Van’s in the driver’s seat, and all the doors are closed. He glances back at me, tugs off his beanie hat, and grins.
‘Ready to go Santa hunting?’ he asks.
I nod, and grin back. This is crazy. This is insane. This is probably completely wrong.
‘I really, really am,’ I say.
Chapter 36
Van drives us to Briarwood. The snow is still coming down, and he knows the path into the clearing where Tom had the camper parked up for months.
It’s tucked away in a wooded glade, the boughs of the trees heavy with snow, the moonlight filtering through them to dapple on the ground. It’s dark and quiet, the only sounds the occasional hoot of an owl, cry of a fox, or snow slithering from the branches. I peer out of the window, curious, and it all looks unbelievably magical – like he’s actually brought us to some kind of fairy glen.
Any worries I had about Saul being upset at not waking up at home disappear – this is so much better. This actually looks like somewhere a Santa hunter might do a stake-out.
Saul himself is out for the count, curled up beneath the blankets, looking so much more peaceful than he did back at the house, where the noise of background arguments must have been filtering through into his dreams.
Van clambers through to the back, and perches on the edge of the bed next to me. There’s a dim light on in the cabin, enough for me to see his smile, and to give one in return. He reaches out, and gently strokes my face. I lean in, and kiss the skin of his palm.
I feel so much better now. Whether that’s because I’ve escaped my parents, or because I’m with him, I don’t know. And I’m not planning on spoiling the moment by trying to figure it all out. Some things are beyond my control.
‘He looks happy enough,’ Van says, glancing at Saul.
‘He does. Thank you. For coming to get us. I would never have asked that of you.’
He grins and raises his eyebrows.
‘I know that!’ he replies, taking hold of my hand and keeping it. ‘You’d probably rather chop off your own limbs than ask for help. But when I saw you … standing there, in the window, clutching that rucksack … well, you looked like you needed to get away. In fact I thought you might be gone by the time I got back – you were holding onto it for dear life; it reminded me of those go-bags that spies have in movies? You know, the ones that contain wads of different currencies and a gun and a fake passport?’
I nod, because I know exactly what he means. I’ve often yearned for one of those.
‘Sadly, mine only contained some clean socks. But … yes. I needed to go – I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know how I could leave, and not wreck Christmas for Saul, and not spend the night on the lipstick couch in the pharmacy. Mum and Dad … well, they were really going for it.’
He shakes his head, looking befuddled by it all.
‘I noticed,’ he says, squeezing my hand. ‘I’ve never heard human voices that loud, or that nasty. I’m so sorry you grew up with that. Have you ever considered … I don’t know … telling them to fuck off?’
I laugh out loud at the uncharacteristic swearing, holding my hand to my mouth to dull the sound in case we wake Saul up.
‘I have considered it. And I think, tomorrow, I actually need to do it. Tonight, I just didn’t have the strength. There’s been too much else going on, and I turned into the world’s biggest wuss.’
‘Why?’ he asks. ‘What else has been going on?’
I look at him, with his bright eyes and chestnut hair and his kind smile. I look at him, and realise how much better I feel when I’m with him than when we’re apart. I realise that leaving here would mean leaving him – and that might break me. This isn’t about Saul, or my parents, or Jason and Jo, or my own supremely screwed-up attitude to life. This is about a simple choice: I need to take a risk and try to be happy, or I don’t.
‘Mainly,’ I reply, quietly, ‘you. And me. And it being all screwed up. I don’t know how it all went wrong so quickly … before we’d even given it a chance to go right. I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry. You told me we needed to figure things out. You told me you I needed to figure things out. That you were already in deeper than you thought.’
‘I did tell you those things, yes,’ he replies, gazing through the window into the moonlit clearing, as though preparing himself to hear bad news.
‘Okay. You were right to. And I have. I won’t lie – I wanted to run. I wanted to grab my sub-standard go-bag, and leave. Some of that was because of my parents, and the new situation with Saul’s dad. Some of that was just me being a coward, and feeling like I was getting too tangled up in other people’s lives. In this place.
