Driving Home for Christmas

by A. L. Michael

  ‘I’ll see you again, whilst you’re here, right? Coffee, or something?’ Lucas rested his head on the door frame as a cold draft made her shiver.

  ‘You want to?’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Of course. One evening of almost arguing doesn’t really make for a decent catch-up,’ Lucas shrugged. ‘If that’s okay?’

  It was more than okay. It was too okay. She could feel him sucking her back in with that smile and those eyes. And he should be more angry, more curious. But that’s how he’d always been. Relaxed, laid back. Everything happening at its own pace, regardless of humans. ‘Things happen when they want to, Meg,’ he used to tell her when she couldn’t play a certain riff, or wanted exam results back sooner. He was always fine with that, when she always had to control fate as much as she could.

  ‘It’s very okay,’ she nodded, her breath catching a little as he moved in to kiss her cheek, and he was there, scratching her skin a little as his stubbled cheek brushed hers, smelling of spice and CK One and cinnamon.

  Something in her chest ached as she trudged back out into the cold grey night towards her car, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  ***

  February 2004

  They lay intertwined, her head resting on his shoulder as they stared at the ceiling.

  ‘It’s a good plan.’

  ‘It’s a terrible plan.’

  ‘We’ve got something here, Angel, we really do!’ His enthusiasm was usually infectious, but Megan was tired and stressed. All her parents talked about were university choices, and degree options. Which Cambridge college she’d go to. Future plans and careers and weddings. And when she opened up to Lucas he just wanted to shag and talk about the band.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded, interlocking their fingers and holding up their joined hands, ‘we have something, but the band… I’m not just going to go running off into the sunset on a tour bus. This isn’t Almost Famous. It’s a hard slog, and I don’t want to be a musician.’

  ‘But you are one.’ Lucas squeezed her hand and turned on his side to face her. ‘Look, why does everything have to be so set? Finish college, play some gigs, do some teaching, see what happens?’

  ‘Because that’s how you lose years. That’s how you end up being Estelle, back in this stupid town and stuck here, because you haven’t planned for anything better,’ Megan snapped. ‘I don’t want to waste my life.’

  ‘How’s it wasted if we’re together?’ Lucas asked, watching her hand as he stroked it with his thumb, delicate circles.

  ‘I want to do something, I want to help people, or make a difference.’

  ‘How are you going to do that with an English Lit degree?’ Lucas raised an eyebrow.

  Megan sighed. ‘I don’t know, but I know that I want to matter.’

  ‘You matter to me.’ That little sorry smile that said he knew he was being childish, and he accepted her no matter what. He knew she was destined for an academic world with boundaries and rules and order, because that was Megan. She did the Right Thing, all the time. But he just wasn’t like that.

  ‘You matter to me,’ she replied, kissing his chest and settling back down, counting down not only the hours before she had to be back home, but the hours until things changed for good.

  Chapter Six

  Megan had phoned Jeremy that morning, eager for a catch up before Skye started demanding that she speak to Anna.

  ‘So what’s going on in Casa Anna?’ She curled up on her old bed, and it could have been any weeknight when she’d been on the phone to Lucas, or any of them. She rubbed the corner of her old blanket against her cheek.

  ‘The biddie army arrived yesterday, with food orders and demands about decorations. They’ve decided they want a Gatsby-themed Christmas. I’m sure most of them can remember the 1920s firsthand,’ he bitched. She could imagine him there, filing his nails, or putting on his make-up. Or maybe he was scratching away in his notebook, sitting with a glass of Sangria in the Ideas Cupboard.

  ‘How’s Anna finding all that?’

  ‘Loves it, as always. She’s been a bit more worn out though, sleeping in a lot more. I told her I’d take over things.’ She heard the grin in his voice.

  ‘Oh sweet Jesus, please don’t tell me you’ve replaced their Gatsby with drag chic?’

  ‘Just a few changes for my own amusement,’ he laughed, ‘like they’re even going to notice that the silver confetti is penis-shaped instead of diamonds. Really. Half of them can’t see themselves in a mirror. Which explains the eyeliner.’

