‘Come on, babe, come and cuddle up,’ said Dad, hitching Vita and Maxie along to make room for her.
He ruffled Mum’s hair like she was a little kid too. Mum didn’t moan, even though she’d just made it perfect. She waited until Dad was helping Maxie with his stocking and then she quickly patted her hair back into shape, smoothing down her fringe and tweaking the ends. She wasn’t being vain. She was just trying extra hard to look nice for Dad.
We had this tradition of opening presents in turn, starting with the youngest, but this wasn’t such a good idea with Maxie. He was so slow, delicately picking out the first tiny parcel from his stocking, prodding it warily and then cautiously shaking it, as if he thought it might be a miniature bomb. When he decided it was safe to open he spent ages nudging the edge of the sellotape with his thumbnail.
‘Hurry up, Maxie,’ Vita said impatiently. ‘Just pull the paper.’
‘I don’t want to rip it, it looks so pretty. I want to wrap all my presents up again after I’ve seen what they are,’ said Maxie.
‘Here, son, let me help,’ said Dad, and within a minute or two he’d shelled all Maxie’s stocking presents out of their shiny paper.
Maxie cupped his hands to hold them all at once: his magic pencil that could draw red and green and blue and yellow all in one go; a silver spiral notebook; a weeny yellow plastic duck no bigger than his thumb; a tiny toy tractor; a mini box of Smarties; a little watch on a plastic strap; a green glass marble; and a pair of his very own nail clippers (Maxie always wants to borrow Dad’s).
‘How does Santa know exactly what I like?’ said Maxie.
‘How indeed?’ said Dad solemnly.
‘Will you help me wrap them all up now, Dad?’
‘Yeah, of course I will.’
‘I’m unwrapping mine!’ said Vita, spilling her goodies all over the duvet, ripping each one open with her scrabbly little fingers. She found a tiny pink lady ornament in a ballet frock; sparkly butterfly hairslides; a set of kitten and puppy stickers; a miniature red box of raisins; a weeny purple brush and comb set; a little book about a rabbit with print so tiny you could hardly read it; a bead necklace spelling I LOVE VITA; and her very own real lipstick.
‘I hope Santa’s given you a very pale pink lipstick,’ said Mum. ‘Go on then, Em, open your stocking.’
I was getting too big to believe in Santa but he still wanted to please me. I found a little orange journal with its own key; a tiny red heart soap; a purple gel pen; cherry bobbles for my hair; a tiny tin of violet sweets; a Miffy eraser; a Jenna Williams bookmark; and a small pot of silver glitter nail varnish.
‘I love that colour,’ said Mum. ‘Santa’s got good taste, Em. I wish he’d leave me a stocking.’
‘You’ve got our presents, Mum,’ I said.
They weren’t really special enough. We always made our presents for Mum and Dad, and so they looked like rubbish. Maxie did a drawing of Mum and Dad and Vita and me, but we weren’t exactly recognizable. We looked like five potatoes on toothpicks.
Vita did a family portrait too. She drew herself very big, her head touching one end of the paper and her feet the other. She embellished herself with very long thick hair and silver shoes with enormously high heels. She drew Dad one side of her, Mum the other, using up so much space she had to squash Maxie and me high up in either corner, just our heads and shoulders, looking down like gargoyles.
I felt I was too old for drawing silly pictures. I wanted to make them proper presents. Gran had recently taught me to knit, so at the beginning of December I’d started to knit a woollen patchwork quilt for Mum and Dad’s bed. I knitted and knitted and knitted – in the playground, watching television, on the loo – but by Christmas Eve I had only managed eleven squares, not even enough for a newborn baby’s quilt.
I sewed the prettiest pink square into a weird pouch done up with a pearly button. It was too holey for a purse but I thought Mum could maybe keep her comb inside. I sewed the other ten squares into one long scarf for Dad. It wasn’t exactly the right shape and it rolled over at the edges but I hoped he might still like it.
‘I absolutely love it, Em,’ he said, wrapping it round his neck. ‘I’ve wanted a long stripy scarf ever since I watched Dr Who when I was a little kid. Thank you, darling.’ He stroked the uneven rows. ‘It’s so cosy! I’ll be as warm as toast all winter.’
I felt my cheeks glowing. I knew he probably hated it and didn’t want to be seen dead wearing it, but he made me believe he truly loved it at the same time.
