The six-month housemate

Twenty-seven

TWENTY-SEVEN

When we came back down, the kitchen table had been entirely cleared. Patrick sat at the head, with a pen and paper in front of him, and a small toy hammer in his right hand; he wore a Santa Claus hat, announcing the topic of the discussion. Vanessa sat at his left; she smiled warmly as we came into the room, and told us to take a seat. I went to sit at Vanessa's left, and Tom grabbed a chair next to me, while Oliver plopped down at his father's right, next to Alex and Hugo.

"Welcome to the tenth Dalton family's Christmas reunion! I call the meeting to order." Patrick announced, hitting the table lightly with the hammer.

Alex had warned me the Daltons had this tradition of voting for what they were going to do for Christmas, from where they would spend it, to what theme the decoration would follow. It usually took place on December's first Sunday, so I deduced the reason why Alex wanted to go to Cambridge that week end was more so he wouldn't miss the reunion rather than because he wanted to see his cousin.

"Emma is our special guest this year, so she gets a say in our decisions, which actually makes stuff easier as there won't be any ties." The patriarch continued.

"Feel free to pitch in some ideas, dear, if there's things that you're used to doing for Christmas. Especially food-wise; there's never too much to eat. And we want you to feel at home." Vanessa interrupted, setting a motherly hand on my forearm. I wanted to tell her that just that made me feel good; being included, having someone act like a parent, and not like a guardian (my Mum and Vanessa's roles were totally reversed right now).

"Thanks." I smiled merrily. She answered by lightly squeezing my forearm.

"Right." Patrick cleared his throat. "Let's proceed to the first vote. Should we spend Christmas here, or in London? Three, two, one, raise your hand if you vote London!"

No one budged. I kind of followed the movement, but I did like this house. Plus, being in the country side does make things a little more Christmas-sy (especially if it starts snowing).

"Alright, then, Cambridge it is!" Patrick proclaimed, once again hitting the table solemnly with his hammer, before writing something on his notepad.

The session lasted about forty-five minutes; we went through every little detail, from where the Christmas stockings should hang to should we wear Christmas jumpers (to which the answer was 'yes' though Oliver and Alex voted against it). In the end, what we were going to do sounded exactly like what I used to do with my family, but voting for each aspect of it made it really fun, and gave the impression it was going to be unique.

We had a quick lunch afterwards, before packing and heading back to London, the same way we'd arrived; Patrick, Vanessa, Oliver, Tom and Hugo by car, and Alex and I on his motorbike. We arrived first, and checked everywhere if there was any sign of damage we'd missed after the burnt-pancake incident (Alex and I had agreed we'd keep it a secret, for his sake), and then went on with our days.

---

Ugh, why is it always at the worst times I can't get any sleep? I thought, tossing and turning in my bed. It was midnight, and though I really needed to sleep - the first day of finals was the next day - the thought that if I failed, I'd be kicked out kept me awake. Well, I knew I wouldn't literally be kicked out, but it would be a huge blow in my confidence, and it would mean I'd have to work a lot more to get and stay at standard level, plus take in all the new topics we'd study after the break. I could've done with a bit of company, but it was midnight and everyone in the house seemed to be sleeping. I sighed and picked up my phone - maybe Henry would still be awake. He'd mentionned he was a bit of an insomniac. God, Henry... I still have no clue what to get him for Christmas. I'm so screwed.