Short Stack

by Lily Morton

  Asa blinks. “Billy, in what dimension have you ever been able to have cake for breakfast?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” Billy says indignantly. “There aren’t any rules at Christmas.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sam Fisher at school.”

  “Is that the one who was making fun of you?”

  “No,” he says in a duh voice. “That’s Tristan Sampson. He’s not my friend. I don’t listen to him.”

  “Did he upset you?”

  “No, why would he?” Billy bends down to pet Stanley. “He doesn’t know anything about us. He doesn’t know that you and Jude love me more than anyone and that you read me stories every night and Jude makes me laugh all the time. I think he’s a bit jealous because he’d like two daddies,” he adds sagely. “But he can’t,” he finishes somewhat callously, abruptly ending his saintly air. “Because I have and he hasn’t, and he’s just a big stupid head.”

  Asa dumps me off his lap and stretches before picking Billy up and hugging him tight. “I’m very proud of you,” he says seriously. “You make me proud by the way you try to be kind to people and think about what might be making them unhappy. Maybe remember that Tristan might be sad inside and be kind to him, eh?”

  Billy stares at him calculatedly. “If you’re proud of me, does that mean I can have cake for breakfast?”

  “Bacon and egg?” Asa says in a negotiating tone, and Billy nods happily.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” I say, standing up and sliding my arms around my two boys. “How about after breakfast we take Stanley down to the beach for a walk and then we’ll see if Uncle Dylan and Uncle Gabe have got here yet?”

  “Yes!” Billy shouts. “Can we take the kite?”

  I shrug. “If it’s windy.”

  “It will be.”

  “Okay, Michael Fish.”

  I wander out of the kitchen, pausing in the hall by the console table to right a couple of figures in the nativity scene. I smile at the Father Christmas and Yoda figures that are currently sharing the stable with Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus. Christmas is a lot more inclusive in the Jacobs house. Last week I’d found two stormtroopers and the Green Goblin in there paying their respects.

  Later on, at two in the morning, I have to say that my smile has slipped slightly. Holding Billy’s stocking, which is bulging with small presents, I slowly turn the handle of his bedroom door. The old door creaks and I freeze, but when there’s no response, I step cautiously into the room.

  Stanley lifts her head from where she’s lying at the bottom of the bed, and I shoot her the evil eye, silently warning her not to bark like she did before. She immediately adopts a pious air and puts her head back down.

  There’s no sound from the bed, and I smile in satisfaction. He’s asleep at last. I step towards the bed and, almost as if synchronised, his tousled head lifts up from the pillow. “Father Christmas?” he says hoarsely.

  I groan. “No, mate. It’s Jude.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I think hard. “Erm, I’m looking for the remote control. Have you had it?”

  He yawns. “No.” He looks at me blearily. “You’ve been in here a lot tonight, Jude.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “And you seem to have lost everything and think it’s in my bedroom.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  He nods, his expression sharpening. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “You do?” My voice is higher than it should be. Fucking hell, my first time of having a child at Christmas and I’ve destroyed his belief in Father Christmas. I am a terrible new parent.

  “You’re waiting to see Father Christmas too, aren’t you?” he says.

  “Oh yes,” I say gratefully. “Yes, definitely.” I laugh somewhat hysterically. “You caught me out, Bill.”

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because you’re quite loud.” He yawns. “Father Christmas won’t come if you’re loud, you know.”

  “Or awake,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Kissing him goodnight for the tenth time tonight, I back out of the room with the stocking hidden behind my back.

  I make my way down the stairs to the lounge. It’s warm and light with a fire burning brightly. Asa looks up from his position on the rug where he’s crouched over the toy garage that he’s been trying to put together for the last three hours.

  “Was he asleep?” he asks, his eyes twinkling from behind his glasses.

  I fling myself down on the nearest sofa to him. “Nope,” I say glumly. “He was nearly there, and I almost dropped the stocking off, but then he caught me.”

  He grins. “He’s got ears like a bat.”

  “And a mind like a steel trap,” I observe. “I’m sure he’s onto me. I told him I was looking for the remote control.”