Mum gave him a V-necked soft black sweater and he put it on at once, but he kept my scarf round his neck.
‘What about my present?’ Mum asked, as eagerly as Vita.
‘What present?’ said Dad, teasing her. Then he reached underneath the bed and handed her an oblong package. She felt the parcel and then tore off the wrapping. A pair of silver shoes tumbled out, strappy sandals with the highest heels ever.
‘Oh my God!’ Mum shrieked. ‘They’re so beautiful. Oh darling, how wicked, how glamorous, how incredible!’ She started kissing Dad rapturously.
‘Hey, hey, they’re just shoes,’ he said. ‘Come on then, kids, open your big presents.’
He helped Maxie unwrap an enormous set of expensive Caran d’Ache colouring pens and a big white pad of special artist’s paper.
‘But he’s just a little kid, Frankie. He’ll press too hard and ruin the tips,’ Mum said.
‘No I won’t, Mum!’ said Maxie.
‘He will,’ I mouthed at Mum. Maxie had already totally ruined the red and the sky-blue in my set of felt pens. I couldn’t help feeling envious of Maxie’s beautiful set, so superior to my own.
‘My turn, my turn, my turn!’ Vita shouted, tearing at her huge parcel. One weird long brown twisty thing poked through the paper as she scrabbled at it, then another.
‘What is it?’ Vita shrieked.
Then she discovered a big pink nose.
‘Is it a clown?’ Maxie asked fearfully.
Dad had taken us to the circus in the summer and Maxie had spent most of the evening under his seat, terrified of the clowns.
‘Try pressing that nose,’ said Dad.
Vita poked at it, and it played a pretty tinkly tune.
‘That’s “The Sugar Plum Fairy” from some ballet. We did it in music,’ I said.
Vita tore the last of the paper away to reveal the huge sweet head of a furry reindeer, with two twisty plush antlers sticking out at angles. She had big brown glass eyes, fantastic long eyelashes, and a smiley red-lined mouth with a soft pink tongue. She was wearing a pink ballet dress with a satin bodice and net skirt.
‘I love her, I love her!’ Vita declared, hugging her passionately to her chest.
The reindeer had long floppy furry legs with pink satin ballet slippers, but she couldn’t stand on them. I lifted the net skirt and saw a big hole.
‘Don’t look up her bottom!’ Vita snapped.
‘Um, Em’s being rude,’ said Maxie.
‘No, I’m not! I’ve just realized, she’s a glove puppet!’
‘You got it, Emerald,’ said Dad. ‘Here, Vita, let’s get to know her. We’ll see if she’ll introduce herself.’
He pressed her pink nose again to stop the ballet music and stuck his hand up inside her.
‘Hello, Princess Vita,’ he made the reindeer say, in a funny fruity female voice. ‘I’m Dancer. I was one of Santa’s very own reindeers. Maybe you’ve heard of my fellow sleigh artistes, Dasher and Prancer and Vixen? Then there’s the so-called superstar, Rudolph, the one with the constant cold. Such a show-off, especially since he got his own song. Of course I was always the leading runner, until I realized that all that sleigh-pulling wasn’t such a good idea. I have very sensitive hooves. Santa was devastated when I gave in my notice but we artistes have to consider our talent. I am now Princess Vita’s dancing companion and trusty steed.’
Dad made Dancer bow low and then twirl on her floppety legs. Vita clapped her hands, brigh
t red with excitement.
I felt envious again. Why couldn’t I have had a puppet? Then Dad and I could have had endless games together. Vita and Maxie had such special big presents this year. Why did mine have to be so tiny? It was just like one extra stocking present.
‘Aren’t you going to open your present, Emerald?’ said Dad. He slipped Dancer over Vita’s hand, showing her how to work her. Vita waved her wildly round and round. Maxie laughed and tried to catch Dancer. One of her antlers accidently poked him in the eye.
‘Hey, hey, watch out! Oh Maxie, for heaven’s sake, it didn’t really hurt,’ said Mum, grabbing Vita’s arm and pulling Maxie close for a cuddle. ‘Yes, Em, open your present. Whatever can it be?’