  ‘Don’t be mean!’

  ‘I’m not! I’m thinking of starting a biddie make-up service. When your hands start to shake and the liquid eyeliner goes everywhere – who ya gonna call? You know how many rich, proud old ladies are out there? I’d be rich!’

  ‘Yeah, but rich, proud ladies don’t tend to want a little bitch judging them about their make-up capabilities.’

  ‘They adore me, they don’t know I’m bitchy,’ Jeremy said pointedly, ‘plus most of them can’t hear much.’

  ‘Incorrigible.’

  ‘Exactly. So tell me more about being home?’

  Megan paused, unsure of what to say, how to sum up this weird feeling of familiarity, with the sadness of loss. She loved being back, but it wasn’t home any more.

  ‘I bumped into Lucas.’

  ‘The Lucas?’

  Megan sighed, ‘Uhuh.’

  ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘It was fine, after my brother punched him, and my father tried to do the same. Apparently he’s been letting them think he’s the father all these years. They’ve been randomly punching him for ages.’

  ‘That’s…insane. But also kind of sweet,’ Jeremy said. ‘Are the sparks still there?’

  Megan swallowed, thinking of his fingers stroking the sleeve of her jumper, the way his eyes lit up when he tilted his head to the side and laughed. The way her chest seemed to throb just thinking about it. Shit.

  ‘Still there on my side. I doubt he’s interested in the girl who’s made him a target all these years. But he did invite me for coffee,’ she said with hope in her voice.

  ‘That sounds promising,’ Jeremy said.

  ‘Well, we were friends for a long time, he probably just wants to catch up. It’s natural to be curious about people’s lives.’

  ‘It’s natural to stay the heck away from everyone and not get involved,’ Jeremy corrected.

  ‘You’re a Londoner, you don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re a Londoner too now, love, you have been for years. Don’t be going back to the country and start saying hello to strangers on the street now, I may have to disown you.’

  ‘And a merry bloody Christmas to you too, Scrooge!’ she laughed, watching as her bedroom door squeaked open, and Skye poked her head in.

  She pointed at the phone. ‘Is that Anna?’

  Jeremy, Megan mouthed. Wanna say hi?

  She handed the phone over, and said she’d be downstairs getting breakfast, whilst her daughter occupied the space she vacated. She watched for a moment. Her daughter would be a teenager before too long. She’d grow up, and go off to uni and get a career, start her own family. And where would Megan be? Back at Anna’s with Jeremy, getting wasted on G and Ts each night and wondering why she’d never made a relationship work. She smiled at her daughter and padded down the stairs.

  Heather was dishing up pancakes. ‘That girl of yours can eat. Reminds me of Matty.’

  ‘It’s that big brain, needs a lot of feeding,’ Megan replied, sitting down and helping herself.

  ‘So…not so much like Matty,’ Heather quipped and they grinned at each other, the gaze fading into a sort of sadness as they realised how long it had been since they’d been relaxed.

  ‘I…I was wondering,’ Heather started, ‘if you and Skye would like to come shopping with me today. Nothing stressful, just maybe a nice outfit for Christmas Day, pick up a few last-minute things if you see them? Damien’s done up the book shop
beautifully, I’m sure Skye would love it, and there’s some more live music in the square today…’

  ‘We’d love to, Mum.’ She smiled, and Heather took a deep, steadying breath, looking relieved.

  ‘Good,’ she nodded, smiling to herself as she continued scrubbing the frying pan.

  ***

  September 2004

  They were sitting practising in the school music room. No one else tended to use it, and they could dance around, play loudly, sing to each other. That day, Lucas stood on the table in the empty room, reverb turned up on the amp, sunglasses on as he serenaded her with ‘Wild Thing’. ‘I think I love ya,’ he slurred, wiggling his hips and pointing at her.

  At first she’d laughed, so crazy in love with him as he strutted and played and sang. But slowly, as the song carried on, she realised that being a wild thing meant leaving, meant being free, meant not being trapped. And as much as she loved Lucas, she wanted that escape. He’d told her not to make him that person, right? He’d told her to make him let her go. She was a wild thing.

