My sister Camille will always argue with me when I say this. She says that I was always bought a present when it was her birthday because otherwise I’d have a jealous strop that she was getting all the attention. She always got all the bloody attention anyway. Four years younger than me and a girl. She was always making a play or a puppet show. The folks never stopped applauding her and telling her how talented and special she was.
Boys don’t do that shit. All I wanted was to be left alone to loaf.
It’s eleven am and my mother shouts up the stairs telling me to get my arse out of bed and to join them for present opening. Like I said, it’s my birthday but I have to join them all to watch them open their presents first. I stick my dressing gown on and walk downstairs. Fucked if I’m having a wash today, it's Christmas. Soon as the presents are opened I’m coming back to bed. I’ll get back up for Christmas dinner and eat chocolate for tea. Even better, after lunch I’ll sneak a couple of my Dad’s beers upstairs and get settled ready to play my new Xbox One games.
‘Finally, he appears,’ says my sister, who’s come over to eat Christmas dinner. No doubt she’ll be spending the rest of it with her boyfriend Dylan.
Perfect bloody Camille. She went to Uni where of course she got First Class honours and she owns her own business, a play centre here in Rotherham. It’s doing great. As my mother says about her “if she landed in a pile of shit she’d come out smelling of roses”. Even so, I love her to bits. Don’t tell her though. I enjoy tormenting the life out of her. That’s a big brother’s job.
So today I am twenty-five years old. A quarter of a century. Wonder if I’ll get a bit of extra dosh in my card, with it being a special number?
We go through the Christmas present opening ritual. My mother is obsessed with Christmas. She starts way before December so that by the time we get to Christmas Day she’s almost had enough of the season. Often on Boxing Day she takes all the decorations down saying it's over. She makes a Christmas diary, adding an event to each day of December. My poor father gets dragged round to Carol Concerts and the lights being switched on. I peeked in the bag containing the sexy santa outfit. I was almost sick. It’s my mother and father for Christ’s sake. They’re old.
Everyone has to take turns opening their gifts. I’m well happy when I open Fallout 4. That’s my day sorted, working my way through the levels.
Mum looks disappointed as she opens soap sets and gloves. ‘Every year I go to a stack of trouble, working out what people like and buying accordingly and I get soap.’
We hear this same story every year. Mum can’t use perfumed products so all these gifts go straight into a charity bag. ‘I thought I made it clear that this year I wanted an Icelandic Christmas.’
This was this year’s nutty idea. She’s read on Facebook that people in Iceland wrap each other a book and hot chocolate. They open them Christmas Eve and go to bed to read and relax with their book and hot beverage. I’ve no idea if this is true or crap circulated on Facebook.
Mum continues to pout as we finish opening our last presents. Then my dad hands her an envelope.
‘Oh my God.’ She squeals. ‘A one hundred pound Amazon voucher. I can get so many books with that. Thank you Tim.’ She leans over and kisses his cheek.
Camille and I lock gazes and nod.
I hand my mother one package and Camille gives her another.
‘What’s this?’ She opens them to find Discover the New You, a hardback book released by Tatiana Patrick, an ex-Victoria’s Secret model. Our mother goes on a self improvement mission every January.
‘Oh my God. This is what I hoped to get.’ Mum says, leaving out the fact that she mentioned it in passing every ten minutes in the run up to Christmas. She opens my present. An assortment of Hot Chocolate from her favourite coffee shop.
‘Oh my babies and husband. Thank you for knowing me so well. Merry Christmas everybody.’ She kisses Camille and me on the head like we’re two years old. Then she leans over to Dad and plants one right on his mouth. For fucks sake.
‘Okay. I’d better get in the kitchen.’ She says and makes to stand up.
‘Ha ha.’ Every year is the same. They pretend they’ve forgotten it’s my birthday.
Of course now I’m twenty five my cards are few and presents are non-existent. It’s money in my cards and that’s my lot.
My mum sits back down. A smile forming on her lips. She gets a card out of a large pocket on the front of her Christmas apron.
I open a card from my Auntie. By this age you know who every card is from before you open it as you can recognise the handwriting.
‘There’s nothing in it. She must have forgotten the money or the postman’s nicked it.’ I shake out the envelope as if notes will miraculously appear.
‘Oh, Miranda said she was stopping it this year.’ says mum. ‘We agreed to put an end date of twenty five on all you kids.’
My Auntie is almost as loopy as my mother. She’ll be pleased she can keep the money to spend on DVDs. She has hundreds of them. Could never possibly watch them all. Just likes looking at them. Won’t let me borrow them either. What a waste.
I open a jokey card with a picture on the front of it from Camille. Inside is a twenty pound note. I get the same from my grandma. My dad’s mum passed away a couple of years ago, but my other gran is in her mid-sixties and lets just say you can see why my mum and auntie are like they are. Her card has a car on it and says age is just a number, you’re alright while the engine’s still running. I put it down. There’s only the parents card to open now. I get a good hundred quid off them.
My passes me the card and I tear off the envelope to find a schmaltzy one with a verse about four pages long. I have to read it all as otherwise my mother will turn sour, being as she’s chosen it because of those very heartfelt words.
‘Thanks you two.’ I try not to panic about there being no money in the envelope but inside I’m screaming “what’s happening?”
My mother reaches back in her pocket and passes me another envelope. Crafty.
I open the envelope carefully. I don’t want to tear the notes. Inside I find a letter and a cheque. The cheque is for a thousand pounds. Fucking hell. I didn’t think this birthday was that special.
I grin as I pick up the letter.
Dear son,
You are dear to our hearts and we love you. Happy twenty-fifth birthday love. However as previously forewarned it’s time to stand on your own two feet. Please take this letter as your Eviction Notice. You have three months until the twenty-fifth of March to secure new accommodation for yourself. Obviously if you decide to purchase, rather than rent, then as long as we can see the sale proceeding, the date of eviction can be lengthened accordingly. We, your parents will assist with this as much as possible. If you would like us to accompany you to look at properties or help you get a mortgage, you only have to ask.
The cheque should cover you for a month or two’s rent or contribute towards legal fees.
We look forward to watching you on your next adventure as an adult.
Much love, Mum and Dad.
What the actual fuck?
‘You’re chucking me out? That’s my birthday present?’ I splutter.
RELEASES TUESDAY 29 MARCH 2016
PRE-ORDER/PURCHASE LINK: http://getbook.at/AmazonSnowBalls2
More by Andie M. Long
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Quickies:
Sometimes you just have ten minutes. Or you're waiting at the bus stop. It could be a small train journey. Maybe your partner is due home. Or friends are on their way. In Andie M. Long's Quickies, you are invited to lose yourself in short stories, poetry and flash fiction. Enjoy a quickie where time is pressured or precious. Some stories are 18+ and contain adult themes.
The Ball Games Novellas
Balls
Snowballs – http://getbook.at/AmazonSnowBalls2
The Alpha Series
The Alphabet Game – (ebook permafree on Amazon, iBooks, Nook and Kobo)
The Alphabet Wedding (novella)
The Calendar Game
Play it: The Alphabet Game playbook
Underneath
Quickies (novella)
About the author
Andie M. Long is author of the erotic series The Alphabet Game, The Calendar Game and The Alphabet Wedding, alongside drama/suspense Underneath and short story and poetry collection Quickies.
She lives in Sheffield with her son and long suffering partner.
When not being partner, mother, employee or writer she can usually be found on Facebook or with her head in a book.
She would be VERY grateful if you could leave a review on Amazon if you enjoyed her work.
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Balls (Ball Games #1) Page 8