The 12 Christmases of You & Me Read online

  We’re dancing to D:ream’s ‘Things Can Only Get Better’ when Aaron and his ‘homies’ nudge their way into our little group, their arms flailing as they bounce up and down to the beat, roaring the lyrics at the top of their voices. Charlie – Kool C in this time and place – stops his Tigger impression suddenly and punches the air as he instructs us to walk our path. He grabs Lily’s hand as he yells the next set of lyrics at her, and then he’s bouncing again, and she’s bounding up and down too, her Lego-man hair flying all over the place as her Santa hat topples to the ground. I feel hands on my waist, and I know even before I turn around who they belong to. I also know that this song is about to end and in a few seconds, Mariah Carey will be telling us what she doesn’t want for Christmas. I may have forgotten Aaron’s dabble with gangster rap, but I can still clearly see the lead-up to my first kiss. The tinkly intro to ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’, Aaron’s hands on my waist, my arms resting on his shoulders, my hands clasped at the nape of his neck. My heart racing as I realised that I was about to hit that rite of passage. I’d hoped Thomas would be my first kiss, but right then, in that too-hot community hall, with the twirling disco ball casting glittery reflections that appeared like snowflakes, I didn’t care whose lips were on mine. I’d been kissed – finally – and that’s all that mattered.

  Now, though, it does matter. I don’t want to kiss fourteen-year-old Aaron in his silly oversized jumper. It’s weird and icky and although I want to preserve the memory of this night, I have to draw the line somewhere. It won’t make a difference anyway; I’ll wake up with hazy memories of a funny dream and life will carry on as normal. I did kiss Aaron back then and I’ll still have kissed him even if I sidestep it in this dream now.

  ‘Sorry. Need the loo.’ Unpeeling Aaron’s hands from my waist, I start to back away, glancing behind me so I don’t barrel into anyone. I don’t see Aaron advance until it’s too late. Suddenly, he’s pressed up against me, one arm clamping my body to his, the other on the back of my head, guiding my face towards his puckered lips. I try to squirm out of his grasp but it’s too late. Lips meet lips and I’m kissing Aaron Dean. I need to wake up now, but it seems I’m still in un-blissful slumber and fourteen-year-old me is still snogging fourteen-year-old Aaron. Ugh!

  I give Aaron’s scrawny shoulders an almighty push, disentangling us. Aaron looks shocked as he stumbles backwards, but he recovers quickly and replaces the open-mouth gawp with a smug half-smile as he looks me up and down.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Maisie.’ He quirks an eyebrow before he saunters away with that stupid shoulder-drop.

  ‘I can’t believe you got off with Aaron.’ Lily is by my side as I swipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, not caring that I’m probably smearing Tina’s lipstick across my face. ‘Evie Lane is going to be so jealous. She’s been trying to get with him for months.’

  ‘I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.’ I swipe at my mouth again, just to make the point. ‘I think I should go home now.’ And by home, I mean my real home. The one I share with my daughter, not the 1994 version of my parents’ house filled with taped-up boxes.

  ‘We’ll walk with you.’ Lily takes my arm and I’m about to shake my head and tell her to stay, not caring that I shouldn’t know my way back on my own yet, when Jonas’s hand clamps down on my shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, let’s get out of here. This party is lame anyway. We can go back to Lily-Bobs’ house and raid her grandad’s drinks cabinet.’

  ‘No can do.’ Lily pulls a face. ‘The old bugger fitted a padlock after we necked his whisky. Can’t we go back to yours?’

  Jonas shakes his head and readjusts his mask. ‘Robert’s at home.’

  Lily’s shoulders slump. ‘Robert’s Jonas’s stepdad. He’s so annoying. Thinks he’s “down with the kids”.’ She releases my arm so she can do finger quotes. ‘What are we going to do?’ We’ve reached the cloakroom and she hands her ticket to the bored-looking kid behind the hatch. ‘What about your place, Maisie? Your parents seem pretty cool.’

  I snort, just stopping short of laughing in her face. ‘My parents are anything but cool. Dad’ll be sat in front of the telly right now with his lottery ticket and Mum’ll be fussing with her ornaments.’ I hand my ticket over as Lily slips her coat on.