  By the end of the song there were tears in her eyes, and as he jumped off the table, his pleased-with-himself look faded to one of concern. He pulled the guitar strap over his head and stroked a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

  ‘What’s up, Angel?’

  ‘I’m a wild thing,’ she said simply, tears streaming now.

  He frowned, and then understood, nodding. ‘Wild things need to be free.’

  ‘At some point we’re going to have to end it.’

  ‘I was hoping we’d have a little longer, love, to be perfectly honest.’ He put his arms around her waist, and she clung to him, breathing him in, her face pressed into his neck.

  ‘It’s better to end it, and be friends before I go.’ Megan was amazed at how firm she sounded, how in control of it all she was. But her heart hurt, and she thought she was going to be sick, and there was Lucas, nodding sadly, tears in his own eyes.

  ‘Not yet though, not quite yet. I know you think it has to happen, that somehow we can’t last a couple of train journeys…’

  ‘It’s…it’s about fresh starts, and needing you. Needing you as my friend, in my life. Always.’ She launched herself at him, awkwardly sticking her face into his neck.

  ‘But we’ve still got some time, love. Not yet, okay?’ He stroked her hair, somehow, always so understanding that this was the right thing, the accepted thing, for his Angel, the Megan who was going to go off and Do Things, like no one had ever achieved anything whilst being in love.

  She nodded. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Bloody song,’ he tried to joke, ‘you might not have realised if I’d played bloody Elvis or someone.’

  Megan flashed him a quick smile through the tears, trying to imagine a life without him.

  ***

  Her mum was right – the bookshop looked beautiful. Skye was enamoured immediately, winding through the shelves, using the little ladders to reach different levels, swinging like a trapeze artist. Damien’s bookshop, simply called Read, always looked magical at Christmas. Hell, it looked magical all year round. The light gently flickered, with fake candles lining the shelves, fairy lights zig-zagging across the top of them, creating a glowing canopy. Damien’s wife Ginny had made spiced hot apple on the stove, and gingerbread cookies from the oven. The whole place smelled heavenly.

  ‘We’re not going to get her out of here anytime soon,’ Megan whispered to her mum, watching as her daughter’s face lit up. ‘In fact, she may never come home.’

  ‘That was how you used to be,’ Heather said, smiling at the memory. ‘I used to panic, thinking I’d lost you, and you’d always be here. One time I would have sworn we were on the other side of town, and you’d somehow gravitated towards the place.’

  ‘Good to know some of the good traits passed on,’ she grinned. ‘Actually, I haven’t found any bad traits yet. Except an unnecessary amount of emotional maturity, and spending too much time focused on homework.’

  ‘Yes, a demon child, obviously,’ Heather laughed.

  When Skye had found a couple of books she loved, and Megan pointed out that perhaps Santa would get them for her (with Skye rolling her eyes in response) they walked down the high street to the town square, where once again, a crowd had gathered around the main stage.

  ‘Hey, it’s the troublemaker!’ Skye said, pointing at the stage.

  Lucas waved back, not having heard her, and went back to setting up his guitar.

  ‘What do you mean, darling?’ Heather shared a worried look with Megan, who just shook her head.

  ‘That guy who came to the house with the carollers, and uncle Matty was embarrassed, and Granddad was angry at first, and Mum was really irritated. He had to be the cause of it, the Troublemaker.’ She paused, pleased with her assessment. ‘Sounds like a good name for a villain.’

  ‘He’s not a troublemaker, hun, he was caught up in the middle of something that everyone thought he did, but he didn’t do it.’ Megan felt a headache coming on.

  ‘Well, he made you upset, and I didn’t like it.’ Skye crossed her arms, stubborn as ever.

  ‘Well, thank you babe, that’s lovely.’ Megan put her arm around her. ‘But he’s actually my oldest friend. And he’s a very nice guy. You might like him once you get to know him.’

  ‘Riiiiight,’ Skye said, sure that something else was going on. ‘I doubt it, but an investigator must always be open to new evidence.’

  ‘Very wise,’ Heather said. ‘Do you want to hear a little or shall we carry on shopping?’

