan shrugged. ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s a sweet story.’

  ‘It’s a nice story. But it’s not real life.’ He pointed downstairs, where Linda was clutching a glass of wine, on the phone talking loudly. ‘That’s real life. And that’s where we all end up. Grasping for straws and taking whatever comes along.’

  ***

  ‘Anna’s dying, isn’t she?’ Skye said in the back of Lucas’ car as they drove to the hospital. He was the only one sober enough to drive. Heather and Jonathan dithered about whether or not to go. Megan said she’d assess the situation when she got there, and let them know whether they should make the journey.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Lucas asked, eyes on the road, a hand resting on Megan’s thigh as she stared out of the window. The roads were quiet, no trundling red buses or sports cars. They headed into London, dreading the traffic, but the grey sky covered them, threatening snow but holding out. Megan said nothing.

  ‘It all makes sense – look at the evidence,’ Skye waxed, going into full detective mode and ticking off her fingers. ‘She was coughing and ill yesterday, and she underplays everything. She wanted to chat privately last night with Mum, which never happens. And she sent us here. After years of being fine with us just having each other, Anna sent us off to find Grandma and Granddad.’

  ‘Your Grandma wanted us to come, bub, she called Anna,’ Megan said tiredly, reaching her arm back behind the seat to touch Skye’s mermaid-legging-ed legs.

  ‘Nope, I heard her on the phone. She convinced Grandma. Said one of your friends’ parents had died and you’d had a bit of a shock.’

  Megan rolled her eyes, unsurprised. ‘Listening at doorways again?’

  ‘I was sitting on the stairs reading my book. Not my fault!’ Skye huffed, pulling her trilby down on her head.

  ‘Well, you’re a very good detective,’ Lucas said, trying to keep the tone jovial, though Megan couldn’t see the point. Sure, she knew rationally that she was meant to be the strong mother in this. She was meant to be the Megan who’d run away, who’d raised her child in a hostel for the first few months of her life. The Megan who worked two jobs and studied part-time for six years to get where she was. She was meant to be strong so her daughter could be weak, so Anna could be weak. But she was so very tired of being strong.

  ‘So, it’s true then?’ Skye’s voice wavered.

  ‘I don’t know, hun, we’ll have to talk to the doctors.’

  ‘You do know, your voice says it all,’ Skye said distinctly, and then, quieter, ‘I’m going to sleep for a bit.’ She pulled the fluffy red blanket in the back of the car over her head, leaning against the car door, and Megan winced as she heard small quiet sniffles coming from the back seat.

  ‘Can…you…turn the music up…please?’ came Skye’s wavering voice again.

  Lucas agreed, the sounds of his melancholy mix cd floating throughout the car. Morrissey sang that to die by your side would be a heavenly way to die, and Megan felt she might explode. Her eleven-year-old daughter knew how to cover up her crying, wanted the dignity of secrecy. Something about that was heartbreaking. Lucas grasped her hand and said nothing.

  ***

  May 2010

  When Megan picked Skye up from school that evening, she was withdrawn, irritable. She picked at her food, didn’t want to watch a movie or even read. She just lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, her huge dark plaits on either side of her face, like an angry Pippi Longstocking.

  ‘Skye?’ Megan knocked, poking her head around the door. Skye’s face was thunderous.

  ‘Are you ill?’ Megan asked, easing into the room, resting delicately on the end of the bed. Skye shook her head violently, eyes still focused on the ceiling.

  ‘You in pain?’

  Skye shook her head, but her breathing was starting to get quicker, and her eyes were watering.

  ‘What happened, baby?’ Megan said gently, brushing a hand across her fringe.

  Skye tightened her lips, pressing them together as if to stop herself talking.

  ‘Is it a secret?’

  ‘No, I just don’t want to talk,’ Skye spat, ‘there’s no point getting upset.’

  Megan shook her head. ‘Of course there is. If you get upset, you feel better afterwards.’

  Skye rolled her eyes.

  ‘No, really babe, think about it. If you have all these horrible feelings inside, and you keep them inside, what do you think they’re gonna do? Just build up and up and up until you explode with them. If you just let yourself be upset each time you feel it, it’s safer, isn’t it? It’s always better to get it out.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a silly cry baby.’ Skye’s bottom lip wobbled, looking anywhere but her mother.

  ‘You’re never a silly cry baby.’ Megan scooted closer. ‘Come on babe, tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘The kids at school think I’m weird.’

  Megan felt a sharp pain of motherly indignation – how dare they think that? How dare they upset her perfect, wonderful child?

  ‘Why’s that?’

  Sure, she let Skye go in on mufti days in skirt over trousers, or wearing butterfly wings because that was what she’d picked, but, surely that couldn’t be right? Should she have shielded her kid, stopped her from being individual just to protect her from those small-minded idiots?

  ‘Because they said it’s weird that I don’t have a dad. And because I like unicorns,’ Skye huffed, crossing her arms. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  Megan’s heart fluttered painfully.

  ‘It is ridiculous,’ Megan agreed.

  ‘Unicorns are really cool!’ Skye
burst into tears suddenly, and Megan was torn between snorting in laughter, or joining her.

  ***

  Megan hated hospitals. She hated the smell of disinfectant, she hated the sick people lying around, pitiable. She hated crying babies and tired nurses and everyone and everything. Skye held her hand, and they stood in the middle of Whittington Hospital, unsure of where to go. Lucas was parking the car.

  After a while of walking up and down winding corridors that seemed to lead them back to the same place every time, they were directed to a private room. Megan looked through the small glass partition and saw Jeremy sitting by the bed. She knocked, and Jeremy came out, hugging them both. He looked awful, grey and exhausted. His blond hair was standing up on end and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for weeks. If that was just him, how bad would Anna look?

  ‘What’s going on?’ Megan asked him, arms around his neck, Skye squished between them.

  ‘It’s…it’s not great,’ Jeremy sighed, ‘I wish I hadn’t made all those old biddie jokes now.’

  ‘Are they still at the house?’

  ‘Oh yes, munching away on canapés and generally enjoying the drama of it all.’ He rolled his eyes, and then pointed to the room. ‘And she’s not much better! Told me to make sure I brought her bag. Not only did it have an entire box of Clinique products, but there was a bottle of Bolly in there! She’s been trying to force me to find some ice.’

  Megan half-laughed, half-cried. ‘Should tell her to drink it out of a urine sample cup for everything she’s put you through.’

  ‘The thought did cross my mind.’ Jeremy turned to Skye. ‘And how are you, munchkin? I like your hat.’

  ‘It’s my detective trilby,’ she sniffled, holding onto his leg.

  ‘And it’s doing a great job of showing off your detective skills.’ Jeremy squeezed her. ‘Do you guys want to go in?’

  Megan took a deep breath, holding onto the handle for dear life, and then nodded, pushing the door open. She held out her other hand to Skye, who pursed her lips and walked through the door. The two of them looked like they were prepared for war.

  ‘Darlings! How wonderful! Jez was becoming a bit of a bore. Won’t let me have my Christmas champagne. Blasphemy on Baby Jesus’ birthday!’ She coughed a little, suppressing it so they sounded ladylike and minimal.