  He laughs. “Why the fuck would he have it?”

  “Asa, don’t tease. I’m not an actor like you. My reactions are always honest and straightforward.”

  He shakes his head and hands me my glass of wine. “Have a drink.”

  “If I have any more I’ll stumble into his bedroom singing ‘Last Christmas.’”

  “If it’s anything like your rendition of ‘There’s a Worm at the Bottom of the Garden’, you’ll scar him for life.”

  I sip my drink and eye the garage. “Any further along, dear, in your quest to build the unbuildable?”

  He groans. “Motherfucking toys. I swear I could have built an actual house myself before I finished this.”

  “God help us if our house was anything like that,” I say, eyeing the rather sad-looking garage. I tilt my head to one side. “Is it my imagination or is it…?”

  “Lopsided? Yes,” he says gloomily. “And look.” He holds out his hand. “I’ve only got one piece to put in, but I’ve still got all these screws. Do you think it’s okay?”

  I grimace. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I say comfortingly. “If it falls down we’ll just tell him it’s subsidence.”

  Bright sunlight on my face wakes me. “Ungh, we forgot to shut the curtains,” I groan, rolling over and burying my head in Asa’s shoulder.

  “I honestly didn’t think we’d be asleep long enough to be bothered by the sun. Billy’s slept late,” he says in his rough early morning voice. He shifts next to me, and a certain part of me wakes up instantly at having the awesomeness of all his naked skin rubbing against mine.

  “Hmm,” I say contemplatively and send my fingers out, exploring the broad width of his hair-roughened chest. “What do we have here?”

  “Same as every day,” he says wryly. “Just little old me.”

  “Hardly little.” I skim my fingers down the length of his morning erection, and he inhales sharply.

  “I’m not sure we’ve got time…” He groans as my hand encircles his cock and starts a slow glide.

  “You were saying?” I ask, squinting at him. He’s lying back on his pillow, his long hair everywhere. His chin is rough with his morning beard and his eyes sleepy. He looks bloody delicious.

  “Nothing,” he says, gasping and arching up towards my hand. “Shit, Jude, that’s really good.”

  “I know,” I say smugly. “It’s all in the hand action.” I let go of his cock, and he makes a protesting noise, but I roll over onto him and straddle his legs. “I think I need to inspect your chimney,” I say throatily.

  His eyes crease in amusement. “I’m not role-playing Father Christmas, whatever you say.”

  I pout and then grin. “Oh well, I’ll just have to find another game to play.”

  I smile wickedly and, drawing the duvet over my head, I inch down his body, dropping kisses on the sleek, tight skin.

  “Umm,” he purrs, pushing his hand through my curls that are almost back to their previous length. “Did I say how much I love your hair being long again?”

  “Only several hundred times,” I murmur.

  He lifts the d
uvet to look down at me. “You’ll suffocate.”

  “Tell my mother I died doing what I love,” I advise him.

  He laughs loudly, but I stop that by taking the head of his cock into my mouth and sucking it. I inhale and catch the early morning muskiness of his groin. It makes my mouth water.

  “God,” he groans. “That’s so… shit!”

  I raise my head. “I beg your pardon?” I say, my voice muffled by the duvet.

  “Shit,” he says again loudly just as I hear the bang of the bedroom door slamming open. “Billy!” Asa’s voice is quite high. “I didn’t hear you come up the stairs.”

  “Maybe Father Christmas sprinkled magic dust,” Billy shouts. “He’s been, Daddy. He’s been.”

  “That’s brilliant, baby,” Asa says in a slightly strained voice.

  “Where’s Jude?” Billy asks.

  “Erm…”

  Stanley stops Asa’s quest for the perfect excuse by jumping on the bed and landing on my head.

  “Motherfucker,” I mutter. “Ouch!”

  “What on earth is Jude doing down there?” Billy asks curiously.

  “Erm… erm… He was looking for the remote control,” Asa finally says.

  I roll my eyes and Billy tuts. “Down there? You should really look after your things, Daddy.”