I undid the wrapping paper, feeling foolish with them all watching me. I got my mouth all puckered up, waiting to say Thank you and give grateful kisses. Then I opened a little black box and stared at what was inside. I was stunned. I couldn’t say anything at all.
‘What is it, Em?’
‘Show us!’
‘Don’t you like it?’
It was a little gold ring set with a deep green glowing jewel.
‘I love it,’ I whispered. ‘It’s an emerald!’
‘Not a real emerald, darling,’ said Mum.
‘Yes it is,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not fobbing off my daughter with anything less!’
My daughter! I loved that almost as much as my beautiful ring.
‘Don’t be silly, Frankie,’ Mum said. ‘Real emeralds cost hundreds and hundreds of pounds!’
‘No they don’t. Not if you go to antique fairs and do someone a favour and find a little emerald for a special small girl,’ said Dad.
He unhooked the ring from its little velvet cushion and put it on the ring finger of my right hand.
‘It fits perfectly!’ I said.
‘Well, I had it made specially for you, Princess Emerald,’ said Dad.
‘But however much have you spent on all of us?’ Mum said, shaking her head as if she’d been swimming underwater.
‘Never you mind,’ said Dad. ‘I wanted this to be a special Christmas, one the kids will remember for ever.’
‘But we owe so much already—’
‘Leave it, Julie,’ Dad said sharply.
So Mum left it. We had a big Christmas cuddle, the five of us – six, counting Dancer – and then we heard Gran going downstairs to put the kettle on.
Vita insisted on having Dancer on her lap at breakfast time. Maxie held onto his felt tips too, balancing them across his bony knees. I stuck my hand out after every mouthful, admiring my ring.
‘Haven’t we got the loveliest dad ever?’ said Vita.
Gran sniffed. ‘What have you done now, Frankie, robbed a bank?’ she said.
Dad laughed and put his arm round her. ‘Now, Ellen, no po-faces, it’s Christmas. Come on, you old bat, you know you love me really.’ He gave her a kiss. She pushed him away, shaking her head, but she couldn’t help smiling. She actually burst out laughing when she opened her present from Dad. It was a pair of tight designer jeans.
‘For God’s sake, Frankie, I’m a grandma!’
‘And you’ve got almost as lovely a figure as your daughter, so flaunt it, eh? You’ll look great in the jeans, much better than those baggy old trousers. Try them on!’
‘Don’t think you can get round me,’ said Gran – but she changed into her new jeans after breakfast.
Dad was right. Gran had a really good figure, though we’d never noticed it before. From the waist down she didn’t look a bit like our gran. Dad gave her a wolf whistle and she told him not to be so daft – but she blushed.
‘I’m not going to wear them out of course,’ she said. ‘Still, they’re fine for the house.’
She had to go and change out of them again after Christmas dinner. We normally all eat separately. Vita and Maxie and I have our tea after school. Mum just has snacks while she’s waiting to have a meal later with Dad. Gran heats up her own Lean Cuisines and eats them off a tray when EastEnders and Coronation Street are on television. But Christmas is different. We all eat together with a proper tablecloth and Gran’s best white-and-gold china from the cabinet where she keeps her pink crinoline lady and the balloon-seller and the little mermaid with a green scaly tail and the little girl and boy in white china nightgowns.
We had crackers so we all wore paper hats and shouted out silly mottoes. Vita snorted with laughter while she was drinking her Ribena ‘wine’ and it went right up her nose and then spattered the white embroidered cloth. Gran would have gone mad if Maxie or I had done it, but she just shook her head fondly at Vita and told her to calm down.
Vita made a fuss about her Christmas dinner too. She wouldn’t eat a single sprout or parsnip and only one forkful of turkey. She just wanted a plate of roast potatoes.
‘Well, why shouldn’t the kid have exactly what she fancies on Christmas Day?’ said Dad, scraping everything off her plate and then piling it high with potatoes.
Maxie started noisily demanding a plate of roast potatoes too. Mum and Gran sighed at Dad for starting something.
‘Still, at least our Em’s eating her plateful,’ said Mum.
‘Em always eats everything. It’s a wonder she doesn’t gollop the plate down too,’ said Gran.
She’d started to nag me about calories and carbohydrates and all that stuff, though Mum always got mad at her and said she’d turn me anorexic.
‘As if!’ said Gran unkindly.
