Poison Blood, Book 2: Absolution

  Chapter 3. Obstinate

  Jamie thought it was just his life that was frozen at square one. Well, Christmases at his father’s were nothing more than replays of the previous year’s misery.

  His parents still didn’t talk to each other.

  Tom still tried to cut through the tension by engaging Maggie in a conversation that got her prattling away aimlessly until Mary served dessert.

  Mary still went overboard with the food and decorations.

  And his father always, always, lectured him about throwing his life away.

  This year was no exception.

  It started with the same question every year. Tonight, it was after everyone, apart from Jamie, was halfway through dessert. “So, how many hours are you working at Andrea Carter’s shop, Jamie? I take it you still work for Sarah’s aunt?”

  Not answering his father’s question, Jamie concentrated harder on blocking out the room. Most years, he did very well. Only the fights pushed through his psychological barrier.

  That’s why it seemed like the twenty-odd hours he spent here comprised only of arguments. Everything else––the idle chit-chat around the dinner table, the night’s sleep, the lie-in until Christmas lunch, opening presents––was easily dealt with.

  “Jamie,” his father pressed, “I believe I asked you a question.”

  “Dad!” Maggie complained, attempting to intercept, as always.

  “What, dear? I am simply taking an interest in your brother’s life, one of the many things I have supposedly failed at in recent years.”

  Jamie felt everyone’s gaze on him. His mental shield was ineffective at the moment. He worked harder to reinforce it. He wouldn’t speak; it would suggest that his father was worth a reply.

  That he was worth anything.

  “Is this any kind of life, Jamie? Living like a student. Earning pennies rather than the millions your music career was to bring you. Doing nothing––”

  “Dad, please,” Maggie tried again, “its Christmas.”

  “The season of goodwill. And I am giving your brother a much needed reality check.”

  “But dad, it never gets through to him. The more you lecture him, the more pig-headed he gets––”

  Maggie came to a halt when Jamie turned to glare at her. And of course it was only a temporary pause; Maggie liked to finish her speeches––like father, like daughter.

  “Well, isn’t this just an obstinate rebellion of yours, Jamie? You don’t really want to carry on like this, surely.”

  Jamie cast his eyes down to his plate.

  “I know you’ve drilled it into yourself that the only thing you want in life is Sarah,” his sister said in a softer tone. “But it’s not meant to be. If you’re completely honest, I don’t think you actually believe Sarah will come back to you. You’re just scared of moving on, getting hurt again. Let’s face it: you’ve never been good at fighting for things that are worth keeping.”

  “I agree,” his mother said, “you were always a weak little thing.”

  “Behave, mum,” Maggie reprimanded their mother and took a deep breath. “Jamie, growing up, you never complained when I dropped my toys and cried for yours. You just handed them over. You thought it’d be harder to part with them if you did your best to save them from me, so you let go without trying.

  “That’s why you’ve given up on your music career. You’re afraid of failure. Not because all that matters to you is Sarah. And if you get to spite dad in the process, great.”

  The room went silent.

  Or had Jamie finally succeeded in drowning out the world?

  “Jamie, it’s not too late.”

  No, it was the room that went quiet.

  “Maybe your New Year’s resolution should be to get a record deal.” Maggie was preaching now, her voice no longer soothing but excited, optimistic. “You won’t let mum, Tom, or dad interfere, and that’s good, but you can’t keep postponing your destiny.”

  Jamie kept quiet. What could he say? How could he make her see that she was wrong? His family, life, job, music… it really, truly, didn’t mean anything without Sarah.

  The only person he’d ever loved and would ever love.

  Like Aristophanes had said, Jamie and Sarah were two halves of a whole, separated only to find each other again. He knew that section of Aristophanes’ dialogue in Plato’s The Symposium by heart, having scribbled it down in a notebook after stumbling upon it on the internet in secondary school.

  If he were anything close to verbose, he’d recite that passage word-for-word to his family. They were all mistaken, thinking Sarah was wrong for him, that she didn’t love him, wouldn’t come back. Sarah was wrong in thinking those things too.

  She was the one.

  His soul mate.

  January 2010