“I’ll give you the bike back,” said Ben.
Santa stopped.
“I want my Daddy,” said Ben.
He hoped he sounded bold and defiant. He hoped he wasn’t crying.
Santa stroked his beard.
“So, what’s the deal here?” he said. “You give me the bike back, I give you back your father? And we’re quits? Fair exchange, no robbery?”
“Yes,” said Ben.
“And what, I give the bike to some other kid instead?”
“Yes,” said Ben.
“Interesting,” said Santa.
He went to the bicycle. Looked it over thoughtfully. Ran his finger critically over the frame.
“But see, here’s the problem,” said Santa. “It’s been used. Hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Ben.
“You’ve been riding it in the snow. Your choice. Remember, your choice.”
“Yes,” Ben breathed.
“I only give the best toys. Nothing second hand.”
“I know,” said Ben.
“Well then,” said Santa Claus. And gave him a grin that was meant to be reassuring. Ben saw that the teeth were somehow still stained green with pea and ham soup.
Santa got into his sleigh. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “Your mother loves you very much. It moved me, how much. And I’ll be seeing you again. Whenever there’s a white Christmas.” He gave the reins a single flick. “Yee-hah, git!” he said. “On, Donner and Blitzen! Come on, chop chop!” And off he flew into the night sky, so fast that Ben’s eyes couldn’t follow him.
iv
And this is how the story could end. With a little boy lost. By his side a used bicycle, and a dead reindeer whose blood was now staining the white snow red. But things are rarely that simple.
Ben wheeled his bike home. It didn’t take long. The forest was gone; there was the underground station, though. There were no youths outside it now, the trains didn’t run on Christmas Day. He had to cross the road, and looked left, then right, then left again, just as his Daddy had taught him. He took the bicycle indoors. He went to bed.
The next morning Ben went down to the kitchen. His Daddy was sitting there, eating a bowl of cornflakes. Ben yelped, gave him a hug. “Not now, Ben, I’m having breakfast. Pull up a chair, you have your breakfast too.” Ben poured himself some cornflakes. They ate together. “After breakfast, we can open our presents,” said Daddy. “Yeah!” said Ben, “happy Christmas!” “Happy Christmas,” said Daddy.
In the hallway Daddy saw Ben’s new bike, propped up against the front door. It had dripped melted snow on to the carpet. Daddy looked at Ben, then tutted, just the once. Then without a word he picked up the bicycle and carried it to the back door, put it out into the garden.
Christmas Day was fine. Really, fine. The presents were fine. Ben opened his presents, taking them from beneath the lopsided tree with the ears. He’d got lots of toys, and a book about boats. (“You like boats, don’t you?” said Daddy. “Yes,” said Ben.) Daddy liked his present from Ben, a range of male toiletries from the Body Shop. “Thanks.” Ben wanted to tell him that Mum had bought it for him mostly, it was Mum he should thank, but he knew somehow it wouldn’t be the right thing to say. “I’ll go and make dinner,” said Daddy at last. “Can I help?” “No,” said Daddy, “play with your toys, read about boats.” The dinner was fine. The gravy was more solid than liquid, and the turkey was too dry. But the stuffing and the chipolata sausages were great. “They’re the best bits anyway,” said Daddy, and Ben readily agreed. After dinner, they watched television, they watched Doctor Who and then Eastenders. Ben cuddled up to his father. “Not too close, Ben, you’re being too clingy,” said Daddy. So Ben got off the sofa, and played with his toys a bit more, read a bit more of his boat book. “Time for bed,” said Daddy.
Daddy tucked Ben in to bed. “I promised you the best Christmas ever,” he said.
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t it.”
“No.”
“But it was okay, wasn’t it?”
“It was okay.”
On Boxing Day Mum came to pick up Ben bright and early. “Merry Christmas!” she said when Ben opened the front door to her, and gave him a huge hug. “Dave, I know we’d agreed I’d bring him back tomorrow morning, but would the afternoon . . .” “That’s fine,” Dave interrupted.
