Cicada Summer by Kate Constable

anything he thought might be useful later on.
    They’d almost forgotten about Dad and Lorelei Swan. When they came in, the merriment stopped.
    Dad was wearing a joke Santa hat. Lorelei Swan wore a red suit and a string of fat pearls.
    Mo cleared her throat. ‘Merry Christmas.’
    ‘What’s all this?’ cried Dad. His voice sounded loud and false in the sudden quiet. ‘A Middle Eastern feast on the birthday of Our Lord? What would the Pope say?’
    Lorelei Swan tittered.
    Tommy’s father smiled. ‘The Pope might remember that Jesus was Middle Eastern. Though not, I admit, Afghani. I hope you don’t mind that we have invited ourselves for Christmas?’
    ‘Mind?’ said Dad. ‘Why should I mind?’ There was a pause.
    ‘Not up to you. It’s my house, not yours,’ said Mo. ‘And look, they’re doing all the cooking.’
    ‘Perfect Christmas, waited on hand and foot,’ said Dad heartily, then realised that hadn’t quite come out right. ‘Not that you’re servants, of course – didn’t mean to suggest . . . How about a drop of bubbly?’
    ‘Not for us, thank you,’ said Tommy’s mother politely. ‘Our religion.’
    ‘Oh, right – seriously? You’re not allowed to? Right, okay, well. All the more for us, eh, Lorelei?
    And Mo – you won’t say no to a drop, will you?’
    ‘Just a drop,’ said Mo. ‘Did you bring those things I asked for, Stephen?’
    Dad looked blank. ‘Oh, sh— Sorry. You know, it completely went out of my head. Meant to put a reminder thingy on the whatsit.’
    Mo closed her eyes briefly. ‘I apologise,’ she said to Tommy’s mother. ‘Your gifts will have to wait.’
    ‘Really, it’s not necessary.’ Tommy’s mother patted Mo’s hand. ‘After all, we have no gifts for you.’
    ‘You just being here – all this food – if that’s not a gift . . .’ Mo blinked fiercely.
    Dad handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Well, you know, Mo, if you went out and did your own flaming shopping . . . I don’t see that it’s my fault.’
    ‘Excuse me!’ said Tommy’s father suddenly. ‘Everybody out of the kitchen, please. I need room to cook. Osman and Miss Eloise, you stay and help.’
    Dad clapped his hand to his head, spilling his champagne. ‘Can’t believe I nearly forgot! Elimination Round, here’s your present, sweetheart. It’s from me and Lorelei.’
    ‘I chose it,’ said Lorelei Swan.
    Eloise unwrapped a bright pink leather skirt and matching jacket. They were much too large, and anyway, they were clothes she’d never wear in a million, trillion years. If they were the last clothes on earth, she’d rather go naked than put them on. She heard a smothered laugh behind her as Tommy turned away.
    Eloise smiled a tight, brief smile at Lorelei Swan, then hugged her dad. It wasn’t his fault. But she did think he could have chosen something for her himself. She wondered how he had described her, that Lorelei could have thought this was the perfect present.
    ‘Very nice,’ said Dad uncertainly. Eloise had the feeling it was the first time he’d seen them, too. ‘Thanks, Lorelei. Lovely.’
    ‘You’ll grow into them,’ said Lorelei Swan. ‘Or I could exchange them for a smaller size. We could go together, Eloise. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?’
    Eloise brought out her dad’s present and gave it to him, pointedly ignoring Lorelei Swan.
    ‘What’s this, El Greco? Let me guess. A book? A DVD? Or is it . . . don’t tell me . . . one of your drawings?’ He winked at Mo. ‘’Cause I need another one of those.’
    Lorelei Swan laughed. ‘Children’s drawings are so cute,’ she said to no one in particular, and sipped her champagne.
    ‘I think you will find Eloise is an accomplished artist,’ said Tommy’s mother quietly, and suddenly Eloise felt like crying. Why couldn’t Dad have said something nice like that?
    Dad tore off the wrapping paper and held up the picture. It was a drawing of the house – not the way it looked now, all shabby and