‘But mainly, I think, it was because of you. You called me out, Van – you made me think about us, and what we were to each other, even if I didn’t want to. You pushed me away, and that made me realise how much I wanted you. How much I needed you. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the way I’m built – contrary, I suppose.’
He turns his gaze back to my face, and his eyes meet mine. His hand is still holding mine, but his expression is unreadable. I feel my breath hitch in my throat, and wonder if I’ve blown it. If I’ve left it all too late. If he’s decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth. If he’s got back together with the blonde one from Abba.
‘So,’ he replies eventually. ‘Refusing to sleep with you made you realise what … that you wanted to sleep with me?’
‘I already knew I wanted to do that, Van,’ I answer, nudging him. ‘I thought I’d made that clear enough. But now … well, I also know that this is more than that. This isn’t just physical, is it?’
He laughs, and wraps me in his arms, and kisses the top of my head.
‘Duh. Of course it isn’t. That’s what I was trying to say. Took you long enough to cotton on, though, didn’t it?’
I smile, and slide my hands around his waist, and stay exactly where I am for a few moments. Because – well, why wouldn’t I?
‘I know. What can I say? I’m a slow learner. Thank you for tolerating me.’
‘S’okay,’ he replies, holding me tighter. ‘Nobody’s perfect. So. Where does this leave us, then? Not that I’m expecting a life plan and a marriage proposal, Katie – I just want to know that I’m not going to wake up one day and find a note saying you’re relocating to Vatican City or anything.’
‘I’d never do that,’ I say. ‘Maybe Cardiff. But … well, I suppose it leaves us here. Me, and you, and Saul. In a camper van in the woods. Spending Christmas together. That’s step one.’
‘I’ll settle for that,’ he says, reluctantly pulling away from me. ‘And on that note, we’d better get our Christmas act together. There’s a little man here who’s going to wake up expecting all manner of merriment. I dressed the van up for him, and you’ve got the presents – do you think he’ll be okay with it? Will it be magical enough for him?’
I look around, at the little Christmas tree and the tinsel and the beautiful snow-bound woods outside. I look at Van, and recognise how special he is – that even now, after our big grown-up discussion, he’s still thinking about Saul. He is, to put it simply, pretty much the best person I think I’ve ever met.
‘It’ll be magical enough,’ I reply, leaning forward to kiss him. ‘For all of us.’
Chapter 37
We wake up at the same time as Saul. This is unsurprising, as Saul is bouncing around on the bed, accidentally kicking us in the face and screeching with excitement.
We spent the night lying either side of him, our hands meeting in the middle, a cosy trio of humanity curled up together like a litter of puppies.
Now, what feels like approximately one hour later, we’re up again. Saul is screaming, ‘He’s been, he’s been!’, and scampering to the end of the bed to reach the two bulging sacks of presents. He pauses at the end, and turns around to look at us in confusion.
‘Where are we?’ he says, apparently noticing that he’s not in Kansas any more for the first time. ‘
And why are you here, Van?’
Van yawns, and stretches, and drags himself out from beneath the covers.
‘We’re in the woods. We saw on the Santa tracker that he was coming here first. And I’m here because I didn’t want to miss seeing you open all your presents. Is that okay?’
I realise I’m holding my breath at this point, watching Saul for any signs of distress, hoping he’s not going to have a meltdown. I needn’t have worried. He nods and jumps off the bed, and plunges right into the sacks. Little people are so much more sensible than big people.
We spend the next hour or so in a flurry of discarded wrapping paper, as Saul undoes all that time and effort I put into the gifts with ruthless efficiency. It takes a while, because he wants to play with everything as he opens it, and we let him. He’s operating on around 700 per cent more energy than we are, so we’re not in a position to argue.
Once that’s done, Van makes us all some toast, and we eat it outside, in the snow. I’d brought Saul’s wellies from the hallway, and he blows off even more steam by running around, making footprints and snowballs and shaking low-lying branches and laughing as the snow comes flying off.
