The Face of It

by Rosie Williams

  Dylan reached forward and turned the radio down, catching Taylor out, who was singing at full volume. For a brief second just her loud, out-of-tune voice filled the car.

  ‘Hey!’ she said, briefly glaring at him. ‘No fair!’ Dylan could hardly breathe for laughing.

  ‘Yeah, don’t give up your day job, sis,’ he said through the tears.

  ‘That was a good one as well,’ Taylor said grumpily.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So why’d you turn it down?’ she said, reaching for the volume dial. Dylan stretched out his hand and stopped her.

  ‘Because...’ he said, directing her hand back toward the steering wheel, ‘you still haven’t told me what happened between you and Paige.’

  ‘Not this again,’ she said, her smile quickly fading and her eyes staring forward.

  ‘Yes, this.’ Dylan said, half turning in his seat to talk to her. ‘I know something happened; you’re miserable.’

  ‘Am not.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘You -’ Dylan took a deep breath, refusing to get drawn into the back and forth. ‘Look, I know you’ve been worried about... other things,’ he said, ‘but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. I want to help.’

  ‘I don’t think you can,’ she said, deflated.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I screwed up.’

  ‘How? Can’t you just apologise?’

  ‘I don't think an apology is going to cut it.’

  Taylor relayed most of the argument to her brother word for word, and even from her peripheral vision she could see him wince when he heard what she had said.

  Rain started pouring down just as they hit the motorway, with the huge number of cars chucking up lots of spray. Taylor put the wipers on full and they squeaked every time they ran awkwardly over the glass. She had composed an apology text about a hundred times, before deciding not to send it and deleting the whole thing. Paige’s own apology text made her feel even more guilty, considering Paige hadn’t done even the slightest thing wrong. She wasn’t sure Paige would pick up the phone if she tried calling, but a text just seemed like she was wimping out. Dylan was right, she was miserable. Despite being utterly exhausted these days, every time her head hit the pillow her brain started replaying the argument as if it was a film, with Taylor cast as the villain. It had affected her sleep more than any horror movie she and Dylan had watched together ever had.

  The longer they drove, the worse the rain got. The extreme vigilance needed to drive in the awful conditions took its toll, and it wasn’t long before they were pulling into a service station. They didn’t get out of the car right away, hoping the rain would abate slightly and they could make a run for it. Instead, it carried on hammering the car, making the metal echo and water trail down the glass like tears.

  Eventually they exited the car and ran inside, coats held over their heads, the people already inside hastily moving out of the way as they accidentally flicked water everywhere. They went to their respective toilets before meeting back up in a fast-food queue. Taylor groaned at how many people were already waiting; a coach had gotten in before them. Dylan stretched his arms high above his head, clicking his wrists and knuckles before cricking his neck. Taylor shuddered.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that!’ she said.

  ‘What, this?’ Dylan moved his hand close to her ear and made his wrist click repeatedly. Taylor ducked out of the way and scowled at him.

  ‘Have you tried apologising to her?’ he asked, after she made him promise not to click any more joints.

  ‘I dunno how.’

  ‘Sure you do, it’s just five little letters.’

  ‘It’s not that simple and you know it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dylan admitted with a sigh. ‘But it’s got to be worth a try, right?’

  ‘What if I make it worse?’

  ‘Isn’t she worth the risk?’

  Images of Paige’s smiling face flashed across her mind. Her freckles framing her warm smile. How she had selflessly given her so much help with her climbing technique, despite having better and more competent climbers to pair up with. The way her brain worked, how fast she could think and how much she knew. How she always took things literally. And then there was that spark, that electric shock that jolted through her whole body, when she’d kissed Paige’s cheek after their dinner date...

  Yes, of course she was worth it. Taylor felt her face go red and turned slightly away from her brother. If he noticed, he had the tact not to say anything.

