‘Gerroff, you mad cow.’ Jonas wrestles with his T-shirt, but Lily’s like a dog with a bone when she gets an idea in her head, and the hem of the T-shirt ends up around Jonas’s eyebrows before she lets go.
‘Jonas Brown.’ Gone is the assertive tone and in its place is something far more pervy. ‘Have you been working out?’ Lily turns to me, eyes bright and tongue practically hanging out. ‘Check out Mr Six-Pack here.’
But I can’t look directly at Jonas’s exposed body – the glance before I snatched my gaze away is enough to set my cheeks ablaze and it feels very, very wrong. I may have the body of a seventeen-year-old right now, but I’m old enough to be this version of Jonas’s mother. And that’s majorly icky.
I sneak another peek. Yes, most definitely icky.
‘Piss off.’ Jonas tugs his T-shirt back down, covering his torso, but there’s a flicker of pride on his face. ‘I haven’t got a six-pack.’
‘Looks like you’re working on it, though. No wonder Jessica can’t keep her hands off you, the lucky cow.’ Lily wafts her hand in front of her face to fan herself. ‘Forget the Crimbo jumper, mate. Get the T-shirt off and go topless.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Jonas grabs the festive jumper and shoves it into the carrier bag. ‘And I will wear it, I promise. On Christmas Day, in the house, where nobody will see it.’
‘We wouldn’t want to ruin your macho image, would we?’ Lily lowers herself onto the non-wobbly stool. ‘Nice shade of lippie, by the way. Is it new?’
I remain in 1997, waking each morning in my childhood bed, and carry out the life of my past self – college until the Christmas break, working at Val’s until Christmas Eve, and hanging out with Lily whenever we get a spare minute. I was hoping to see more of Jonas, but between college, his own part-time job and being completely besotted with Jessica Tindall, he hasn’t had much time left over for me and Lily. I’m trying – and failing miserably – not to be too put out about it.
‘Are you getting up or what? There’s an N64-shaped present under the tree and Kurt’s going nuts down there. He’ll explode if he has to wait another minute.’
Tina’s poking her head around the bedroom door, her face fully made up with sugary-pink lipstick and silver eyeshadow, and the fake-fur trim of her top is visible along her collarbone. It was traditional to open our presents in our nightwear, but Tina doesn’t live here any more. She moved out a few months ago to share a flat with her friend and fellow beauty therapist, Mabel, but she’d invited herself over to spend the day with us (‘Neither of us can cook, and there’s no way I’m having chicken nuggets and chips for my Christmas dinner.’) Not that Mum minded – she was delighted to have the entire family back together for Christmas Day.
‘I’m coming.’ Flinging the covers to one side, I swing my legs out of bed, my feet tapping out a search for my bunny-shaped slippers. I find one easily but the other has somehow found its way under the bed overnight.
‘Maisie! Hurry up!’
Tina and I share a smile as Kurt almost pops a lung yelling up the stairs.
‘Do you remember being so excited about Christmas?’ Tina sighs. ‘Growing up sucks.’
I shove the wayward slipper on and make my way out into the hallway. ‘Would you go back in time and relive past Christmases if you could?’
Tina splutters. ‘Hell, yeah. I’d start with the Christmas I got my Ninja Turtles figures. That was the best Christmas. I wish I’d kept them but Mum took them to the charity shop before we moved here.’
‘I bet you’d have made a fortune if you’d kept them and flogged them on eBay.’
Tina pauses on the stairs and I almost bump into her. ‘On what?’
When did eBay arrive in the UK? Have I just made a major faux pas?
‘Never mind. What do you think you’re getting this Christmas?’
Tina shrugs. ‘Probably smellies – it usually is these days. What I’d really like is a month’s rent.’ She turns to me as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. ‘Trust me, Maisie, you want to stay at home as long as possible. No matter how much Mum and Dad do your head in sometimes, it’s better than paying bills.’
‘I believe you.’ Sometimes, I’d give anything to forget about energy rates and mortgage repayments and the cost of groceries. And don’t get me started on MOTs and the abuse my bank balance takes whenever Annabelle drags a crumpled school letter out of her bag. But then I’m here, in 1997, without a bill to pay despite my part-time job at Val’s, and I should enjoy it for what it is. I’ll be back home soon enough. Back home to the bills and the anxiety that comes with adulthood. For the time being, I’m a teenager and I need to make the most of it.