Eventually, once he’s calm enough to sit still for more than two seconds, he comes back inside and curls up on the bed with one of his astronaut books.
I make the most of the lull in the proceedings to give Van his Tanzania snow globe. He loves it, which is nice. I’m not expecting anything from him, but he produces a white envelope containing a card.
‘Got this for you a little while ago,’ he says sheepishly, handing it to me. I open the sealed envelope, expecting to find some kind of Christmas confection inside, but am confused to come up with a colourful card featuring a picture of Herbie, the VW Beetle from the movies. I open it up, and inside there’s a piece of paper that’s clearly been printed off from a computer at home. I scan the page, and start to laugh.
‘Driving lessons?’ I say, grinning. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’
He smiles – one of those slow, lazy smiles that makes me feel warm inside. The kind of smile that promises so much more than I ever thought I’d deserve.
‘No,’ he replies, ‘the opposite. I thought if you learned to drive, you wouldn’t feel as trapped. And then you’d be more likely to stay.’
‘Ah. I see. Reverse psychology … very clever. Thank you. I wanted to do this anyway, so it’s perfect. Though now I feel bad, because this cost a lot more than a snow globe.’
‘Not that much more,’ he says, laughing. ‘I’m not rich. If you don’t crack it in ten lessons, you’re on your own. Anyway … I’m glad you’re pleased.’
I am pleased. Pleased with all of this. With being here, in this place, with these people. At the way my originally horrific Christmas has shaped up. With the idea of what the future might hold for us. All of the problems still exist – my parents are still psychopaths. Jason and Jo still want to be in Saul’s life. Lynnie is still ill. But while those problems might still exist, they exist somewhere else. They don’t live here, with us, in this place and this moment.
I want to kiss him, so badly. I want to throw my arms around him, and tell him how much he means to me. But there’s a young boy lying on the bed, flat on his tummy, legs waving in the air, planning his first trip into space.
I settle for taking Van’s hands in mine and kissing his fingers.
Saul gazes over his shoulder at us, and his eyes go wide.
‘Are Van’s fingers cold?’ he asks, when he sees what I’m doing. I always kiss Saul’s little hands to warm them up, so it must seem logical to him.
‘Yes, love. That’s exactly it,’ I reply lightly. ‘All that snow.’
‘Okay. We have to go soon,’ he says. ‘To the café. They’ll be waiting for me.’
He goes back to his book, and I think he’s probably right. They will be waiting for him. For me. And that is absolutely fine.
Chapter 38
The café is postcard pretty in the snow, the path up the side of the hill glistening in the weak sunlight that’s filtering down through the clouds.
The sea is grey and white, rolling in to snow-dusted sand, the bay quiet apart from a few dog-walkers and desperate parents trying to wear out their kids.
We arrive together, leaving the camper van in the small car park, making the walk up to the Comfort Food Café sign in a row of three. Saul is between us, his small hands in ours, swinging and jumping and laughing. For him, this is just another lovely day with his mummy and his Van. For me, it feels different – like the start of something. Something wonderful.
Van has one of the Santa sacks hoisted over his shoulder, so Saul can show off his gifts, and I am carrying a box of whistle pops.
That’s what he was at the pharmacy for the night before – Willow and Lynnie had made mince pies and snowman cupcakes to take to the party, and Auburn didn’t want to go empty-handed. Not being as much of a domestic goddess, she’d sent Van to collect the lollies instead.
Once she’d heard about his plans to come and rescue me from my dysfunctional Christmas Eve fun, she’d put them in the camper van for Saul, after helping Van quickly decorate it before he left. We didn’t get around to any whistle pop shenanigans the night before, so the box is still unopened.
We pause outside the café doors, Saul clinging on to our hands and trying to drag us through, and Van’s eyes meet mine.
‘Are you ready?’ he asks, his tone serious.
I know what he’s asking. Am I ready to walk through these doors, and become part of all of this? Am I ready to let the world see us together? Am I ready to see my parents again? Am I ready for whatever the heck it is that might happen next?
