Joy
‘And this is just a little something extra from me, Jelly-B.’
Dad reached behind the cushion on the sofa and handed me a small, wrapped package. Mum looked at him sharply but his eyes were only on me, twinkling.
He’d turned up late on Christmas Eve. I’d tried to stay awake, but by eleven-thirty I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Voices from downstairs had lured me back to consciousness.
‘I can’t believe you actually went to the pub before coming here!’ Mum’s voice went rat-at-at-at, like a gun. Dad’s, though, was mellow as hot chocolate.
‘I’ve been travelling since this morning,’ he said, ‘and I needed a bit of Dutch courage, if you must know. I only went in for one.’
‘Well, your daughter tried to stay awake but she’s only a child. You’ll have to see her in the morning.’
‘Dad!’
I shot down the stairs and into his arms at full-pelt. His battered old leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and Daddishness. He hugged me for ages, his chin resting on the top of my head.
Then he held me back and looked at me, both of us grinning like crazy.
His hair had got longer and I could see grey in his stubbly chin. He looked the same but different all at once. There was a beery smell on his breath and his eyes were a bit red.
‘Sorry, I’m so late,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up. You look about five years older. This sea air is obviously good for you!’
I wanted to reply but to my horror I wasn’t able to speak at all. I clung onto him, hiding my face in his jacket.
Dad just hugged me harder, making little shushing noises and saying, ‘Hey, now, what’s all this?’
I wanted to tell him everything ... about how horrible it was here, about Luka, about how scared I was about starting school. But I couldn’t speak.
He hugged me a bit longer and then Mum packed me off to bed.
I woke the next morning feeling excited about Christmas for the first time.
I could see that Dad had slept on the sofa. He was outside having a cigarette when I came down and he turned and waved through the kitchen window. His face was all creased and Mum’s eyes looked swollen, but we had Christmassy music on and even the stupid old fake tree didn’t look too bad as I got amongst my presents.
Mum had bought small things for Dad – just some socks and the smelly shower stuff he liked. But when she unwrapped the present from him – an expensive-looking velvet scarf with little beads sewn into it – she’d stared down at it in her lap for a moment, stroking it like a cat. Then she’d thanked him stiffly, avoiding his eyes.
That was when he said the thing about having something extra for me.
I unwrapped the paper carefully and inside was a see-through plastic box containing a shiny blue, impossibly beautiful, brand new iPod.
‘Dad!’ I flung my arms round his neck.
‘Now then,’ he chuckled. ‘Just make sure you don’t put any rubbish on it, because I’ll be checking.’
Mum got up sharply from her seat and left the room. I saw Dad watch her go and then heard some banging around in the kitchen. Dad gave a heavy sigh and got up, winking at me before following her out of the room.
They were talking quietly at first, with the kitchen door shut. I tried to turn up the telly and ignore them, eating my selection box and stroking my iPod. Mum was probably just jealous, but my stomach went all cold and sore, like it always did when they fought, and the chocolate tasted like wood. Soon they were shouting. Snatches drifted into the room like a bad smell. I could mainly hear Mum.
‘You haven’t paid a penny since we moved and then you go flinging money on expensive presents you can’t afford? And when are you going to tell her, Steve? I’m fed up with being the bad guy.’
I forced myself to my feet and walked to the kitchen as though about to be strapped into the electric chair. I didn’t want to do it but I knew I had to.
I pushed open the door and Mum and Dad
‘And this is just a little something extra from me, Jelly-B.’
Dad reached behind the cushion on the sofa and handed me a small, wrapped package. Mum looked at him sharply but his eyes were only on me, twinkling.
He’d turned up late on Christmas Eve. I’d tried to stay awake, but by eleven-thirty I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Voices from downstairs had lured me back to consciousness.
‘I can’t believe you actually went to the pub before coming here!’ Mum’s voice went rat-at-at-at, like a gun. Dad’s, though, was mellow as hot chocolate.
‘I’ve been travelling since this morning,’ he said, ‘and I needed a bit of Dutch courage, if you must know. I only went in for one.’
‘Well, your daughter tried to stay awake but she’s only a child. You’ll have to see her in the morning.’
‘Dad!’
I shot down the stairs and into his arms at full-pelt. His battered old leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and Daddishness. He hugged me for ages, his chin resting on the top of my head.
Then he held me back and looked at me, both of us grinning like crazy.
His hair had got longer and I could see grey in his stubbly chin. He looked the same but different all at once. There was a beery smell on his breath and his eyes were a bit red.
‘Sorry, I’m so late,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up. You look about five years older. This sea air is obviously good for you!’
I wanted to reply but to my horror I wasn’t able to speak at all. I clung onto him, hiding my face in his jacket.
Dad just hugged me harder, making little shushing noises and saying, ‘Hey, now, what’s all this?’
I wanted to tell him everything ... about how horrible it was here, about Luka, about how scared I was about starting school. But I couldn’t speak.
He hugged me a bit longer and then Mum packed me off to bed.
I woke the next morning feeling excited about Christmas for the first time.
I could see that Dad had slept on the sofa. He was outside having a cigarette when I came down and he turned and waved through the kitchen window. His face was all creased and Mum’s eyes looked swollen, but we had Christmassy music on and even the stupid old fake tree didn’t look too bad as I got amongst my presents.
Mum had bought small things for Dad – just some socks and the smelly shower stuff he liked. But when she unwrapped the present from him – an expensive-looking velvet scarf with little beads sewn into it – she’d stared down at it in her lap for a moment, stroking it like a cat. Then she’d thanked him stiffly, avoiding his eyes.
That was when he said the thing about having something extra for me.
I unwrapped the paper carefully and inside was a see-through plastic box containing a shiny blue, impossibly beautiful, brand new iPod.
‘Dad!’ I flung my arms round his neck.
‘Now then,’ he chuckled. ‘Just make sure you don’t put any rubbish on it, because I’ll be checking.’
Mum got up sharply from her seat and left the room. I saw Dad watch her go and then heard some banging around in the kitchen. Dad gave a heavy sigh and got up, winking at me before following her out of the room.
They were talking quietly at first, with the kitchen door shut. I tried to turn up the telly and ignore them, eating my selection box and stroking my iPod. Mum was probably just jealous, but my stomach went all cold and sore, like it always did when they fought, and the chocolate tasted like wood. Soon they were shouting. Snatches drifted into the room like a bad smell. I could mainly hear Mum.
‘You haven’t paid a penny since we moved and then you go flinging money on expensive presents you can’t afford? And when are you going to tell her, Steve? I’m fed up with being the bad guy.’
I forced myself to my feet and walked to the kitchen as though about to be strapped into the electric chair. I didn’t want to do it but I knew I had to.
I pushed open the door and Mum and Dad
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