‘Race you to the pressies!’ Pushing past Tina, I leg it into the living room, where Kurt is about to combust as he fidgets by the tree, his eyes never straying from the large, snowman-patterned box with his name on the label.
‘At last.’ Throwing his hands up in the air, Kurt turns to Mum with wide, pleading eyes. ‘Now can I open my presents?’
Mum gives my little brother an indulgent smile. ‘Go on then.’
‘Me first.’ Leaping at the tree, I hunt for one of my presents, but I’m not quick enough to beat my lightning-fast brother, who’s hyperventilating at the sight of his new games console even before I’ve located a gift.
‘Can I play it now? Can I play it now?’ Kurt is bobbing up and down, his arms wrapped around the box.
‘I think what you meant to say is thank you Mum and Dad.’ I shoot Kurt the kind of look I give Annabelle when she forgets her manners in public.
He snorts as he looks me up and down. ‘Nerd.’
‘Rude.’ Feeling a frisson of triumph, I pounce on a gift, but it’s for Tina. I pass it over before resuming the hunt. There are an awful lot of gifts here for Kurt. The teenager who has been looking back at me in the mirror lately feels very put out until I finally find a present for me.
‘What did you get?’ Tina flops down next me, cradling a Friends boxset. Kurt is busy trying to push wires into the back of the telly.
‘Slipper socks.’ I hold them up and attempt to muster a bit of gratitude, but although the socks are practical, they hardly create the sort of excitement a new bit of technology does.
‘I got season two.’ Tina strokes the Friends boxset, clearly more appreciative than I am. The collection of videos seems comically bulky compared to today’s slim sleeve of DVDs. I didn’t really ‘get’ Friends first time round – despite my sister’s obsession with the show – but Annabelle and I went through a phase where we binge-watched them from start to finish on Netflix. Back when Annabelle didn’t yearn to be in any room other than the one I was in.
‘I can’t wait to work my way through these tomorrow. I love it when Ross and Rachel get together. They’re meant to be, aren’t they?’ Tina’s hugging the bulky boxset to her chest. ‘Mabel doesn’t think they are – she thinks Ross is a bit of a dick and Rachel deserves better.’
‘He can be a bit … clingy. And possessive. And jealous.’ I tilt my head to one side. ‘Maybe Mabel’s right, actually.’
Tina’s jaw drops and she tightens her grip on the boxset. ‘Are you kidding? Ross and Rachel are the perfect couple. They deserve their happy-ever-after.’
‘And they’ll get it, eventually, but that doesn’t mean they’re the perfect couple. I much prefer Monica and Chandler.’ My face feels very hot all of a sudden. Tina frowns at me and I realise I’ve let slip a storyline from the future. What if I’ve messed up and given myself away? How would I ever explain this time-travel thing, especially when I don’t understand it myself?
EIGHTEEN
My face is burning up and I’m sure my cheeks are brighter than Rudolph’s glowing nose. I have to dig myself out of this mess somehow, otherwise I’m going to have some crazy-sounding explaining to do.
‘I mean, they would be the perfect couple. If they ever got together. I obviously don’t know they do – how could I? – but they’d make a cute couple, don’t
you think? If that’s what the writers decide to do. They might. Or they might not. Who knows?’ I laugh, unconvincingly to my ears but hopefully it sounds more credible to my sister. It stops me from waffling, if nothing else. But Tina doesn’t seem shocked. Derisive, yes, going by the snort and the slow shake of her head, but she doesn’t seem astonished at my ability to foretell Friends couplings yet to come.
‘That would never happen. Monica’s…’ Tina looks up to the ceiling as she tries to find the words, but she shakes her head, clearly coming up with a blank. ‘And Chandler’s… Well, they’re mates, aren’t they?’
‘Mates can become lovers. Happens all the time.’
Tina narrows her eyes as she observes me. ‘What are you talking about?’ She sounds wary. As though she’s on to me and my mystical travels through time. Or maybe I’m being super-paranoid.
‘When people are close, they can develop romantic feelings. Not necessarily Monica and Chandler.’ I shrug. ‘Just, you know, people.’
‘Which people?’