  Skye went to shake her head, insistent that she didn’t need to know the Troublemaker, but then he started to play. She knew the song from the first few notes, and as Troublemaker started to play ‘Hound Dog’, she found herself smiling against her will. Megan watched with amusement as her daughter kept trying to frown, but ended up singing along. He’d won her over and he didn’t even know. She watched him up there, sparkling away, in that Lucas Bright way he’d always had. Playing with heart and everything he had, shining with enthusiasm. Halfway through the song, Skye gave up trying to frown and just smiled as she danced.

  I know how you feel, kid, Megan thought, and bopped along.

  At the end of the song, Megan and Heather nodded at each other, thinking perhaps they should get on with their shopping, but Lucas’ voice stopped her.

  ‘This one is for a very special friend who’s back in town for a little bit. I hope she likes it.’

  Some teenagers in the front were clearly in Lucas’ music class, as they started making ‘ooooh’ noises and giggling to themselves.

  He started playing ‘Wild Thing’, but she’d never heard it like that before. Pared down, simple, acoustic. It was heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time, and she just stared at him across the crowds, smiling, feeling her nose go cold as her eyes watered.

  Skye tugged at her mittened hand. ‘Are you the special friend, Mum?’

  Megan just nodded, eyes shining as she focused on the stage, on his eyes staring back at her, trying to start again.

  When that song finished, he went into some more standard covers, and they thought they’d better get going. Most of it was Heather making recommendations for ‘darling little outfits’ for Skye, who was more of a jeans and Converse girl. But she went along with it in good spirits, pleased to please her grandmother. The only time she was actually excited was as they walked past a shop with mermaid leggings in the window. They were black with emerald shimmering scales that seemed to move, even as the reflections of Christmas shoppers walked past the window.

  ‘Oh!’ she sighed, fingertips resting on the window.

  ‘I know!’ Megan sighed as well, wishing, not for the first time, that they made kids’ clothes in adult sizes.

  ‘Really? Mermaids?’ Heather said, tilting her head to look at them. ‘Where would you wear them?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ Megan and Skye said in sync, and then grinned at each other.

  ‘Well then, it lo
oks like Santa’s got quite a bit to buy.’ Heather raised an eyebrow at her daughter, who shrugged.

  ‘Why don’t you girls go have a wander whilst I finish my errands? It’s all boring stuff, ties and socks and boy things, mostly,’ Heather said, with a shooing gesture. ‘I’ll meet you by the grotto in about an hour?’

  Skye and Megan shrugged, looking so in sync that Heather was both mystified, and a little sad. She’d never been that close with her daughter. Perhaps the age difference was working for Megan and Skye, she thought, and tried to blot out the horrible things she said that night, that always seemed to hover in the background now, whenever thoughts of Megan emerged.

  The girls wandered off back into town.

  ‘So, what do you think about this place?’ Megan asked casually, when really the question she was asking was how do you like your family?

  ‘I like the bookshop,’ Skye replied as she wandered through the cobbled streets, watching teenagers with Santa hats walking together, arms linked as if they couldn’t bear to be apart. ‘And I like everyone, Grandma and Granddad and Matty and Claudia and Jasper. And Minnie, even.’

  ‘I’m glad, bub.’ Megan squeezed her daughter’s hand.

  ‘Are you happy though, Mum? You seem weird here.’

  They walked into the centre, sitting on a bench where they could see Santa’s grotto, even though they had ages.

  ‘Do you ever wonder why we haven’t been back here til now?’ Megan asked, watching her daughter’s beautiful, intelligent face twitch. Skye put her hand to her cheek, lips pursed. It was her ‘detective thinking’ face, and whilst Megan knew it was an affectation, she knew that Skye was really thinking it through.

  ‘Well, first I thought they must be really mean. But they’re not. They’re nice,’ Skye started.

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘But, well, you are a bit young, Mum, aren’t you?’ Skye said, echoing what Heather had said years ago. You’re young, too young, don’t you see what a baby you are.

  ‘I mean, you’re not young to me, to me you’re really old–’

  ‘Oi, less of the really, missus!’ Megan tickled her.