The 12 Christmases of You & Me Read online

  ‘It’s closing in forty minutes.’ Lily looks down at her watch, which she does with the same regularity as my foot-hopping. ‘Where’s Jonas?’

  I spot a familiar-looking flop of dark hair heading towards us, but it isn’t Jonas. Aaron’s laughing at something the perky cheerleader has said, clutching his stomach as his face creases up. Whatever she’s said can’t have been that funny, and she didn’t give me the impression of someone particularly amusing when I was serving them in Val’s earlier. She says something else, her lips curving upwards a split second before Aaron throws his head back. Who is this woman? Sara bloody Pascoe?

  ‘Are you even listening to me?’ Lily pokes me, hard.

  ‘Yeah. Course I am.’

  I haven’t heard a word she’s just said.

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re gawping at…’ Shifting to the side so she can see around me, Lily yelps and claps her hands together. ‘Aaron Dean. I knew you fancied him!’ She pokes me again, harder.

  ‘I do not.’ I grimace as the squirmy sensation starts up in my stomach again.

  ‘You do. And why not? He’s still pretty fit. I like his hair like that. Don’t you think he looks like Robbie Williams? Aaron!’ Lily’s hand is suddenly in the air, waving frantically. When Aaron looks over, she beckons him towards us. Grinning, he leads the cheerleader towards us and I notice they’re holding hands. The squirming in my stomach intensifies, but I tell myself to calm down. Whoever she is, she isn’t important. I don’t recognise her, which I would if she’d had an impact on Aaron’s life.

  ‘Hey, Lily.’ Aaron nods at her before turning to me. ‘Hello again.’

  ‘Again?’ Lily arches an eyebrow at me, but I ignore her. I’m more interested in the cheerleader, who’s clinging on to Aaron’s arm as though she could float away at any moment and needs anchoring down. She doesn’t look so perky when she’s being territorial. I want to tell her to chill out, that we’re not a threat to whatever she has going on with Aaron, but I keep quiet.

  ‘We saw Maisie in that café down the road.’

  Lily arches her eyebrow at me again as Aaron explains. ‘Sorry, this is Patience.’ He tilts his head to grin at the cheerleader and she looks adoringly at him. ‘Patience, this is Lily and Maisie, who we saw earlier but I totally forgot to introduce you.’ He forgot because he was too busy sucking her face off across the table. ‘I went to school with them.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Patience.’ I hold out my hand, which she frowns down at for a moment before taking limply in her own hand, her eyes sliding up at Aaron as we shake briefly. I would definitely remember a Patience if Aaron had ever mentioned her but it means nothing to me. She can’t have been significant.

  ‘Where’s your kid?’ Aaron’s gaze roams the area around us. There’s a little boy climbing up onto the fence to the right of Lily, but he’s clearly with the woman trying to prise his fingers away from the wooden panels as he screeches in protest.

  ‘We don’t have one.’ Lily is matter of fact, not a hint of embarrassment accompanying her confession.

  ‘You’re going to see Father Christmas?’ Patience sniggers. It’s an ugly sound, jarring against her pretty features.

  ‘Why should little kids get to have all the fun at Christmas?’ Lily makes it sound so reasonable, as though a couple of sixteen-year-olds waiting to sit on Santa’s lap is perfectly ordinary.

  Patience nods, but her forehead is lined with confusion. ‘Anyway, we’d better go. Aaron still hasn’t bought me my Christmas present.’ She pats him on the chest and leans her head on his shoulder. ‘Have fun with Father Christmas, I guess.’

  ‘We will.’ Lily grins at the pair as they start to back away. She waits until they’ve turned their backs before she sticks two fingers up at them. ‘What a stuck-up cow. Have fun with Father Christmas, I guess.’ She adopts a mocking tone. ‘And what was that handshaking all about? Pleased to meet you, Patience.’ The mocking tone makes a return. ‘You sounded like the bloody queen.’

  ‘I was just being polite.’

  Lily looks at her watch and makes a low, growly sound. ‘Sorry. I’m being a grumpy cow. It’s just the grotto’s closing soon and Jonas isn’t even here. I wanted to do something fun for Christmas. It’s our only chance before he goes away.’ She looks at her watch again, even though it’s only been a matter of seconds since her last viewing. ‘Who travels on Christmas Eve, anyway? He’s going to have a crappy, jetlagged Christmas instead of having a laugh with us.’