  ‘But they’re pretty young.’ Lily zips the coat up to her chin. ‘Not like my mum. She’s forty-two.’ She wrinkles her nose and shoves her hands deep into her pockets.

  ‘My mum’s…’ I’m about to say ‘in her early sixties’ when I realise that wasn’t true in 1994. I do some quick calculations in my head under the guise of struggling to get my arms into my coat. ‘Thirty-six?’ That can’t be right. That’s younger than I am, and I’m not an old fusspot like Mum was when I was growing up. Her hair, her clothes, her love of porcelain Victorian girls. Back then, Mum wore calf-length pleated skirts and low-heeled court shoes, no matter the occasion, and she always had a tissue tucked under the cuff of her cardigan. She spent her spare time dusting, or ironing, or catching up on her ‘correspondence’ (which meant writing to Auntie Pam in Portsmouth). I wear jeans and Converse when I’m not working, and in my spare time I catch up on trashy TV and Facebook. Even with this weird timeslip dream, my mind is now officially blown.

  ‘We could hang out at the park?’ Jonas pulls the door open and we’re met by a blast of cold air.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Lily shoves her chin further into her coat. ‘It’s freezing.’

  It is cold, but it’s only a couple of days until Christmas. I usually wrap up warm in a bobble hat and gloves, but I suppose fourteen-year-old me would rather put up with the chill than don a hat. I check the pockets of my coat anyway, just in case, and find a cool, hard object inside.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jonas peers down at my hands.

  ‘My dad’s camera.’ I’d forgotten he’d pressed it into my hands on my way out to ‘capture some memories’. ‘He’s a bit obsessed with taking photos at the moment. It’s his new hobby.’ Before that, it had been making models out of glued-together matchsticks, which Mum tutted about every time he cluttered up the kitchen table. Seriously, how can my mum and I be in the same age bracket?

  ‘Let’s take one then.’ Jonas looks around the gravelly car park and waves his hand. ‘Hey, Paul! Do us a favour and take a photo of us?’

  The three of us huddle together in front of the frosted-glass window of the community centre, red and green flashes from the disco lights illuminated against the dark while the beat of the music thumps through the wall. The music blares suddenly before it returns to its muted state.

  ‘Looks like Aaron’s finally succumbed to easy Evie’s charms.’

  I follow Lily’s gaze across the car park to the doors to the community centre, where Aaron and Evie are leaving hand in hand. They stop to snake their arms around each other and kiss ferociously in a way that only young teenagers do.

  What a pig! I’d had no idea he’d moved on from kissing me to Evie Lane in a matter of minutes.

  ‘Say cheese!’

  I barely have the chance to look away from the snogging pair before the flash goes off, almost blinding me. I squeeze my eyes shut but, when I open them, I’m no longer shivering outside the community centre. I’m face-down on my pillow, starfished across the bed, blinking against the sunshine flooding through the curtains. Scrambling up into a sitting position, I squint across to my dressing table, almost laughing with relief when it isn’t fourteen-year-old me gawping back at me but the bed-headed almost-forty-year-old version. I touch my face, just to make sure, and see the relief on my reflection’s face. That has to be the strangest, most vivid dream I’ve ever had.

  Shuffling to the edge of the bed (I’m not nearly as nimble as my teenage counterpart), I scurry across to Annabelle’s bedroom, then knock lightly on the door.

  ‘Lily?’ I can’t wait to tell her all about the dream, so we can giggle over the memories I’ve rediscovered. She’ll wet herself laughing when I remind her abo
ut ‘Aaron D’ and his ‘homies’. ‘Lily-Bobs?’ I don’t usually call Lily by Jonas’s nickname for her – I’d forgotten that too, actually – but it seems like a fun way to start off my tale. ‘Lily?’ There’s no answer. I push the door open gently, peeking inside. But Annabelle’s bed is empty and neatly made. I check the bathroom, but it’s empty too. Heading downstairs, I spot a note on the coffee table, on top of the photo album we’d leafed through last night. Lily’s had to leave early, so she can shower and change at home in time for a staff meeting at school.

