The 12 Christmases of You & Me

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘No idea.’ I shrug again and pick up the nearest gift with my name on the label. It’s small and cube-shaped and wrapped in snowman-patterned paper.

  ‘Aww, no fair.’ Tina abandons her prized possession (it’s a portable CD player, I remember now. Tina loved it because she could use it on the bus as she travelled to college and her part-time job) and snatches the chocolate orange from my hands. ‘Mum, why did Maisie get a chocolate orange and I got Maltesers? That’s so unfair!’

  Mum’s meltdown is in danger of returning. I sense the crackling of tension in the air, see the darkening of Mum’s eyes and the way her mouth puckers ever so slightly. She’s about to erupt, and I don’t blame her. Being a mum myself, I know how much time and energy goes into creating the perfect Christmas, so any hint of ingratitude is not appreciated.

  ‘Mum, come and sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ Jumping up from the sofa, I pat the vacated space. ‘Dad, why don’t you give Mum her present from you?’

  ‘Present?’ Mum frowns at Dad, but she sits down as instructed. ‘I thought we weren’t doing presents for each other this year.’

  ‘You deserve it, love.’ Dad reaches into his dressing gown pocket and pulls out the camera before flashing a sheepish grin and reaching into the other pocket, pulling out a small, messily wrapped gift that’s more sticky tape than paper. Still, Mum beams at him as he places it in her hand.

  ‘Oh, Mick, you shouldn’t have. You know money’s tight.’ But Mum’s still beaming as she gazes down at the pearl drop earrings, reaching out gingerly to touch them.

  ‘You can wear them for your interview at the post office in the new year.’ Dad drops a kiss on the top of Mum’s head. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this one, love.’

  Mum’s smile falters as she looks up at Dad. ‘Fingers crossed, eh?’

  Looking back, I remember that Mum didn’t work for the first year or so after we moved to Manchester, but I hadn’t picked up on any vibes that Mum was worried about money. I’d probably been more concerned about how the move affected me and rebelling at every opportunity. I should have been kinder to Mum, more understanding and supportive.

  ‘I’ll go and make that cup of tea.’ It’s the least I can do, really.

  My memory hasn’t let me down; Lily announced her arrival by knocking on the door to the tune of ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ before stampeding past Dad (he really hammed it up in the retelling – you’d have thought he’d been knocked to the ground and suffered an injury) and heading straight for the kitchen, where I was helping a confused and suspicious Mum with lunch (‘You really don’t have to be stuck in the kitchen all morning. Go and watch Oliver! with the others’).

  ‘What’d you get?’ Lily has hefted herself up onto the worktop, settled between a roasting tin of uncooked potatoes and a mountain of veggie peelings.

  ‘Lily Louise Davis, get down from that kitchen worktop immediately.’ Lily’s mum is standing in the doorway, her youngest daughter on her hip. ‘I am so sorry, Fran.’ Steph glares at her daughter as she thuds across the kitchen lino. ‘You invite my family over for Christmas lunch and this is how they treat you.’

  ‘It’s okay, really.’ Mum gathers up the newspaper the veggie peelings are sitting on, creating the grimmest parcel of the day. I wince as she tosses it into the pedal bin; chucking out your food waste wasn’t a big deal in the 1990s – it was the norm – but I’m used to separating my household rubbish these days.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind having my lot round?’ Steph switches Karina to her other hip, her brow furrowed. ‘If it’s too much, just say.’

  ‘It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m looking forward to having a full house. It’s what Christmas is meant to be like, isn’t it?’

  Mum’s stance hasn’t changed over the years – she always insists on gathering her family together on Christmas Day. Even Kurt makes the journey over from Portugal and Tina travels up from London with her family.

  ‘Dad’s in the living room.’ Steph places Karina on the ground and rubs the small of her back. ‘He was thrilled you had Oliver! on – he was fretting over missing the second half.’

  ‘He was moaning non-stop about it so much, he missed the first half anyway.’ Lily shrugs at the dark look her mother gives her. ‘What? It’s true. You said yourself that he’s like Ebenezer Scrooge.’

  Steph’s mouth drops open. ‘When did I say that?’