I took no notice and munched my way through my turkey and chipolata sausages and roast potatoes and mashed potatoes and parsnips and every single sprout and then I had a slice of Christmas pudding with green jelly and red jelly and cream and then a mince pie and then a satsuma and then three chocolates out of the Christmas tin of Quality Street.
Gran slapped my hand away when I reached in the tin for a fourth chocolate. ‘For God’s sake, Em, you’ll burst,’ she said. ‘Your stomach must be made of elastic. You’ll have to learn to stop shovelling your food up like that. I don’t know how you can. I’m totally stuffed. I’m going to have to take my posh jeans off and have a little lie down.’
‘Quit nagging Princess Emerald. It’s great that she’s got a healthy appetite,’ said Dad. ‘Right, ladies, us chaps will do the washing-up. You can all take a little nap. We’ll do the donkey work in the kitchen, won’t we, Maxie?’
Maxie took Dad seriously and started gathering Gran’s best china with a bang and a clatter.
‘Hey, hey, careful, you’ll chip those plates!’ said Gran.
‘Yeah, Gran’s got a point, little guy,’ said Dad. ‘Tell you what, you start drawing me a lovely picture with your new felt pens. Then I can get on with the washing-up in peace.’
Maxie lay on the floor, carefully colouring, his eyes screwed up and his tongue sticking out because he was concentrating so fiercely. He was much more careful with the points of his own felt tips than he was with mine.
Vita annoyed him for a while, running her fingers over the felt pens in the tin, playing them as if they were an instrument, but her roast potatoes took a toll on her. She lay back on the sofa, Dancer on her arm so she could use her velvety head like a cuddle blanket. Mum curled up in a corner of the sofa. She said she wanted to watch the Queen on television but her eyes started drooping and she was asleep in seconds.
I sat back, my hand stretched out in front of me, so I could admire my real emerald from every angle. I still couldn’t believe how wonderful it was. Dad said he’d got it at a bargain price but I knew it still must have cost heaps. More than Mum’s silver sandals or Gran’s jeans or Vita’s reindeer or Maxie’s crayons.
It must mean that Dad loved me just as much as Vita and Maxie even though I wasn’t really his daughter. I knew I loved him more than anyone. Far far far far far far far more than my own dad.
I hadn’t seen him for years now. I didn’t want to. We didn’t want to have any more to do with him, Mum and me.
I decided to go and help
Dad with the washing-up, even though he’d told us all he wanted the kitchen to himself. I crept across the living room into the hall. I waved at my ring in the mirror above the telephone table. It winked its brilliant green light back at me.
The kitchen door was shut. I could hear Dad muttering inside. I grinned. Was he singing to himself as he did the dishes? I opened the door slowly and carefully, not making a sound. Dad had his back to me.
‘Oh darling, darling, darling,’ he said.
I thought he was talking to me. Then I saw the hunch of his shoulders, his hand up against his ear. He was talking on his mobile.
‘Yeah, yeah! Oh Sarah, I’m missing you so much too,’ he said. ‘Still, I can’t get out of Christmas, it means so much to Julie and the kids. I’m trying to make it happy for them, though dear God it’s such an effort now. Still, I’m planning on telling them soon. I can’t stay much longer. I’m going crazy. I want to be with you so badly, babe. I’m leaving them, I swear I am.’
‘Don’t leave us, Dad!’
He whipped round. I waited for him to tell me I’d got it all wrong. He wasn’t really talking to some girlfriend. He was acting a part, playing some stupid joke. Dad could always talk his way out of anything. I wanted him to tell me any old story, even if I knew he was lying.
He didn’t say anything. He just stood staring at me, biting his lip foolishly the way Maxie does when he’s been caught out. The mobile phone buzzed as someone spoke to him.
‘Call you back,’ Dad said and he switched the phone off. He held it warily, as if it was a hand grenade.
We stared at each other, standing freeze-framed. I wished I could rewind a minute so I could be back in the hall, happily waving my emerald ring around.
‘You’re not really leaving us, are you, Dad?’ I whispered.
‘I’m sorry, Em,’ he said softly.
The room started spinning. I staggered to the sink and threw up all over the china in the washing-up bowl.
2
‘IT’S ALL RIGHT, EM, it’s all right,’ Dad said, holding me.
We both knew it could never be all right again. I retched and sobbed, unable to reply.