Richard didn’t come to the front door, he was waiting in the car. He never came to the door. “Merry Christmas!” he said to Ben. He was wearing a Santa hat, he looked like a cretin. Ben opened lots of presents, he got lots of toys. Richard had bought him a present too. “I hope you like this, sport,” he’d said, and looked really rather nervous as Ben unwrapped it. Ben had already decided not to like it, but it was actually pretty good—it wasn’t his best toy, but it was definitely in the top five, it was good. They all had Christmas dinner, and that was lovely—”Delicious!” said Ben—and they all pulled crackers—Daddy had forgotten the crackers!—and they all put on paper hats, even Richard put on a paper hat, he put it over the top of his Santa hat, and he looked even more like a cretin than before, but it still made Ben laugh. They all played some board games. Ben won the first two, Richard won one—”I’m catching up with you now!” he joked, and picked up the dice, “fancy another?” “I’m rubbish at games,” said Mum, “I just don’t have the right sort of brain! I never win anything!” And Richard kissed her, and Ben didn’t mind much.
On New Year’s Eve, Richard was wearing the Santa hat again. Ben wondered if he’d ever taken it off. Mum let Ben stay up ’til midnight, and have a sip of champagne. “But don’t tell your father,” she said, “your father will kill me,” and Ben promised. They sang Auld Lang Syne, and did the arm crossing thing, even though Richard got it wrong, Ben thought he got it wrong deliberately, but it was a bit funny. “Happy New Year, darling,” said Richard to Lisa. “Can’t be worse than the old one,” Lisa replied.
The snow stopped falling. The snow melted.
Ben had bad dreams. And one night in February, as he lay in bed, he suddenly got it into his head that he was all alone in the house. His Daddy wasn’t there anymore. Anybody could come into his bedroom and get him, and Daddy wouldn’t be there to stop them. He got up. He listened at his father’s door for any reassuring sounds of snoring. He couldn’t hear anything. He began to cry, but as quietly as he could—and then he went downstairs, walking only at the sides to avoid the creaks. All so that he wouldn’t wake Daddy, he mustn’t wake Daddy, and it was ridiculous, because Daddy wasn’t there to be woken, was he? He wanted to scream out his name. But he was terrified to hear his own voice that loud in the dark, he was terrified that his Daddy wouldn’t answer. The door to Daddy’s study was shut. Ben pushed it open.
His Daddy sat by the computer, completely naked. Ben didn’t think he’d ever seen his Daddy naked before, he wasn’t sure.
It took a moment for Daddy to realize his son was standing there, and then his face flushed. “Ben! Can’t you knock?”
“I can’t sleep . . .”
“Go to bed!”
“I can’t sleep!”
“Go to bed, I’ll be upstairs in a moment! Go to bed this instant!”
And Ben ran back to his room. By the time Daddy joined him, he’d found time to put some trousers on. Daddy was still a bit angry, but he’d calmed down. “You can’t just go opening doors,” he said. “It’s just not on, is it? What’s the matter?”
“I can’t sleep,” said Ben. “I’m frightened.”
Daddy sighed. “Well, think of something happy.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ben nodded. “Okay, I’ll try.”
“Good boy.”
“Daddy, on Christmas Eve . . .” And it was hard to tell in the darkened room, but Daddy seemed to stiffen at that. “I’m sorry,” said Ben. “I’m sorry about . . . I’m sorry.”
D
addy didn’t say anything for a long while. And Ben wanted to go on. He wanted to say he’d betrayed his father, that was why he’d lost him. And he wanted him back. And he wished Daddy would call him ‘old chap’ again; he did it once in a while, but only without thinking, and then Daddy would look guilty as if he’d been caught in a lie.
But Ben had said too much as it was, he knew it, far too much. Daddy said at last, “Go to sleep.” And so Ben did.
It was wholly a coincidence that only two weeks later Daddy told Ben he had something serious to discuss with him. He sat stern behind the kitchen table, and Ben wished he’d invite him on to his knee, he could take anything he said if it were knee-given. “You like Uncle Richard, don’t you?” Daddy and Mummy had been talking, and it seemed only fair that Mummy got to live with Ben for a while. Instead, even. And the schools were better in Mummy’s area, it was more practical. So.