  Back at the car, coffee in cup holders, they pulled out of the services and onto the motorway. Their half-hour pit stop had allowed the traffic to clear a little, and the rain had eased off, so Taylor turned the music up and put her foot down. The bass flowed through her like a river pounding the rocks in its path. Dylan dramatically acted along with all of the songs, making Taylor laugh and her shoulders relax a little.

  Dylan’s phone started ringing, so he waved his hand in Taylor’s line of sight, indicating the call and that he was going to turn the music down.

  ‘Hi, Mum!’ he answered. Taylor could hear the muffled sounds of their mother speaking to him, but was concentrating too much on driving to hear the words.

  ‘Yes, we’re about an hour away now, I think. There was some traffic in the city so it’s taken a little longer than we thought.’

  Taylor pulled out to overtake a lorry.

  ‘Yes, Mum, Taylor’s fine. Taylor, tell Mum you’re fine,’ Dylan said, holding the phone up to her ear.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum!’ she said smiling. Dylan took the phone back.

  ‘OK, we’ll see you in a bit then, Mum... love you too.’

  He hung up. ‘Mum sends her love,’ he said to Taylor, putting his phone back in his pocket.

  ‘Was she checking up on us?’ Taylor asked, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Yeah, isn’t she always?’ Dylan said, before adding, ‘Now, where were we?’ and cranking the volume all the way back up.

  Taylor knew their mum was checking up because she had rung nearly every day since Dylan’s slip-up, un-subtly probing Taylor for information, and offering to come back down. Taylor had to convince her to stay put, and that Dylan knew she cared but he needed space to sort himself out. She understood her mum’s impulse, though; Taylor worried every time he left the house. She worried when he was more than five minutes late getting home. She worried when he was at his group. She just worried.

  Taylor glanced across at her brother, gesticulating wildly as he sang along to the song. She knew he was genuinely happy now, but he was also quite adept at pretending to be happy, of masking his true fears and feelings, and that’s what she worried about the most.

  It was quiet at Taylor’s parents’ house on Christmas morning. There was no background hum of traffic, no drunken revellers in the street. Even the sun wasn’t up yet. Her parents’ house backed on to some fields that during the warmer months were filled with sheep, their bleats drifting through any open windows, but for now the fields were silent. Taylor found it strange waking up in her childhood bed, even though she had done it thousands of times before; it was always different as an adult. Her parents had barely touched her and her brother’s old rooms, keeping them as shrines to their children. Her dad came in to clean every now and again, but they were quite content leaving the soft toys sitting on the shelf, and the barely played-with dolls on top of the chest of drawers. Taylor lay there for a while, soaking in the silence and the calmness of the house. Slowly, as the sun sleepily crawled over the horizon, the room filled with a glorious golden glow, almost making the walls change colour. The light-yellow paint matched the flowery curtains and bedspread, and a few carefully placed pictures and pieces of furniture hid childish accidents and wall graffiti.

  Taylor heard the floorboards creak outside her room as one of her parents walked past on their way downstairs. Taylor slowly swung herself out of bed, sliding her feet into the comfy n
ew slippers her parents had given her the night before. It was a family tradition, new pyjamas and new slippers every Christmas Eve, because if you managed to catch Santa in the act you wanted to look your best. Even though the twins had stopped believing in Santa long ago, the tradition continued. Taylor crept out of her room, not wanting to wake anyone else still sleeping. She danced down the hallway, tiptoeing around the squeaky floorboards as part of a well-practiced routine. She took care to miss the bottom step of the stairs, not wanting its creak to echo back up to the rooms above.

  She padded towards the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning widely. Opening the door she saw her mother bustling about with the kettle boiling in the background. She was humming Christmas carols to herself and hadn’t noticed Taylor walk in. She turned around and jumped, clutching her hand to her chest.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Taylor, don’t creep up on me like that!’ her mother said, still breathing heavily.