I nod, and smile, and say: ‘Yes. For anything.’
He smiles back, and we go inside. Saul immediately disentangles himself from us, and makes a beeline for Laura. He barrels into her arms and snuggles up on her lap, and I see him starting to tell her all about his magical Christmas in the woods. I can tell exactly when it is that he mentions Van being there when he woke up, because Laura looks up at me, her eyebrows lost beneath her curls, her eyes wide, and a big ‘oh!’ forming on her mouth.
I nod and make a thumbs-up sign, and she reciprocates. Looks like we just went public – because if Laura knows something, she’s constitutionally incapable of keeping it quiet.
Everyone is there already. The teenagers are in a corner on their own, playing what looks suspiciously like rock, paper, scissors. Matt is talking to Frank, a can of Guinness in his hand. Cherie is bustling around serving up ginger snaps, Willow behind her with a jug of what looks like orange juice but is undoubtedly Buck’s Fizz.
Tom is with Lynnie and Auburn, Rick Grimes curled up at their feet with the love of his life, Bella Swan. Midgebo is here, following Cherie and Willow, hoping for a tragic tray accident that might see all of the ginger snaps fall at his paws.
Zoe and Cal are dancing to The Pogues singing ‘Fairytale of New York’, yelling all the words in each other’s faces as they jig. Scrumpy Joe is arranging bottles of his cider on a trestle table, a length of green tinsel tied around his head like a bandana.
Over in the corner, by the bookshelves, I see Edie, set up like a queen on a throne of cushions, a tartan blanket over her lap and a glass of sherry in her hand. Becca is with her, and I feel my heart soar at the sight. Edie is back, and she looks frail but all right, and for the first time I am convinced that she’s going to be okay. She spots me across the crowd, and raises her glass in my direction. I wave back at her, and continue to scan the room.
Eventually, I spot them – sitting together at a table for two near the window. Nobody is near them, even in this packed room. It’s as though they’re emitting some kind of forcefield of bad energy that’s keeping people away. Mum is leaning forward, fingertips drumming on the table, lips moving rapidly. I can’t tell what she’s saying, but I’m guessing it’s not ‘happy Christmas and peace to all men’.
Dad is on the opposite
side of the table, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, as though he’s trying to be physically as far removed from her as he can. I can see the effort he’s making not to respond, but I’m not convinced it’ll last. He’s like a ticking time bomb waiting to go boom.
I stride towards them, determined to sort this out once and for all. I’ve had enough of tolerating this bullshit, and now is as good a time as any to make that clear.
I drag a chair over to their table and plonk myself down. They both stare at me, as though I’m an alien visiting from another planet. Eventually, Dad speaks: ‘Katie! Where were you? We got your text saying you were fine, but we didn’t have a clue where you’d disappeared off to …’
‘No, we didn’t,’ adds Mum, pulling a face at me. ‘That was very selfish of you – taking Saul off when we’d been looking forward to Christmas with him!’
I shake my head and let out a sigh, and hold up my hands to shut her up. She’s in that kind of mood, I can tell, where I could tell her she had beautiful eyes and she’d somehow manage to turn it into an argument because she felt I’d insulted her ears.
‘No, Mum – just stop,’ I say, before she can regroup. ‘Both of you, just stop. At exactly what time was it that you even noticed we’d gone?’
There’s a silence from both of them. Mum suddenly finds the view from the window fascinating, and Dad starts to rearrange the salt and pepper pots. Yep. Thought so.
‘I’ll take it from your silence that it was either very late last night, or this morning. I’ll also assume that you carried on your slanging match without even hearing us leave.’
‘That’s not fair!’ pipes up Mum angrily. ‘It wasn’t a slanging match … we have a lot to sort out … it was—’
‘She’s right,’ interrupts Dad, reaching out and placing his hand over hers. ‘It was a slanging match, love. And we didn’t sort anything out, did we?’
Mum looks as though she wants to disagree, and I decide that I’m not going to let her.
A Gift from the Comfort Food Café Page 28