CHAPTER 12
When we get to Dad’s flat, he lets me in and in the corner of his living room is a Christmas tree. It’s a real one and I can already smell the pine from the other side of the room.
“It’s for you guys,” he says. “I know your mum isn’t very big on Christmas and without me there she probably wouldn’t bother to buy one, but I knew my girls would want one so I got it for you. We’ll take it back with us tonight,” he says proudly. “What d’ya think?”
“I love it,” I say, feeling tears spring to my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”
I suddenly feel so sad I don’t know what to do with myself. Dad brought us a Christmas tree because he won’t be there. For the first time ever, he won’t be there at Christmas and I don’t know what to do.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Dad asks worriedly when he sees my face. “What’s wrong? Is it the wrong tree? Because I can take it back and get a different one? I know it’s not very big but I didn’t think your mum would want a big one…” He trails off.
“It’s not the tree, Dad,” I sniffle. “The tree is great. But I want you there at Christmas, not some stupid tree. And not the idiot that Mum’s with.”
“Well, I’ll see you at Christmas,” Dad says. “I haven’t arranged it with your mum yet but you can come and see me on Christmas day too. I’ll even get a tree for myself so you girls won’t miss out.”
I sniffle, wipe my eyes and stand up tall. Because it’s not Dad’s fault and I shouldn’t take it out on him. He’s only trying his best after all. And I’ve had an idea.
We drag the tree outside and down the elevator that smells of pee and possibly other even more disturbing things and I help Dad load it into the boot of his car. Luckily it’s not the biggest tree in the world and it fits in nicely.
When we get back to Mum’s house—and god, how did it go from being our house to being Mum’s house—Dad walks up the steps and knocks on the door and I have to remind myself that he doesn’t live here anymore and he can’t just let himself in. It’s really weird to see your dad knocking on the door of his own house.
When Mum answers, Dad scowls at her and says, “Is that prick here?”
“No, Andrew, Seth is not home right now,” Mum says over pleasantly. “Why were you enquiring and what exactly has it got to do with you?”
“What, apart from the fact you’ve let a psycho move in with my children? Oh, absolutely nothing, dear,” Dad replies in that horrible pretend sweet voice too.
“Well, luckily I threw out the psycho that’s been living with them all their lives earlier this year. My Seth is a lot less of a psycho than you ever were, you horrible little—”
“Dad brought us a present,” I interrupt, practically throwing myself between them before they have a screaming match on the doorstep for all the neighbours to hear.
Also, “her Seth”? Bleurgh.
Mum rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Fine,” she mutters, throwing her hands up and going back into the kitchen. I kind of hate her right now.
Dad and I get the tree out of the car and carry it into the living room.
“DAAAAAADDY!” Pippa screams at ear drum shattering volume when she sees us, jumping off the sofa and throwing herself at Dad so hard she almost knocks him, me, and the Christmas tree over. As Dad hugs her, I stand there wishing Mum hadn’t gone back to the kitchen and that she was standing here watching this and seeing how much Pippa misses her father. I wish she could see how much we miss him.
I go to get the Christmas tree bucket from under the stairs where it lives when it’s not in use, pointedly ignoring Mum as I pass the kitchen.
Dad, Pippa and I get the tree into position, where the tree usually goes right in the middle of the front room window, and I go to get water from the kitchen.
“Come and see what Dad brought us,” I say to Mum coldly.
Dad and Pippa are standing in the living room staring proudly at the tree.
“I know it’s not very big, and we can’t decorate it until after the Light Up, but I wanted to get you all something,” Dad says.
“Oh, for god’s sake, Andrew, it looks half-dead already. And it’s smaller than we usually have,” Mum moans from the living room doorway.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d want a big one,” Dad says icily. “And it’s not like I could afford anything bigger anyway. Besides, it’s not for you, it’s for the girls.”
“And we love it,” Pippa says obstinately. “Daddy, will you come round to decorate it with us on Saturday?”
“No, he won’t,” Mum says at exactly the same time that Dad says, “Yes, I will.”
Mum glares at him.
“Guys, stop. Look, I need to talk to you.” I wait until I have their attention. Time to put my plan into action.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start. “About what I want for Christmas this year, and do you know what I want? I really want a nice family Christmas. I know you guys aren’t very happy at the moment, but what I want more than anything in the world is for us to all sit down around the table and eat. I want to cook, the whole thing, all by myself, and I want us to sit down like we used to and just put all the nastiness and upsets aside for one day and be a family again. What do you think?”
“I think…” Mum starts.
“Yes!” Pippa shouts suddenly. “Yes! That’s what I want too.”
“I thought you wanted a Barbie doll?” Mum says.
“I want to be a family again,” Pippa says. “I want that more than I want a doll.”
Suddenly I’m struck with the urge to lean down and squish the life out of her. She’s awesome sometimes. Honestly, I couldn’t have coached her better. If I’d have thought about this, and had time to plan it and make sure they agree, I would have told Pippa to jump up right at that moment and tell them she wanted it too. But I didn’t coach her. I only just got this idea in Dad’s flat just now. And yet she did it anyway. Maybe this whole thing has affected her more than I thought.
“Look,” Mum starts again.
Dad sighs. “I’m willing if you are,” he says quietly. “It is Christmas after all. And you’re always complaining about having to cook. If Kaity wants to do it in exchange for us being civil to each other for a couple of hours on Christmas day, then why not? It would be nice to see them open their presents like normal.”
Mum stares at him and eventually huffs and throws her hands up in the air. “Fine, fine. He can come here on Christmas day if he promises to behave himself.”
“I promise,” Dad says solemnly.
I want to tell Mum that she should promise to behave herself too, but I don’t. I figure they’ve just about agreed on this, I don’t want to jeopardise it by being sarcastic. So I keep my mouth shut, and when Dad leaves I do a little happy dance in my room. This is the beginning of my plan to get them back together. Things are going to be okay.