  ‘And a happy Christmas to you too,’ Taylor said, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Of course, dear, Happy Christmas,’ she said, hugging her daughter tightly. Even though Taylor was taller than her mum, she still found that embrace protective, like an impenetrable shield.

  ‘Did you sleep OK?’ her mum asked while retrieving a second mug from the cupboard.

  ‘Not too bad, but I’ve not been sleeping much anyway.’ Taylor stifled another yawn; her body was trying to betray her.

  ‘Yes, I heard,’ her mum said, putting slices of bread in the toaster.

  ‘You heard?’ Taylor said confused. ‘Dylan?’

  ‘Yes, who else?’ her mum said, turning towards her. ‘I can never get a straight answer out of either of you if I ask you directly.’

  ‘Sneaky,’ Taylor said, smiling.

  ‘Sometimes a mother has to be.’

  A few minutes later the toast popped up and her mum began buttering it before Taylor had even had a chance to move. She put jam on only one slice, just like Taylor had liked as a child, cut them up, and handed her daughter the plate.

  ‘Are you up to helping Dad with the dinner today?’ her mum asked, starting to pull baking trays and knives out of cupboards and drawers.

  ‘I help every year, Mum.’

  ‘I know, but you know he won’t ask for help.’

  Paige rolled her eyes. Her father didn't need to ask for help; it was a given.

  It wasn't long before they heard the telltale creak above them as Taylor's father crept across the landing, not quite as adept as Taylor at missing the squeaky floorboards in his older age.

  ‘Ah, how are my two favourite girls?’ he said, embracing them both in turn. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  ‘And you, Dad!’ Taylor said, squeezing him tightly.

  ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road!’ he said excitedly, retrieving a humongous bag of potatoes from the pantry.

  ‘You're got time for breakfast first, haven't you, dear?’ Taylor’s mum said, pulling out his usual cereal and handing it to him.

  ‘I can multi-task,’ he said, winking at his daughter, causing her to giggle.

  It wasn't long before there was a mountain of vegetable peelings and offcuts on the kitchen table, with Taylor and her dad sat at opposite ends, hard at work. Dylan, and their mother, would be banished to the living room when he came down. There was a giant pot of water on the stove, ready to pre-boil the potatoes, and a rogue Brussels sprout had fallen to the floor and rolled under the fridge. The pork, which had been in the slow cooker overnight, was filling the air with a delicious salty smell; every year it tested Taylor's vegetarian resolve. Her alternative was still hiding in the freezer, ready to be put in the oven at the last minute. The radio played Christmas carols loudly and Taylor's father hummed along, occasionally forgetting he had company and singing in his low, dulcet tone, before going red and stopping. Taylor didn’t understand why, he had a lovely voice.

  Through the window they could see snow on the mountain tops, their own version of festive hats. The garden had only been graced with a light frost, which had wrapped itself around every blade of grass and had coated the fish pond with a thin layer of ice. A lone robin hopped around, pecking hopelessly at the cold ground, unable to get to the worms beneath; denied its own tasty Christmas dinner.

  ‘I must remember to fill the bird feeder,’ her dad said, pausing what he was doing and watching the little robin through the window. Not even the smallest creatures should go hungry at Christmas.

  Taylor carefully tipped all their peeled potatoes into the pot of water and turned on the stove. It wasn't long before the soft bubbling was harmonising with the radio, and the slowly warming oven.

  A 'thud, thud, thud, thud', followed by the creaking of the upstairs bathroom door, indicated that Dylan had risen from his prolonged slumber. Their mum quickly appeared at the bottom of the staircase, waiting to greet her son. She didn't even let him make it down the last step before comically hugging him around the middle; he was nearly a foot taller than his mother, and the added height of the step made her head about his elbow level.

  ‘Morning a-a-a-a-ll’ he said, yawning. ‘Happy Christmas!’ He greeted his sister by rubbing his knuckles on her head, making her duck out of the way quickly.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted, throwing some carrot peel at him.