  “Yes, we should,” he says faintly, and I emerge from under the duvet, positive that my cheeks are as bright as Santa’s red-trousered bottom.

  “Jude,” Billy shouts. “Santa’s been. He’s been.”

  “Did he eat his mince pie?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I didn’t notice because there are presents everywhere.”

  I laugh, and Asa looks thoughtfully at Billy. “If I asked you to go back to bed, what are the chances that you’d go back to sleep?”

  Billy considers that. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to do that,” he finally says. He throws himself on the bed. “Get up. Get up, lazybones. I’m going to wake Peggy and Amos.”

  He darts out of the bedroom, and Asa groans and throws himself back on the pillows. I eye him.

  “The remote control?” I say in a loud voice. “I was looking for the remote control?”

  “You try improvising when your boyfriend has your cock in his mouth and your five-year-old son slams into the room to tell you that Santa Claus came.”

  “I’m glad someone in this house did.” I laugh as he tries to tickle me. “No, fuck off, Asa. Ah!”

  I roll off the bed, and Stanley jumps on me. “Oh my God,” I squeal, covering my face. “This place is a fucking madhouse.”

  “Wait until tonight when Billy’s been on the chocolates,” he says with a wise look on his face. He taps my side gently with his foot. “Get dressed. There are presents to open.”

  We descend the stairs ten minutes later dressed in pyjama bottoms and T-shirts to find Amos lighting the fire and Billy staring at labels and putting presents in messy piles. A clattering from the kitchen tells me that Peggy is making tea. God, I hope so because I’m fucking knackered. We didn’t get to bed until four this morning.

  Asa bends down and starts to reorganise the presents because Billy has got everything mixed up. He kisses his son’s face and gives him parcels to put in their correct piles and Billy darts around like a hyperactive elf.

  “You okay?” Asa says, shooting me a look. “You seem a bit stunned.”

  “I’m flabbergasted by how shattered I am. I used to be able to go clubbing until six, shower, and then go to a modelling job. Now, I have three hours of sleep, and I’m acting as if I’ve been awake for months.”

  He pauses in his gift organisation and Billy promptly drapes himself over him, hugging him tightly.

  “Is that okay?” Asa says tentatively. I look at him, puzzled. “I mean, this isn’t exactly party central. Do you miss it?”

  I lean down and kiss him and throw my arms around Billy and him. “I’m extremely happy,” I say firmly. “This is what I want, Asa. I told you that.”

  He smiles. “Okay, just checking.”

  “Well, stop.”

  “Are we going to Jude’s mummy and daddy’s house today?” Billy asks.

  “We’re going in a few hours, and we’ll stay overnight,” Asa reminds him. “And after dinner, we’ve got another round of present opening to do because Father Christmas delivered at their house too.”

  “I love everyone,” Billy says happily, and as we laugh, he unravels himself from the hug and stoops to squeeze a present. “Yes,” he hisses to himself. “It’s hard.”

  I look in bemusement at him. “Is that good, Bill?”

  He nods fervently. “It means it isn’t clothes.”

  Present opening is as frantic and loud as I imagined it would be. The fire roars and Christmas music plays while we all sit around in our pyjamas drinking tea and watching Billy open his presents. He’s got a lot, but he isn’t spoilt, as Asa is very insistent that he only gets gifts at Christmas and birthdays. If he wants anything in between, he has his pocket money to buy it.

  I appoint myself as rubbish monitor because I well remember one of Dylan’s family chucking money on the fire once. I gather the wrapping paper, inspect it, and then throw it on the fire as Billy oohs and ahhs and Stanley wriggles under the paper chewing happily on a piece of cardboard. Then it’s our turn.

  Asa gets up and goes to the mantlepiece where two envelopes are set. “These are for you,” he says, handing them to Amos and Peggy. “They’re just a very small token of how much we appreciate you both. We couldn’t do anything without you.”

  It makes me smile inside to hear him saying “we.”

  Peggy opens her envelope and immediately squeals. “Oh, Asa! You and Jude shouldn’t have done this, love.”