  ‘You muttered it when you walked away with your hands like this.’ Lily makes a strangling motion at her throat. ‘Don’t worry, Grandad didn’t hear you. He was too busy grumbling.’

  Steph watches her daughter for a moment longer before turning back to Mum and moving the conversation on. ‘My shift ends at about eight, but don’t feel you have to put up with my lot until then.’ She lowers her voice and checks behind her. ‘Dad’s fine with babysitting in general, but it’s the oven – you know, after the cheese on toast incident…’

  Ah, the ‘cheese on toast incident’, where Lily’s grandfather almost burned the kitchen down after falling asleep in his armchair partway through making his lunch. The fire brigade had to come out and everything, which created a bit of drama for the street.

  ‘I really am sorry to burden you like this.’ Steph bites her lip.

  ‘It’s no burden at all.’ Mum holds her hand out to Karina, who toddles towards Mum with her arms spread wide. Mum scoops her up and kisses her forehead. ‘It’s you I feel sorry for, called in to work when you were looking forward to a well-deserved break.’

  ‘I can’t believe Paula’s gone home sick.’ Steph shakes her head. ‘Hungover, more like. Everyone heard her going on about her Christmas Eve plans, and they didn’t involve an early night. Anyway.’ She steps towards Mum and Karina, kissing her daughter loudly on the cheek. ‘I’d better get going – they’ll be short-staffed on the ward until I get there. Thanks again, Fran. I owe you, big time.’

  Once Steph’s left for work, Mum shoos Lily and me out of the kitchen, instructing us to keep Karina occupied until lunchtime. We’re about to sit down to eat when there’s a knock at the door, and I know who it’ll be before I open it. The blast of cold air is a surprise, but Jonas standing on the doorstep isn’t.

  ‘Merry Christmas.’ The smell of his leather jacket as I pull him into a hug is a comfort after the nightmare I’ve experienced over the past few days. I don’t mind being trapped so much when Jonas is around.

  ‘Who is it, love?’ Dad calls from the dining room. ‘Three wise men?’

  ‘Just one.’ Taking Jonas by the hand, I lead him into the dining room, where everyone’s squeezed around the table. We’ve borrowed some chairs from next door to accommodate our guests but there are eight people wedged, elbow to ribs, around a table meant for four.

  ‘Merry Christmas, son.’ Dad de-wedges himself from between Tina and Lily’s grandad and claps Jonas on the back.

  ‘Have you eaten, love?’ Mum indicates the piled-up plates in front of her. ‘We’ve got plenty of leftovers in the kitchen. I must have thought I was feeding the five thousand.’

  ‘Sort of.’ Jonas scratches the back of his neck. ‘There was an incident with the turkey. We ended up having beans on toast.’

  ‘Beans on toast.’ Mum’s jaw drops and her cutlery clatters onto her plate, splashing a bit of gravy on the tablecloth she ironed this morning for the occasion. ‘You can’t have beans on toast for your Christmas lunch.’ She shakes her head as she wriggles her chair back in the limited space. ‘Come on, let’s sort you out a plate. Brussel sprouts – yes or no?’

  Jonas makes a vomiting noise. ‘Absolutely no.’

  ‘They’re the devil’s bollocks,’ Lily says, prodding at the monstrosity on her own plate, shifting it away from her roast potatoes.

  ‘But you’ll have a little one, won’t you? Because it’s Christmas?’ Mum’s leading Jonas into the kitchen, stretching up to loop her arm around his shoulders. She’s still wearing the holly-patterned apron she put on while coo
king.

  ‘Why don’t you kids eat in the living room?’ Dad observes the already overcrowded table as he sits back down next to Tina and Alfred. ‘I think Ghostbusters Two is on.’

  There’s a scuffle as Lily, Tina and Kurt scrape back their chairs. We all grab our plates before rushing into the other room to claim a more comfortable seat in front of the telly. We don’t need telling twice.

  ‘What happened with the turkey?’ Lily asks through a mouthful of pigs in blanket as Jonas sits in the middle of the sofa with his Christmas lunch. Mum has pressed a purple paper hat on his head and it’s sitting awkwardly, slipping down his forehead. We’re all wearing paper hats from the crackers we pulled earlier – mine is pink, Lily’s is yellow, and Tina and Kurt are both sporting green ones. Mine is making my head itch, but I’ve kept it on because it’s traditional.

