The Jacqueline Wilson Christmas Cracker

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Ssh! It’s only six o’clock. But he’s been, he’s left us presents.’

  ‘Has he left any presents for me?’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, none whatsoever,’ said Vita, jumping down the bed and pouncing on the presents. ‘Yay! For dear Vita, love from Santa. And here we are again – To darling Vita, even more love from Santa. And there’s this one too, To my special sweetheart Vita, lots and lots and lots of love from Santa. Nothing for you two at all.’

  Maxie started sobbing again.

  ‘She’s just teasing, Maxie. Don’t let her wind you up. Shut up, Vita. Be nice, it’s Christmas. Leave the presents alone. We open them in Mum and Dad’s bed, you know we do.’

  ‘Let’s go to their room now!’ said Vita, scrabbling at the bottom of the bed, scooping up all three parcels and clutching them to her chest.

  ‘No, no, it’s not time yet. Mum will be cross,’ I said, unpeeling Maxie and jumping up to restrain Vita.

  ‘My daddy won’t be cross with me,’ said Vita. I always hated it when she said my daddy. It was a mean Vita trick to remind me that he wasn’t really my dad.

  He always said he loved me just as much as Vita and Maxie. I hoped hoped hoped it was true, because I loved him more than anyone else in the whole world, even a tiny bit more than Mum. More than Vita and Maxie. Much more than Gran.

  ‘We’d better wait until seven, Vita,’ I said.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Half past six then. Mum and Dad were out till late last night, they’ll be tired.’

  ‘They won’t be tired, it’s Christmas! Stop being so boring, Em. You just want to boss me about all the time.’

  It’s almost impossible to boss Vita even though she’s years younger than me and literally half my size. She’s the one who’s done the bossing, ever since she could sit up in her buggy and shriek. It is a royal pain having a little sister like Vita. You have to learn to be dead crafty if you want to manage her.

  ‘If you come and cuddle back into bed I’ll tell you another Princess Vita story,’ I said. ‘A special Christmas Princess Vita story where she gets to fly to Santa’s workshop and has the pick of all his presents. And she meets Mrs Christmas and all the little children Christmases – Clara Christmas, Caroline Christmas and little Charlie Christmas.’

  ‘Can Prince Maxie play with Charlie Christmas?’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, he can’t. This is my Princess Vita story,’ said Vita.

  I had her hooked. She got back into bed. Maxie grabbed an armful of teddies and climbed into our bed too. I lay between them, making up the story.

  Princess Vita stories were very boring because they always had to be about sweetly pretty show-off Princess Vita. Everyone adored her and wanted to be her friend and gave her elaborate presents. I had to go into extreme detail describing each designer princess gown with matching wings, her jewelled ten-league trainers, and the golden crown the exact shade of Princess Vita’s long long curls.

  Our Vita wriggled and squirmed excitedly, and when I started describing the golden crown (and the pink diamond tiara and the ruby slides and the amethyst hair bobbles) she tossed her head around as if she was adorning her own long long curls. She hasn’t really got any. Vita has very thin, fine, straight baby hair like beige cotton. She’s been growing it for several years but it still hasn’t reached her shoulders.

  My hair is straw rather than mouse, and thick and strong. When I undo my plaits it very nearly reaches my waist (if I tilt my head right back).

  ‘Please put Prince Maxie into the story,’ Maxie begged, nuzzling his head against my neck. His hair is the same length as Vita’s, coal-black with a long fringe. If he’s wriggled around a lot in the night it sticks straight out like a chimney brush.

  ‘Princess Vita has a brother called Prince Maxie, the boldest biggest boy in the whole kingdom,’ I said.

  Maxie sucked in his breath with pleasure.

  ‘As if!’ said Vita. ‘Bother Prince Maxie. Tell about Princess Vita’s trip to see Santa.’

  I ended up telling two stories, swerving from one to the other, five minutes of Princess Vita, a quick diversion to see Prince Maxie defeating the seven-headed dragon spouting scarlet flames, and then back to Princess Vita’s sortie in Santa’s sleigh.

  ‘There aren’t really seven-headed dragons, are there?’ said Maxie.

  ‘No, you’ve killed the very last one,’ I said.

  ‘How do you know there aren’t any more hiding in their caves?’ Maxie asked.

  ‘Oh yes, there are lots and lots, all huddled down in the dark so you can’t see them, but they come creeping out at night all ready to get you,’ Vita said gleefully.

  ‘Will you stop being so mean to him, you bad girl!’ I said. ‘I’ll torture you!’ I got hold of her stick wrist and gave her a tiny Chinese burn.

  ‘Didn’t hurt,’ Vita laughed. ‘No one can hurt me. I’m Princess Vita. If any monsters come bothering me I’ll give them one kick with my ten-league trainers and they’ll beg for mercy.’

  ‘OK, let’s get you begging for mercy. I’m going to tickle you,’ I said, scrabbling under her chin, in her armpit, on her tummy.

  Vita giggled and kicked and squirmed, trying to burrow under the duvet away from me.

  ‘Come on, Maxie, let’s get her,’ I said.

  ‘Tickle tickle tickle,’ said Maxie, his hands shaped into little claws. He stabbed at Vita ineffectively. She was in such a giggly heap she squealed anyway.

  ‘I’m tickling Vita!’ Maxie said proudly.

  ‘Yeah, look, she’s cowering away from you,’ I said. ‘But there’s no escape, little Vita, the tickle torturers are relentless.’

  I reached right under the duvet and found her feet. I held one captive with one hand and tickled the other.