She isn’t letting this go, and I’m no good with confrontation. If she presses me, I’ll cave. Any minute now I’ll confess the whole waking-up-in-the-past thing, and then what will Tina think of me? She’ll think I’m suffering from a breakdown, which I probably am, to be fair.
‘Just…’ I shrug lamely. ‘People.’ I angle my body back towards the tree and rifle through the brightly coloured packages until I find another gift each for me and Tina, hoping she’ll let the conversation – and any suspicions – drop.
I’m out of luck.
‘So you weren’t thinking of anyone specific when you said mates could develop feelings for each other?’
‘Nope.’ I hand Tina her gift. It says it’s from me, but I have no recollection of what’s inside. Probably smellies.
Tina smiles her thanks as she takes the gift, but she doesn’t tear into the paper yet. ‘So you weren’t hinting that maybe you and Jonas…’ She glances up from the present, meeting my eyes and pressing her lips together.
‘What? No way. Gross.’ There’s a prickling in my stomach, the build-up of a shudder, and I help it on its way by quivering dramatically to drive home my point. ‘Jonas is my friend. My best friend. I love him to death, but not like that.’
I suddenly realise why Tina was quizzing me about the friends to lovers thing, and I feel like a plank. Obviously it wasn’t about time-travel. Duh.
‘So you’ve never…’ Tina raises her eyebrows at me. There’s that prickling in my stomach again.
‘No way. We don’t look at each other like that.’ An image of the six-pack in waiting pops into my head but I shove it aside. ‘We’re like…’ I try to think of a famous platonic relationship. Harry and Sally? Definitely not. Dory and Marlin would be perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that Finding Nemo won’t be released for another six years.
‘Monica and Chandler?’ Tina gives me a pointed look.
‘No, because they will end up together.’ I tap my finger against my chin, trying to figure out which of the Friends characters I could compare us to, but I’m pretty sure they’ve all at least kissed each other at some point. Monica and Phoebe, maybe?
‘They won’t end up together.’ Tina shakes her head emphatically. ‘Not a chance. In fact, I bet you a tenner that it never happens.’
It’s probably unethical to do so, but I hold out my hand towards Tina, a feeling of pure smugness washing over me as we shake on it. That’s the easiest tenner I’ve ever made.
The house starts to fill up later in the morning when Lily and her family arrive, laden with goodies. There’s a bottle of wine, a box of Ferrero Rocher and a tin of Roses, plus a giant bouquet of flowers for Mum. Steph is working the Christmas Day shift again and Mum insisted on having Lily, Karina and their grandfather over for lunch.
‘Mum had to leave well early this morning, but she said I had to thank you a million times.’ Lily hands over the flowers, beaming with pride. ‘I put these together. Gorgeous, aren’t they?’
‘They’re lovely. Thank you so much.’ Mum gives Lily’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’ll go and pop them in a vase. Alfred, would you like a cup of tea?’
Lily’s grandfather eases himself onto the sofa and points at the TV. ‘I want to watch Willy Wonka. It’s on the BBC.’
‘Kurt will put that on for you while I put the kettle on.’ Mum gives Kurt a pointed look. She receives a death glare in return.
‘But Mu-um. You said I could play.’ Kurt is sitting on the floor, inches from the TV screen, game controller in hand.
‘You’ve had that thing on all morning.’ Mum has already started heading for the kitchen, the cellophane from the bouquet crinkling as she goes. ‘You can play again later.’
I can hear Kurt grumbling as I follow Mum into the kitchen, taking over the tea-making duties as she rummages in the back of the cupboard for a vase. He’s still grumbling – to no one in particular – when I take Alfred his tea, making sure he has a secure grip of the spouted cup he brought with him. Lily’s grandfather had another stroke during the spring and although he’s recovering well, he’s had to adapt. He slurps at his drink, his eyes never leaving the screen, mesmerised as Gene Wilder describes a world of pure imagination. Karina is curled up on his lap, her thumb hanging out of the side of her mouth as she rests her head on his chest, as mesmerised by the song as her grandfather. Leaving them to their film – and Kurt to his muttering about the injustice of having to wait to play his new games – I head back to the kitchen to help Mum with the Christmas dinner prep. The turkey’s been roasting for a while, so the room is warm and cosy and already full of the delicious smells of Christmas. Side by side, Mum and I peel and chop potatoes, carrots and parsnips. It feels nice, this companionship, and I wonder why we don’t do this more often. Or at all.