  ‘It hadn’t defrosted or something.’ Jonas shrugs as he cuts into the turkey on his plate.

  ‘Bummer.’ Lily brightens. ‘But at least you get to spend Christmas with us. And I can finally tell you about the massive crush Aaron Dean has on Maisie.’

  ‘Aaron has a crush on you?’ Jonas turns to me, a grin spread wide across his face. He pushes the paper hat further up his forehead as it threatens to cover his eye, but it immediately slips back down.

  ‘He does not.’ I avert my gaze, concentrating hard on the TV. I really can’t think about Aaron in that way.

  ‘He really does.’ Lily sings the words while swaying from side to side, a roast potato dancing on her fork. I’m about to protest again when Dad bursts into the room, camera in hand.

  ‘I nearly forgot to record this special moment. Come back through to the dining room for a minute so I can take a photo.’

  We all sigh and tut at the interruption but trudge through to the other room anyway, adjusting our paper hats so we look as reasonable as possible.

  ‘I’ll take it.’ Tina grabs the camera from Dad and ushers him towards the table, where we’ve all gathered, crushing in together so we all make it into the shot.

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’ I wriggle free from the throng and try to take the camera from my sister, but her grip is tight.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. I always look like a moose in photos.’

  ‘You do not. And we need photographic evidence that you exist. In years to come, you’ll be absent from all our family photos.’

  Tina gives a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Good.’ Her grip is still vice-like on the camera.

  ‘I’ll swap my chocolate orange for your Maltesers if you have one photo taken.’

  Tina’s grip loosens on the camera, but not enough to relinquish it. ‘Can I take this stupid hat off?’

  ‘If you want to.’

  Tina twists her mouth to the side as she considers the deal. ‘And I get the whole chocolate orange?’

  I nod. ‘The whole lot.’

  She takes another moment to consider before letting go of the camera. ‘Fine. One photo for the chocolate orange.’ Snatching the paper hat off her head, she lets it flutter to the carpet and kneels down in front of Mum and Dad. The flash has barely gone off before she’s standing again and striding towards me, hand outstretched for the camera. I take position in front of Mum and Dad as Tina aims the camera at us for a second shot. The flash is so blinding, I have to squeeze my eyes shut against its glare.

  When I open my eyes again, I’m no longer kneeling on the swirly-patterned carpet in the dining room in a pink paper hat; I’m in bed. My present-day bed. I’m awake and 1995 is nothing but a memory.

  Scrambling out of the covers, I rush downstairs to the living room and pull the photo album down from the shelf, flicking through the snaps until I find the one I’m looking for. Last night (which actually feels like days ago after that never-ending dream), Annabelle had wondered where Tina was in the Christmas Day photo from 1995. But today, there she is, kneeling in front of Mum and Dad, her tongue sticking out and her eyes crossed. I always look like a moose in photos. Well, yes, you will do if you pull silly faces like that.

  I snap the album shut and throw it down onto the sofa. How can Tina be in the photo when she wasn’t last night? In my dream, I’d convinced her to have one photo taken, but that hadn’t happened in real life.

  With trembling fingers, I pick up the album and flick to the photo taken outside the youth club disco. That also hadn’t happened anywhere other than my dream, yet here it is, in reality. Have I somehow altered reality with my dreams? What if they weren’t dreams at all? What if I’ve somehow travelled back in time and changed events from my past?

  I snort at the ridiculousness of the thought, yet I’m holding the evidence in my hands. And if I have travelled back in time and altered past events, could I do it again and save my friendship with Jonas?

  TWELVE

  It’s strange seeing the grown-up version of Lily after spending over a week with the teenage version (or at least dreamed vividly enough about her to convince myself I’ve time-travelled. I’ve definitely lost my faculties somewhere along the way). But here she is, beaming at me as she plonks herself on the stool opposite mine. Although a week passed during my time-travel dream, only one night went by in reality.

  ‘What is that?’ The beam dims as Lily nods towards the glass of orange juice in front of me. She takes a sniff and fake gags. We’ve met up in the Farthing, a pub we spent a lot of our early twenties in. ‘Let me get you a proper drink.’