  ‘No, no, stop it, you beast!’ Vita screamed, thrashing and kicking.

  ‘Hey, hey, who’s being murdered?’ Dad came into the room, hands on his hips, just wearing his jeans.

  ‘Dad!’ We all three yelled his name and jumped at him for a big hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Dad!’

  ‘Santa’s been, Dad, look!’

  ‘He left lots of presents – all for me!’ said Vita.

  ‘You wish, little Vita,’ said Dad. He caught her up and whirled her round and round.

  ‘Me too, me too,’ Maxie begged.

  ‘No, little Maxie, we’re going to toss you like a pancake,’ said Dad, picking Maxie up and hurling him high in the air. Maxie shrieked in terror, but bore it because he didn’t want to be left out.

  I didn’t want to be left out either but I knew there was no way Dad could whirl or toss me. I sat back on the bed feeling larger and lumpier than ever. Dad pretended to take a bite out of Maxie pancake and then set him free. Dad smiled at me.

  He bowed formally.

  ‘Would you care to dance, Princess Glittering Green Emerald?’

  I jumped up and Dad started doing this crazy jive with me, singing a rock ’n’ roll version of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’. Vita and Maxie started jumping around too, Vita light as a feather, Maxie thumping.

  ‘Hey, hey, calm down now, kids, we’ll wake Mum.’

  ‘We want to wake Mum,’ said Vita. ‘We want our presents!’

  ‘OK, let’s go and wish her happy Christmas,’ said Dad. ‘Bring the presents into our room.’

  ‘They aren’t really all for Vita, are they, Dad?’ said Maxie.

  ‘There’s one each for all of you,’ said Dad. ‘That one is for my number one son.’

  ‘I’m your number one daughter, aren’t I, Dad?’ said Vita, elbowing me out of the way.

  ‘You’re my special little daughter,’ said Dad.

  I waited. I didn’t want to be his big daughter.

  ‘You’re my special grown-up daughter, Emerald,’ said Dad.

  My name isn’t really Emerald, it’s plain Emily. All the rest of the family called me Em. I loved it when Dad called me Emerald.

  ‘Shall I go and make you and Mum a cup of tea?’ I off
ered.

  I loved being treated like a grown-up too. Vita and Maxie weren’t allowed anywhere near the cooker and couldn’t so much as switch on the kettle.

  ‘That would be great, darling, but if you start faffing around in the kitchen your gran will wake up.’

  ‘Ah. Right.’ We certainly didn’t want Gran climbing into Mum and Dad’s bed with us.

  ‘Come on then, kids. Let’s get the Christmas show on the road,’ said Dad. He yawned and ran his fingers through his long hair. My dad’s got the most beautiful long hair in the whole world. It’s thick and dark and glossy black, like Maxie’s, but Dad’s grown his way past his shoulders. He wears it in one tight fat plait during the day to keep it neat, and then it’s all lovely and loose at night. It looks so strange and special, so perfect for Dad. He gets fed up with it sometimes, saying he looks like some silly old hippy, and he’s always threatening to get it cut.

  That’s how Dad met Mum. He went into her hairdressing salon at the top of the Pink Palace on the spur of the moment and asked her to chop it all off. She took one look at him and said no way.

  She said she didn’t usually go for guys with long hair but said it really suited Dad and it would be a shame to spoil such a distinctive look. That’s what she said. I knew this story off by heart. Dad liked her paying him compliments so he asked her if she’d come for a drink with him when she finished work. They ended up spending the whole evening together and falling madly in love. They’ve been together ever since. Just like a fairy story. They don’t live in an enchanted castle because Mum doesn’t earn that much money as a hairdresser and Dad earns less as an actor, though he has his fairy stall at the Pink Palace now. He works very hard, no matter what Gran says.

  We tiptoed along the landing so as not to wake her. She has the biggest bedroom at the front. I suppose that’s only fair as it’s her house, but it means Mum and Dad are squashed up in the little bedroom, and Vita, Maxie and me are positively crammed into our room. Gran suggested one of us might like to go and sleep in her room with her but we thought that was a terrible idea.

  Gran snores for a start. We could hear her snoring on Christmas morning even though her bedroom door was shut. Dad gave a very tiny piggy snore, imitating her, and we all got the giggles. We had to hold our hands over our mouths to muffle them (not easy clutching Christmas stockings and slippery parcels!). We exploded into Mum and Dad’s bedroom, dropping everything, jumping on the bed, snorting with laughter.

  Mum sat up, startled, her hair hanging in her eyes. ‘What . . .?’ she mumbled.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mum!’

  ‘Happy Christmas, babe,’ said Dad, kissing her.

  ‘Oh darling, happy happy Christmas,’ said Mum, flinging her arms round him and running her fingers through his hair.

  ‘Give me a Christmas kiss, Mum!’ Vita demanded, pulling at her bare shoulder.

  ‘Me too,’ said Maxie.

  ‘Me too, me too, me too!’ I said, making a joke of it, sending them up.

  ‘Happy Christmas, kids. Big big kisses for all of you in just a minute,’ said Mum, wrapping her dressing gown round her and climbing out of bed.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ said Dad, climbing back in. ‘Come back!’

  ‘Got to take a little trip to the bathroom, darling,’ said Mum.

  We couldn’t be mean enough to start opening our stockings without her. She kept us waiting a little while. She came back smelling of toothpaste and her special rosy soap, her face powdered, her hair teased and sprayed into her usual blonde bob.

  ‘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 d
ead 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.