  Lowering myself carefully onto the sofa – as my head is thumping due to too much wine and Prosecco last night – I pick up the photo album, smiling to myself as I flick through to the photos that inspired my dream. There’s the family shot of us all on the picnic blanket, then just Kurt and me grinning at the camera, and then the photo taken at the Christmas disco. But … it isn’t quite right. Squeezing my eyes shut against the throbbing at my temples, I conjure up the photo I remember. Lily and I were in the middle, with Jonas and Aaron next to us, me grinning at the camera because I was so chuffed that I’d finally been kissed. Opening my eyes slowly, I look at the photo in front of me. I’m there, along with Lily and Jonas, but Aaron is missing, and I’m definitely not grinning with smug satisfaction. I’m glaring to the right, my arms folded across my chest, and there’s a pale brown stain running from the corner of my mouth to my cheek.

  What the hell? I’ve never seen this photo before. When I flick back through the photo album, the other one is missing, as though this imposter has replaced it.

  My dream flashes into my mind, and I see Aaron and Evie snogging off-camera just as the flash went off. But that didn’t really happen. I never saw that kiss in real life. As far as I’d been aware, I was the only girl Aaron had kissed that night. And we didn’t take a photo outside; it was inside, near the cloakroom.

  What the hell is going on?

  SIX

  I don’t have time to ponder over the photo album as it didn’t occur to me last night, in my wine-and-Prosecco haze, to set my alarm and I have a client booked in at nine-thirty. I have just enough time to jump in the shower to try to hastily scrub away the hangover (doesn’t work) and throw on a pair of tailored navy trousers and a pale blue shirt. Breakfast is a cereal bar, wolfed down in three bites as I dash from the kitchen to the car.

  Except the car isn’t here.

  The last bite of cereal bar clumps in my throat as my eyes flick from one end of the street to the other. Momentary panic makes my breath fire out in quick, shallow puffs until I remember I left the car parked outside the bridal boutique last night. It’s only a short walk away, but I could do without the delay today, when I’m already running late. Still, the walk and fresh air will do me good and help to shift the fug of a hangover and the weird dream, and at least it isn’t raining today. The sky is a bright, cloudless blue and although the sun is glaring down, it is freezing and the sharpness in the air reminds me of standing outside to pose for the photo after the disco – even as I remind myself that it never actually happened that way. The photo was taken inside, near the cloakroom. I know it was, I can remember it, and I saw the photographic evidence last night.

  I’m red-cheeked and breathing heavily when I reach the bridalwear shop, even though it was only a short walk, and I sink gratefully into the seat of my car. This body is far inferior to the one I inhabited during last night’s dream, that’s for sure. I check the time as I move off – I have seventeen minutes until my first session of the day and a fifteen-minute drive (on a good day) to the centre. The flow of traffic is pretty slow to begin with, but it starts to free up as I near Woodlands Wellbeing Centre, and it’s bang on nine-thirty when I pull up into the staff car park. Smoothing down my shirt and throwing my shoulders back, I glide into the reception area with an air of confidence that is fake but convincing. I’ll apologise profusely to my client for running behind schedule, of course, but I don’t want to appear rattled.

  ‘Morning, Barry.’ I raise my hand in greeting as the receptionist looks up from the desk, but my eyes are roaming the waiting area for my client. There are several people sitting in the squishy blue chairs, their eyes either on the small, too-quiet TV bolted to the wall or the worn magazines on their laps, but none of them are waiting for me. Heading for the reception desk, I lean in close and lower my voice.

  ‘Has Melanie Baker arrived yet?’

  Barry consults the computer screen in front of him before shaking his head. ‘No, not yet.’ He peers at me, his eyes flicking briefly to the clock on the opposite wall before returning to me. ‘Is everything okay?’

  I’m never late for work. Ever. It’s unprofessional and I’m mentally kicking myself right now.

  ‘Everything’s great.’ I smile brightly as I back away from the desk. ‘You can send Melanie straight up once she arrives.’