  “Yes, we should.”

  “But it must have cost a fortune.”

  “What have you got?” Billy asks, climbing onto my lap.

  “It’s a trip on the Orient Express travelling through Europe.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a lovely train.”

  “Like Thomas the Tank Engine?”

  “It’s a train for grown-ups, Bill,” I reply.

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” he says stalwartly. It’s obvious that it doesn’t compare to his garage which had been greeted with rapturous delight. “Who are you going to take with you?” he asks curiously.

  “My sister Penny.”

  “I like her. She has plastic flowers in her bathroom.”

  I blink. “Why would you remember that?”

  He shrugs. “You never have to throw them away, Jude. She just puts them in the dishwasher every week.”

  Peggy hugs her envelope to her chest. “I’m so happy,” she says softly.

  “It was Jude’s suggestion,” Asa offers, leaning down to accept her hug.

  I grin at her. “Thought it might appeal. You’ve seen more Hercule Poirot films than David Suchet.”

  Amos opens his own envelope. “Oh, Asa and Jude, how marvellous,” he says dolefully. “A ticket for Canada.”

  “We thought you could go and see your sister,” Asa offers. “But we’ve paid for a nice hotel too.”

  “It would be lovely to see her.” He pauses. “Providing she’s fortunate enough to still be alive when I visit.”

  There’s a stunned silence, and I bury my face in Billy’s curls to avoid anyone seeing how I’m trying not to laugh.

  “Well, let’s hope for the best,” Asa finally says, a thread of slight hysteria seeming to run through his voice.

  “I suppose so,” Amos replies doubtfully.

  Asa turns to me. “Now, you.” He looks slightly nervous. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I couldn’t go along with that.”

  I smile at him. “Hopefully it’s something small, then. We haven’t got room for an elephant or whatever you’ve bought me in a fit of extravagance.”

  Billy sighs. “It isn’t an elephant, Jude,” he says sadly. “I wish I’d
thought of that.”

  “It’s not exactly small either,” Asa says.

  “Hope it fits in the house, then,” I say, mystified.

  “Not exactly a problem,” he mutters. He shifts from foot to foot and then grabs an A4 envelope from a side table and gives it to me. “Don’t shout at me.”

  “That is not exactly something you hear a lot before people open their presents.” I stare at him as I open the envelope. Then I look down at the contents and go still. “Oh, my God. Oh my God, Asa.”

  “Yes,” he says quickly. “I know it’s a bit of a strange present, but you went on and on about Bluebell Wood and how you’d played there as a kid and how evil the developer is who’s going to bulldozer it and build a housing estate.”

  “So you bought me the wood?” I say slowly.

  “Because I’m a very supportive partner?” he offers cautiously.

  “Most people would have just signed the petition.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  I grin widely. “This is the most epic present I have ever had.”

  “Even if someone gave you an elephant?” Billy asks.

  “Even then.”

  “You really like it?” Asa asks. “I mean it’s not something you can have at the house and look at, and I was worried that you…”

  “Oh my God, I’m so going to the pub tomorrow, and I’m going to tell them that they can ceremonially burn that petition and then I’m going to tell Bob Fenchly that he can stick his shitty executive houses where the sun doesn’t shine, and then I’m going to roll naked in the bluebells in spring and then…”

  “And of course you like it,” Asa mutters. “You can hell-raise and run your mouth off to your heart’s content.”

  “I love it,” I shout and hug him. “I can’t believe you’ve saved Bluebell Wood, Asa. You’re epic. Like a very fit Fantastic Mr Fox.”

  “You’re going to take off your clothes and roll in some flowers?” Billy says in a scandalised tone. “You’ll get chilblains.”

  “It was just a joke,” Asa says quickly.

  Billy looks like he has a lot more to say, so I wink at him. “Okay, my turn. You coming to help me, Bill?”

  He jumps up happily, and we go into the dining room which I banned Asa from two days ago. His present is resting under a huge dustcloth which I drag down. I spent an hour trying to wrap it yesterday, and I don’t think I was entirely successful. It’s rather lumpy.