  I remember feeling the same disappointment as Lily because Jonas would be spending this Christmas with his dad in Japan, but I get it now I’m an adult and less selfish. Jonas rarely saw his father and half-siblings so this was a big deal for him, and I vow to be more supportive this time around.

  We’re three kids away from Santa’s front door by the time Jonas arrives, doubled over and red-cheeked (from exertion rather than face paint, which he’s scrubbed off). He’s ditched the elf hat, leaving his hair wild and Edward Scissorhands-like.

  ‘Sorry.’ He gulps at the air as he clamps his hands down on his thighs. ‘Wouldn’t let me go. Until queue was down. Ow. Stitch.’ Straightening, Jonas clutches his side, his face contorted. ‘Didn’t miss it though. Phew.’ He catches my eye, the sarcasm thick even through the raspy-breathed delivery.

  ‘You’re cutting it fine though, mate.’ Lily jabs a finger on the face of her watch.

  ‘But he’s here now, and that’s the main thing.’ I place an arm around Jonas and give him a squeeze. It’s boiling in the shopping centre but he’s still wearing his leather jacket. For once, I’m glad my teenage counterpart was averse to proper winter coats and woollen accessories, though I won’t be so grateful when I’m back outside and the sharpness in the air cuts straight through my flimsy jacket. ‘Are you all ready for Japan?’

  ‘Hai.’ Jonas loops his arm around my waist and squeezes me back. ‘Bags are packed and waiting by the door and everything. I can’t wait.’

  ‘Can’t wait to spend Christmas without us?’ Lily folds her arms across her chest and arches her eyebrow. That eyebrow is getting quite a workout today.

  ‘He can’t wait to spend Christmas with his dad.’ I give Lily a pointed look, but she turns away and studies the little boy in front of us in the queue. He’s given up trying to scale the fence and is now bashing a mechanical reindeer over the head with a giant candy cane-shaped tube filled with Smarties.

  ‘I haven’t spent Christmas with Dad since I was about two. I don’t even remember it.’

  ‘I’ll miss you though.’ Lily turns her head so she can pout at Jonas before she returns her gaze to the little boy and his reindeer abuse.

  ‘I’ll miss you too, Lily-Bobs. Both of you.’ Jonas gives me another squeeze. ‘But I’ll only be gone for a week.’

  This time, I think, but I keep schtum. I don’t want Lily to go into a meltdown like the little boy, whose mum has just snatched away his sweet-filled baton. I can imagine Lily throwing herself onto the floor and flapping her arms and legs too if she found out this wouldn’t be Jonas’s sole trip to Japan – and this one would be a short trip in comparison to the others.

  It isn’t much longer before the girl in the too-short, fur-lined Santa dress is beckoning us towards the grotto. Her glossy smile is bright as she greets us, but it starts to dim as she looks beyond our little group.

  ‘Who are you with? Because we can’t hold places in the queue, I’m afraid.’ She bobs her head to the side, already beckoning the next people in line.

  ‘We’re not holding a place.’ Lily sidesteps Santa’s helper and reaches for the grotto’s door. ‘It’s just us. In here, I take it?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer before she steps inside, beckoning for Jonas and me to join her.

  The shed has been transformed into a cosy little living room, complete with a brick-effect chimney breast and shelves filled with cups and crockery. The big man is sitting in a rocking chair by the fake fireplace, where there are three stockings hung up with care.


  ‘Ho, ho – oh?’

  I can see the confusion on Santa’s face even with the cotton-wool beard and fur-trimmed hat obscuring most of his features. He leans forward to peer at the door Jonas has just closed behind him.

  ‘It’s just us. No kids.’ Lily flops onto Santa’s knee, and his eyes widen either through the unexpected weight or shock. Or a bit of both. ‘Our money’s as good as those brats’ out there. A kid just whacked his mum with a tube of Smarties and sent them flying all across the floor. And they didn’t even pick them up. You should put him on your naughty list.’

  ‘Right.’ There’s another scantily dressed helper in the grotto, and Santa looks at her for assistance. She simply shrugs and picks up the camera dangling from a strap around her neck.