  ‘Now, now, you two, none of that on Christmas Day,’ their father tried to say sternly, but his cheeky smile gave him away as he put bubbles from the washing-up bowl on his son's head.

  ‘I guess I deserved that,’ Dylan said, scraping them off in resignation.

  ‘Right, presents!’ their mum said joyfully, grabbing Taylor by the sleeve and dragging her into the living room.

  The sizable Christmas tree engulfed one end of the room, the top slightly bent as a tall person would bend their neck walking through a low doorway. Many ornaments weighed down its spindly branches, including a plethora of brightly coloured clay and card ones the twins had made as children. It was too bright to appreciate them at that moment, but the three separate sets of Christmas lights would illuminate the individual needles on the tree, creating a mini light show in their lounge.

  Underneath the tree were piles and piles of presents, all wrapped in brightly coloured festive paper, all tied with extravagantly garish gold ribbon. Taylor knew that all but maybe two of those presents were for her and her brother.

  ‘Mum, you know you don't have to do all this!’ Taylor protested meekly, as she did every year. ‘We love Christmas because we love spending time with you.’

  ‘Oh, I know, but it's a mother’s prerogative to spoil her children, and what better excuse than Christmas?’

  Taylor rolled her eyes, but inside she was warm and smiling. It wasn't the gifts themselves that made her so content, but the amount of time and effort she knew her mum would have put into them.

  Dylan bounded back upstairs, two steps at a time, to retrieve the bag of presents the twins had brought with them. By the time he got back downstairs, all of his presents had been piled next to an empty space on the sofa by the deft hands of his mother. She was perched on the edge of a chair, ignoring the two presents her husband had put on its arm, and her eyes were shining with the excitement of watching her children unwrap their gifts.

  Dylan dutifully dished out the packages from his and Taylor’s bag, and they all began to rip open the wrapping paper, their mum begrudgingly so, after much prompting from her family.

  Dylan had got Taylor the new climbing harness she had been eyeing up for several months, which gave her a twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't been climbing since she and Paige had fallen out, and she couldn't face seeing her after how she had acted, so she wasn't sure when she would get a chance to use it. Dylan had noticed her discomfort and subtly squeezed her arm. Taylor smiled back at him and placed her hand over his, so genuinely grateful and touched that he had been paying enough attention to get her the exact harness she wanted.

  ‘Open that one next, Dyl,’ she said, pointing to a unim
posing-looking box wrapped in brown paper that had come out of their shared present bag. He looked at her quizzically before dragging the box towards him, and carefully peeling back the sticky tape.

  ‘A lot of pretend snakes aren't going to jump out at me, are they?’

  ‘Just open it!’ she said, practically bouncing in her seat.

  ‘OK, OK, just be warned I will get you back if it’s -’ He stopped mid-sentence as he slid the box out of its wrapping. It was a new, very expensive, games console that had only been on the market a few months. Dylan had said that for every month he stayed sober he would put twenty pounds towards it, and it would have still taken him about two years to save up for it.

  ‘Now you can put your money towards buying new games,’ Taylor said quietly. Dylan didn't respond verbally but instead threw his arms around his sister and squeezed so tight she could barely breathe.

  The dining table looked like it might bow under the weight of all the food on it. Her dad, as usual, had cooked enough to feed the whole village instead of just their small family. A dome of crispy roast potatoes occupied the centre of the table along with the slow-cooked pork. Taylor’s vegetarian roast had been put next to her place setting, and garnished with a piece of parsley, just like the meat. There was also stuffing, gravy, apple sauce, and every vegetable that Taylor’s dad could think of. She also knew that there were a couple of desserts defrosting on a side and a third, an apple crumble, waiting to go in the oven.

  ‘Crackers!’ her mum said loudly.

  ‘We know you are,’ Dylan replied, instantly, causing his mum to laugh and tap him over the head with the cracker she was holding.