Ben was confused, he couldn’t work out who’d betrayed whom anymore. “You still love me, don’t you?” asked Ben. “Of course I love you, you’re my son,” said Daddy. And he could have left it like that, but he didn’t, he didn’t, he said, “But I just can’t reach you anymore.”
Ben still visited his Dad most Sundays. One day Daddy said, “I’ve found a girlfriend. Her name’s Rachel.” Ben asked if he had to meet Rachel, and Daddy looked a bit awkward, and said not yet, Rachel didn’t like children very much. And Ben was glad. “But I’ve got a picture of her on the computer, would you like to see?” Daddy was posing with his arms around a woman, and they were both smiling, but it seemed to Ben Daddy was smiling too wide, the way he smiled whenever he saw Mum on the doorstep. Rachel looked very young. Daddy looked old. Ben had never thought of his Daddy being old before.
“Let’s get those stabilizers off!” laughed Richard. “You’re not a baby anymore!” He took Ben to the park, and there they practised balancing on the bike. “It’s all a question of not wobbling,” said Richard. Richard held the back of his saddle for a while, and then it took Ben a few seconds to realize he’d let go, that Ben was riding the bike, he was doing it all by himself. “Yeah!” said Ben. “Yeah, you did it!” said Richard. Richard said he’d taught his own son to ride a bike a few years ago; Ben had met him now, but he didn’t have anything to say to him, Justin was fourteen, what was there to say to someone so old? “We did it!” said Richard. “Didn’t we? Give me a hug.” So Ben did. “You’ll be able to ride that bike everywhere now!” said Richard. Ben agreed. But he didn’t ride the bike much after that, it’d been more fun with the stabilizers.
Richard and his Mum never got around to marrying. Which meant it was much smoother altogether when Richard dumped her for someone else. Ben listened to his Mum cry over the phone at his university halls. “I’ve tried so hard, Ben,” she said. “But he just didn’t try at all.” “He just didn’t love you enough,” said Ben. He played with the phone wires. He hated these phone calls with his mother, he never knew what to say. “You’ll find someone else,” Ben went on, “you deserve someone better, Lisa.” “I don’t want anyone else,” said Lisa. “Okay.” “I want Richard, don’t I?” “Okay. Well, then.” “You’re a good boy, Ben.” “Okay. I’ve got to get off the phone soon, there’s a queue.” “I wish you would call me Mum.”
Ben invited his father to his graduation ceremony, but he wasn’t able to make it. Four years later, when he married Sophie, he invited him to the wedding. Daddy did make that one. But Ben didn’t put him up on top table with his mother, he put him on table twelve with some of the minor guests. If his father were offended, he didn’t show it. After the reception, before Daddy drove home alone, he found Ben. He shook Ben by the hand. “Well done,” he said. “Thanks for coming,” said Ben.
Right from the beginning Ben and Sophie had discussed children. “I don’t want any,” said Sophie. “Nor do I,” said Ben. “I’m not sure what I’d say to one!” Sophie laughed, and agreed—better to get a cat instead. When Sophie turned forty, she told Ben she was leaving him. She’d found someone else, someone she thought she could mother babies for. “It’s not you,” she said, “it’s my biological clock ticking.” Ben had thought for some time that maybe the cats weren’t enough, that maybe cracking out a baby or two wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. But he really hadn’t wanted to pressure Sophie with his doubts, he’d kept them to himself. He told her at last how he felt. She looked torn, genuinely torn. “But I’ve already found a new boyfriend and everything,” she said, and left.
He and his father sent Christmas cards to each other, and on Christmas Day itself Ben would always phone. One year he forgot to send the card, and apologized for that during the annual call. “Oh, don’t worry,” said Daddy, “I don’t like Christmas cards anyway!” Ben laughed; nor did he; they agreed they were a waste of money; they never bothered sending any to one another ever again. Pretty soon after that the phone calls dried up as well. “I love you, Dad,” said Ben, quite unexpectedly that last year. There was a baffled silence on the other end, and then Daddy said, “And I love you too.” But still, the phone calls dried up.
His mother died first, and Ben thought that was wrong, it should have been his Dad, it should have been the other way round. He knew it was a cruel thing to think, but that didn’t stop it from being just what he felt.