Lily joins us after a while – she’s sick of Kurt going on about his ‘bloody Nintendo’ – but she doesn’t do anything to help. Unless sitting on the worktop and swinging her trainers rhythmically into the cupboard door below while she jabbers on counts as help. Mum is tearing open the net of Brussel sprouts (why she’s bothering, I have no idea. If anyone actually eats them, they won’t be enjoyed) when the doorbell rings.
‘Who can that be on Christmas Day?’ She wipes her hands on her holly-printed apron as she makes her way towards the door, but Lily and I know who it’ll be. Exchanging a look for the briefest of seconds, Lily thrusts herself off the worktop, racing after me as I sidestep Mum and hurtle through the dining room and out into the hallway. But Dad’s beat us to it and is ushering Jonas into the house.
‘You’re wearing it!’ Lily throws her arms around Jonas and gives him a tight squeeze. ‘Me too.’ Lily releases Jonas and stands by his side, beaming as she waves a hand between their ugly Christmas jumpers. ‘Maisie, go and put yours on. It’ll be a laugh.’
I do as I’m told, racing up the stairs two at a time just because I can in this youthful body, and I don’t know who’s more pleased when I bounce down the stairs in the festive Snoopy jumper, Lily or Dad.
‘We need to capture this.’ Dad marches off into the dining room and we follow him, standing in front of the table Mum’s already laid with matching, non-chipped crockery, sparkly wine glasses and shiny crackers.
‘Do you realise this is your last Christmas before you all go off to uni?’ He waves his hand to encourage us to squeeze in together.
‘That’s if I get into uni.’ Lily shuffles in closer to Jonas, resting her head on his shoulder.
‘Course you will. You’re a smart girl with a bright future ahead of you.’
The flash goes off just as Dad is speaking of bright futures. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so painfully intense. My eyes are tightly shut, my hand flying up to cover them, but it’s over now. There’s blackness. And I don’t need to open my eyes to know that it’s no longer Christmas Day in 1997.
NINETEEN
I prise the chocolate snowman from its plastic mould, humming ‘Frosty the Snowma
n’ briefly before I pop it into my mouth, munching it while I return the advent calendar to the mantelpiece. Annabelle’s calendar is sitting on the opposite end, its window still shut, chocolate intact.
‘Annabelle?’ I turn my head to yell her name, but there’s no answer. I try again, three times, moving through to the kitchen, which is where I saw her last, pouring too much milk onto her cereal and splashing it over the worktop. She isn’t in the kitchen, though her puddle of milk is. Grabbing the Christmas cards I’ve been dumping on top of the freezer, I tear open the first envelope.
‘Annabelle!’ I’m at the bottom of the stairs now, yelling into the ether. ‘It’s the first of December and you haven’t opened your calendar yet. You’d better hurry up if you want to open it before school.’
Annabelle huffs as she appears on the landing. ‘I’m thirteen, not three. I’m way too old for an advent calendar.’ She clumps down the stairs, her feet thumping each step.
‘You’re never too old for an advent calendar.’ I pretend not to clock the massive eye-roll from my daughter. ‘Who’s too old for chocolate? For breakfast?’
Annabelle’s next steps are lighter. Still clumpy, but she isn’t in danger of putting her foot through the stair, Hulk-like. She shrugs as she passes me in the hallway.
‘I might open it when I get home later. Just for the chocolate.’ She grabs her coat from the hook and slips her arms through the sleeves.
‘We can decorate the tree tonight, if you want to. I’ll get it down from the loft and we can put some Christmas music on to really get us in the mood. And we’ll watch Elf. You love Elf.’
Annabelle gives me an odd look as she hooks her backpack onto her shoulder. ‘I thought you hated Christmas?’
‘I don’t hate Christmas.’ I pull the card from its envelope, smiling at the cartoon reindeer. ‘I just think there’s a time and place to celebrate it, which isn’t mid-October. It’s December now. Ho ho ho.’ I give a little wiggle for the last bit, which earns me another eye-roll from Annabelle.
The 12 Christmases of You & Me Page 12