  ‘Come on, guys.’ Lily pats Santa’s spare knee before flinging her arm around his shoulder. Jonas indicates I should be the one to adorn Santa’s lap, so I lower myself gently and as far away from his groin area as I can get without falling onto the floorboards. With Jonas kneeling in front of us, the helper holds the camera up to her eye and instructs us to say ‘merry Christmas!’

  The flash is intense, sending a searing pain through my eyeballs and to the back of my skull. My hands reach out to block the glare, but it’s already dimmed. The room is pitch black and chilly, despite the blanket draped over me.

  Blanket?

  My eyes are already adjusting to the darkness as I scrabble into a sitting position, helped by a gap in the curtains that’s letting in a tiny glow from the streetlight outside. I’m no longer in Santa’s grotto; I’m on the sofa, where I must have fallen asleep while watching the ghoulish version of Sabrina with Annabelle. She must have draped the blanket over me before going up to bed, which is rather sweet and thoughtful. The question is, did I just dream about a past Christmas, or was I really there?

  FIFTEEN

  Sunday afternoons have always been spent at Mum and Dad’s, ever since I moved out of the family home, and it’s something I look forward to every week, and not just because Mum makes a cracking roast. No matter how hectic life gets during the week, with clients and meetings, homework and mealtime battles with Annabelle, Sundays always offer a respite. Today, however, not even the thought of a chilled-out cosy day at Mum and Dad’s is enough to shift the fog I’ve been engulfed in since I crawled up to bed after waking on the sofa during the early hours. The dream/not dream has been playing on my mind and I need to know what’s going on. Am I time-travelling in my sleep or am I going mad?

  ‘Mum?’ Annabelle is leaning towards me, one hand on the door handle behind her. The door is ajar but she hasn’t made a move to climb out of the car yet. I haven’t even unclipped my seatbelt and one hand is still gripping the steering wheel.

  ‘Sorry.’ I shake my head and fumble at the button to release my seatbelt. ‘I was miles away.’ I check the handbrake; it’s been applied, thank goodness.

  I can see my breath in the air as we make our way across to Mum and Dad’s, but I can still feel the stifling heat of the shopping centre, the way my neck prickled beneath the collar of my Adidas jacket. It felt real, and I have the sort of hazy memories you summon from events over twenty years ago, of standing in the queue while Smarties rained down onto the tiles. Memories I shouldn’t have, because in 1996 I hadn’t been at the grotto with Lily and Jonas. But last night, I was.

  ‘Mum?’ The gate swings open, jerking me with it, and Annabelle pushes past me. ‘What’s wrong with you today? You keep zoning out.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I shake my head again, trying to dislodge the dream and the memories. ‘Didn’t sleep very well. Thanks for the blanket, by the way.’

  Annabelle shrugs and rings the doorbell. Dad answers, throwing the door open before wrapping his arms around his granddaughter.

  ‘Hello, sausage.’

  ‘Grandad.’

  Standing behind them, I can’t see Annabelle’s eyes rolling, but her tone suggests they’re on a fast spin in their sockets.

  ‘What?’ Dad winks at me as he releases Annabelle and extends his arms towards me. ‘Hello, love. Bit parky out here, eh? Get inside in the warm. I’ll make us a brew.’

  I head into the living room, where Lily’s showing Mum her Pinterest board of table settings on her phone.

  ‘I was going to go for the teal and fuchsia, but in the end I went for the red and green. What’s the point in getting married six days before Christmas if you’re not going to go full-on festive?’ Lily drags her eyes away from her phone. ‘You’re finally here. I thought you were going to miss lunch.’

  ‘We would have been on time if Mum hadn’t sat daydreaming in the car for twenty minutes.’ Annabelle flops down onto the sofa next to Mum, smiling politely as Lily reaches over to show her the chosen table settings.

  ‘She’s exaggerating. Best to ignore.’ I give Annabelle a pointed look but she’s already engrossed in her own phone, sniggering at something on the screen.

  ‘There’s a couple of Christmas cards there for you.’ Mum nods at the coffee table. She shuffles to the edge of the sofa and heaves herself onto her slippered feet. ‘I’m going to go and check on the spuds. Annabelle, can you set the table for me?’

  My jaw drops as my daughter, without a word of complaint, slots her phone into her jeans pocket and heads off to the dining room. Who is this child, and can I take her home with me?