The weather reports said there was going to be a cold snap. But Ben was prepared. The snow began to fall, and the experts said it wouldn’t settle, but it did settle; then they said it wouldn’t last, and it did. People began to talk about the possibility of a white Christmas. London hadn’t had a white Christmas in over forty years. Probably global warming was to blame.
Christmas Eve. When Ben looked out of his window, he saw the usual view, a building site and Budgen’s. If he opened the front door, he saw a forest. He went to the kitchen. He took out some mince pies. He took out some soup, too. Then he went to the living room, sat on the sofa, and waited for midnight.
Midnight came, and midnight went. Ben got bored. He turned on his television. White Christmas was playing. A part of the TV schedules for a hundred years, and still going strong. Ben couldn’t concentrate on it, switched it off. He let himself doze for a bit. He found he could doze quite easily, now he had no one to talk to.
One in the morning. Then two.
Ben sighed heavily.
He put on all his warmest clothes. Sweater, gloves. Not a scarf, though. Scarves made his neck get scratchy, and he’d long ago realized the joy of being an adult is that no one can make you wear scarves if you don’t want to.
He went out into the cold. He walked through those animal trees, down that winding path, crunching through the snow. Half a mile along he realized he’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, he’d forgotten how bright the white was. He considered going back to fetch them. Then, “Oh sod it,” he said out loud, and marched onwards.
Eventually he found Santa Claus. Santa was leaning, winded, against a tree. “I’ve been waiting for ages,” said Ben.
“Yes. Sorry. I’m a bit . . . oof . . . I’m a bit out of puff.” Santa Claus looked old and cold. “It’s so hard to keep going, Ben,” he said. “They don’t believe anymore. They don’t believe in anything.”
“Come on,” said Ben. “Rest on me.” And he took Santa by the arm, and gratefully Santa leaned into him. And together they hobbled onwards down the path, back the way Santa had come.
They didn’t talk for all those hours. Except for just the once. When Ben asked, “How much further?” and Santa replied, “I don’t know. I’ve never known.” And then added, as an afterthought, and it didn’t seem connected at all, “I tried so hard. I tried so hard.”
At last they reached the sleigh and the reindeer.
“Well, then,” said Santa.
“Well.”
And then nothing. “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Ben impatiently. And he began to strip.
He made a pile of clothes on the forest floor. He took off his socks last, and his feet burned against
the ice. He liked that. He wanted them to burn.
“And now you,” he said to Santa.
For a moment Santa looked surprised. And then there was the flutter of a smile, gone in an instant; it might have been nothing more than a grimace against the falling snow. Santa took off his big red coat, his great black boots. He took off his beard. The beard was fake, it had always been fake.
And there both men stood shivering in the snow. Ben looked Santa over, and Santa gave an apologetic smile, acknowledging the poor figure he cut. He wasn’t fat anymore. He looked as if he hadn’t been fed in weeks. Ben could see Santa’s ribs pushing underneath his skin, and that in the cold the ribs were turning blue.
Ben put on Santa’s suit. He put on the beard.
Santa licked his lips. “Are you going to break my neck?” he asked. But Ben told him to get dressed. Into all the warmest clothes Ben had, Santa was too thin for them, they hung baggy, he looked as if he were drowning in them.
“Go home,” said Ben. “There’s mince pies waiting. And hot soup. Go home, into the warm.” And the man who had been Santa Claus nodded, and without saying another word, turned and went.
Ben inspected his reindeer. One of them nuzzled at his hand, turned to him with those all too human eyes. And Ben didn’t know for sure, but he believed. That his father had been with Santa all the time. That he’d once betrayed him, but now he’d won him back. That they’d been lost, both of them—but were now found.
And the snow continued to fall.
PANG
When he came home from work he found her sitting at the kitchen table. Smiling sadly, she tapped the chair next to her and indicated he should sit down. So he did.
“We need to talk,” she said, and, of course, he knew straight away something was wrong. They didn’t ever need to talk, they never needed to talk. If one of them ever wanted to say something, it was easy, they’d just come out and say it, it didn’t need to be prefaced by anything, it didn’t need an announcement. One talking, one listening, that was the way it worked, and then back into that companionable silence they both enjoyed.
Remember Why You Fear Me Page 22