  I take the glass from Lily and shake my head. ‘This is fine, thanks.’ I’m sure drinking too much sparked this whole losing-my-mind time-travel nonsense.

  Lily shrugs and reaches into her handbag for her purse. ‘We’re hen-night planning, so I’m having a big fat glass of red to celebrate. Sure I can’t tempt you?’

  ‘Absolutely sure.’ I intend to stay sober tonight. Possibly forever.

  I find myself gazing around the pub while Lily’s at the bar, grateful that the owners haven’t succumbed to the premature festive madness that seems to have overtaken public spaces over the past few days. There isn’t a Santa or a hint of tinsel anywhere.

  ‘I know I said I wanted to go away for a weekend of debauchery, but I just don’t have the energy or headspace at the moment.’ Lily’s returned with her large glass of wine and two packets of salt and vinegar crisps. ‘I know, that isn’t like me at all, but the wedding plans and directing the school play are really taking their toll.’

  ‘I warned you about taking on too much.’

  ‘I know.’ Lily tears one of the packets open and pushes a handful of crisps into her mouth. ‘But I can’t back out now. I was definitely a last resort for A Christmas Carol and who else is going to plan this wedding? I’m telling you, marrying a doctor is not ideal, no matter how fit he is. He has no spare time, especially as he’s taking on as many shifts as he can to pay for my beautiful wedding.’ She sighs dreamily before reaching for another handful of crisps. ‘He is proper fit, though.’

  ‘You both need to take care of yourselves. You don’t want to burn yourselves out. It’s not good, physically or mentally.’

  ‘Can’t you take your counsellor’s hat off for the night? Here.’ Lily leans forward and bops me lightly on the head. ‘There’s your maid of honour hat. Wear it with pride and tell me what we’re going to do for my hen night. We may not be going to Ibiza but that doesn’t mean we can’t have an amazing night. And you never know, you might meet someone while we’re out. Maybe we should hire a stripper and you can oil him up for me.’ She shivers with delight while I hold back a giant sigh.

  I may need that drink to get through this evening after all.

  ‘Lily?’ We’ve just stepped out of the pub. Automatically, I wrap my arms around myself as we’re hit with a blast of cold air. Shivering, we make our way to the small gravelled car park to the side of the building. ‘Do you believe time-travel is possible?’

  ‘What, like Marty McFly in a DeLorean?’ Lily wobbles over the loose stones but manages to right herself.

&nbs
p; ‘Sort of, I guess.’ I rifle through my handbag for my car keys. I didn’t have a drink in the end – I feel loopy enough without adding alcohol into the mix, and I need to check Annabelle’s finished her homework when I get home. An image of Dad with a tin of Roses tucked under his arm as he stumbled across the lawn pops into my head. I don’t want to go into battle impaired.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Lily wobbles again and leans against the bonnet of the nearest car to steady herself. She had more than one of those ‘big fat reds’, and the bags of crisps she put away don’t appear to have soaked up the alcohol. ‘I mean, if it was possible, we’d know about it, wouldn’t we? Because people would have travelled backwards in time.’

  ‘What if it was a secret? Or they didn’t know they’d travelled back in time so they didn’t tell anybody?’

  Lily pulls a face. ‘How can you not know you’ve travelled back in time?’

  I shrug in what I hope is a nonchalant manner. ‘You could think you’re dreaming?’

  Lily snorts and pushes herself off the car bonnet. ‘Who would be that stupid?’

  I try not to take offence. ‘So you don’t think it’s possible?’

  Lily shakes her head and lurches towards my car, tugging on the handle of the passenger side even though it’s still locked.

  ‘Would you time-travel if you could?’ I press on the fob, unlocking the doors.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Lily plonks herself down on the seat. ‘I mean, I’m sure it’d be fun to go into the future and see how married life is working out for me.’

  ‘Would you go back in time?’

  Clumsily, Lily shoves her feet into the footwell. ‘You’d have to be careful, wouldn’t you? With the butterfly effect and everything.’

  ‘The what?’ I start the engine and crank up the heating, waiting for Lily to put her seatbelt on before setting off. She almost garrottes herself in the process.

  ‘Haven’t you seen the film? With Ashton Kutcher?’

  I shake my head.