  I turn and scarper towards my office on the first floor. It’s small but cosy, with my desk and filing system set up in one corner while the main space is taken up by dove-grey armchairs set around a low coffee table. I have a couple of lamps set out, but they’re not needed this morning as light is pouring in through the window. I head for my desk and switch my computer on before sending Lily a quick text, asking if she’s free to meet up later. I need to sort out this whole photo business as it’s really messing with my head. I know where that photo was taken, so why has it been replaced with a fake shot? Although, thinking about it, it’s as though I have two memories from that night, sitting on top of each other, bleeding into one, making it difficult to pick out the truth. The photo was taken inside, wasn’t it? And Aaron was standing next to me, and I was grinning like a loon because he’d kissed me. But I can vividly remember the cold too, can remember Paul instructing us to say cheese as we huddled in the dark car park.

  Shaking my head – gently, because the hangover is still in situ despite the paracetamol I guzzled before my shower – I switch my phone off and drop it into my handbag. The phone on my desk rings as I’m locking my handbag away in my bottom drawer, startling me. It’s Barry, letting me know that Melanie is on her way up for our session. It’s time to forget about the dream and the photo and concentrate on my client for the next fifty minutes.

  I have another one-to-one with a client after Melanie, followed by a group therapy session before my lunchbreak. I usually bring a packed lunch, but my organisational skills have deserted me today and I’ve arrived empty-handed. I need a bit of fresh air anyway as the paracetamol still hasn’t quite managed to shift the dull thud in my head, so I walk to a nearby tearoom. I used to work here, back when I was a student, though when Val owned the place it was very different to the cute tearoom it is now. It’s hard to imagine the greasy café sitting in its place.

  I switch my phone on while I wait for my lunch, but Lily hasn’t replied yet. Mum doesn’t work on Fridays, so I give her a ring so I can check how Annabelle was last night.

  ‘She was fine. Quiet, I guess, but she was tapping away at her mobile phone all evening. All the kids do that nowadays, though.’

  ‘And she went off to school alright?’

  ‘No problems whatsoever.’

  I let out a sigh, though I’m not sure if it’s through relief or frustration. Annabelle and I are navigating a difficult period in our mother/daughter relationship right now and I’m feeling completely lost. I know it’s probably normal, but it’s little comfort when you’re in the middle of a blazing row that started over a misplaced shoe or something equally trivial.

  ‘You were the same when you were Annabelle’s age. Do you remember when we moved here? You were livid. You refused to speak to us for a week when we told you we were leaving Sheffield, and when you did start speaking again, you snarled at us. But you snapped out of it, and Annabelle will too.’

  Annabelle doesn’t have anything to snap out of, though. We haven’t moved – we’ve lived in our current house since Annabelle was tiny – and she hasn’t changed schools or fallen out with frien
ds. I know she has little contact with her father these days, which must be hard on her, but it’s been this way for a long time.

  ‘It was funny, really.’ Mum laughs lightly, but I’m struggling to find any humour in the situation. ‘The way you snapped out of it so suddenly. One minute you were growling from the back seat of the car, telling us you were going to run away back to Sheffield as soon as possible, but the next you were as quiet as a mouse and just seemed to accept it. I don’t know what happened on that car journey, but I’ll always be thankful.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I smile my thanks at the waitress as my sandwich and drink are placed in front of me, along with a cupcake topped with a miniature gingerbread man. ‘I was a complete nightmare. I didn’t stop bitching for months.’ I couldn’t seem to let go of the anger, even after I’d become friends with Lily and Jonas and settled into my new school, and I didn’t start to forgive my parents until the day of Granny B’s funeral, when I realised we’d all moved on.

  ‘No, that isn’t quite true. I mean, you missed your old friends, obviously, and you talked about them a lot, but you lost your ferocity somewhere on that journey from Sheffield to the new house.’

  That isn’t how I remember it at all. I remember the anger and resentment, the fire in my belly simmering for weeks on end. Although, if I think about it, if I really concentrate on those memories, I can feel myself mellowing. I feel the sadness and unfairness, but I can’t quite grasp the fury I’d felt back then.

  ‘It’ll happen with Annabelle, you’ll see. It’s just a phase she’ll snap out of.’