  ‘You on your own today then?’ I grab the cards and shove them in my handbag, not bothering to open them yet. Sitting next to Lily, I make the right appreciative noises as she angles her phone at me, where a mini Christmas tree centrepiece is displayed.

  ‘He’s working, as usual.’ Lily waggles her phone at me. ‘But we’ve got to pay for this fancy-pants wedding somehow.’ She taps at the screen so she can show me a picture of a clear bauble filled with hot chocolate powder and mini marshmallows to give out as favours. ‘Anya likes these, but Karina thinks we should go for the mini gingerbread bride and groom?’ Lily looks at me expectantly, turning the statement into a question. ‘I really don’t want to go down the traditional sugared almond route, because they’re minging.’ She taps at the screen again without waiting for a reply.

  ‘Do you remember that Christmas when we went to see Santa in his grotto?’ I ask the question carefully, ready to backtrack if Lily picks me up on the use of the word ‘we’, in case I was only present during my dream.

  ‘When we were, like, fifteen, sixteen?’ Lily grins at me. ‘Of course. How could I forget?’ She gasps and slaps me on the knee. ‘Didn’t Aaron show up with that blonde Barbie? What was she called? Precious, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Patience.’ Unlike the name, I have none for this line of questioning. I don’t want to talk about Aaron and his then-girlfriend. I need to know whether I was there.

  ‘That’s it.’ Lily scrunches up her nose. ‘I know we only met her briefly, but I couldn’t stand her.’

  I’m about to wave away Lily’s judgement of the girl and press on with my enquiry, but then it hits me. This is my proof. I was there. I must have been, otherwise how would I know about Patience? Aaron never introduced us in the café and he’s never mentioned her since.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Lily nudges my knee with hers. I shake my head, both in answer to her question and to try to shift the buzz of a million thoughts hurtling around my brain. Time-travel isn’t possible. It’s madness to even think it. But if I am somehow going back in time, maybe I really can change how things unravelled between me and Jonas, and maybe I can save our relationship before it goes horribly wrong again.

  SIXTEEN

  I know I’ve travelled back even before I open my eyes. My mattress is no longer supporting me for a start, and I’m on my feet with an object in each hand. I can hear multiple conversations, booming laughter, and the faint sound of Elton John stepping into Christmas. My fingers are starting to ache under the weight of whatever it is I’m holding on to, and my heart sinks when I dare to peep out of one eye. The objects are plates, piled high w
ith wafer-thin slices of warmed-up turkey, cardboard-looking pigs in blankets, pale roast potatoes and smelly, shrivelled-up Brussel sprouts, all swimming in lumpy gravy.

  ‘You waiting for Father Christmas to come and deliver that, sweetheart?’

  I turn to my right, grateful to be looking at anything but the rank Christmas lunch in my hands, and see the fluorescent-jacketed builder nudging his mate beside him.

  The other builder sniggers and scratches the patchy stubble on his chin. ‘I think he’s a bit busy right now, darling. Delivering presents to the kiddies and all that.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I plonk the plates down in front of the builders, grateful to have them out of my hands. I’m not sure whether I’m apologising for keeping them waiting or for serving them the revolting meal. A boiled-to-death sprout falls apart as I put the plate down, and the clumpy gravy has splashed onto the table. I don’t apologise; better on the table than in their mouths, in my opinion.

  ‘Maisie!’ Val hisses directly into my ear, somehow sneaking up behind me despite the stench of cigarettes announcing her presence. ‘What are you standing around for? There’s a stack of pots waiting in the kitchen if you’ve nothing better to do than gawp at the customers.’ She flashes yellowing teeth at the builders before jabbing me in the back with a bony finger. ‘Chop chop, girlie.’

  The café is packed, with every table occupied by customers who are all seemingly shouting their conversations at each other, but it’s much quieter in the kitchen and I take a moment to take stock of the situation. I’ve time-travelled again, and I’m back at Val’s. It’s obviously Christmas again as there is tinsel everywhere – even looped around the handle on the oven – but I’m unsure of the year as I waitressed at Val’s Café for the duration of my A levels. I’ve either travelled back to before the Santa’s grotto thing or to the year after. I search the kitchen for clues – a calendar, for example, would be extremely helpful – but all I can see is grease, plates smeared with congealed food, and tubs of pre-cooked Christmas lunch elements ready to be reheated.