Blades

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I have sunk deeper and deeper into the sofa over the last few hours, crushed between Charlie and Mark and underneath Goldie. Christmas Eve with the Leavers is another staple of my childhood. It started out as a way to keep us entertained and them looked after if Sally had a shift and has become a tradition. It wouldn't be Christmas without this: us four kids playing board games all afternoon and both of our families tucking into boiled ham and us watching Christmas movies while the adults have drinks upstairs. We've done Elf and are now almost finished with Home Alone, as well as the box of Quality Streets. We laugh in unison and make the same jokes about lines as we always have, and by the time the credits roll I feel lulled into a safe, Christmas cocoon.

"No sign of the parents yet," Marks says as he stretches and crawls onto the floor to eject the DVD. His eyes sparkle, "Who's up for a game of FIFA?"

It's very hard to believe Mark is legally an adult, knowing him as I do; I'm pretty sure the law has made a mistake. The flashing Christmas jumper doesn't help his case.

Charlie audibly groans, and gets a pillow chucked at his head for it.

"Quit being grumpy, Charles Leaver. It's Christmas." Mark tries to scowl but his face is so unused to it that it doesn't last long. "Father Christmas might not come otherwise."

Even Charlie's grimace flickers towards a smile. "You'll end up on the naughty list if you force us to play FIFA anyway."

"Force?" scoffs Mark in mock offence, "Who said anything about force? Freddie wants to play."

I raise an eyebrow, "Do I, Mark?" His grin turns devilish and I draw back into Charlie. "Whatever you're planning..."

Mark grabs my feet and starts tickling the bottom of them. My laughter comes out as a shriek. This is the problem with friends who've known you all your life. They know your weaknesses.

"Say you want to play FIFA!" he laughs.

"No!" I squeal. "This is – bullying – I shan't surrender – I - "

Abby leaps from her quiet corner of the sofa and rugby tackles her older brother off of my feet. Shy she may be, but she's also a feisty little thing. She has to be to survive with two big brothers.

"I say Mario Kart," she declares. "That's a compromise."

Mark looks between Charlie and I.

"Mario Kart?" he asks.

Charlie shrugs, "Mario Kart it is."

We settle down with a remote each as Mark sets up the WII console. Abby comes and sits next to me.

"If you need help," she whispers, "give your remote to me."

I grin at her, "Thanks, Abby." The Leavers all know how pitiful I am at video games.

"This just means that next time we get to play FIFA, ok?" Mark says to no one in particular.

"You're the only one who likes football, Mark. Play it with your teammates," Charlie shrugs again, clicking on Luigi as his avatar before anyone else can.

"I bet Sandy would like football." The statement takes me utterly by surprise. I stare at Mark. "Does he, then, Freddie? Or do you not know that sort of thing about him?" He is purposefully watching the screen instead of me. "I guess you don't talk about stuff more personal than skating much." It's so unlike Mark to say something that feels malicious that I can only gape for a moment. Something about the way he said it does sounded like an attack. What is this, a genuine question or some kind of test?

It's my turn to shrug, "He doesn't play because of skating. But I don't know if he watches it." There's a strangely tense silence in which I catch Charlie glaring at Mark.

"We should get him round to watch some time if he does." Mark's smile is full wattage again. The weirdness is gone. I'm probably just over-sensitive.

We only get through one race (which I lose, badly) before my parents call down the stairs to say it's time to go. The four of us troop upstairs and we all exchange presents for tomorrow, the buzz of Christmas returning out of my sleepy haze. Goldie tries to follow us through the door but Charlie grabs the tinsel round her neck that is serving as a collar. The Leavers wait outside on their porch until we are at ours and then we wave at each other across the few houses between – another tradition. Now it feels like Christmas.

Mum and Dad kiss me goodnight and disappear upstairs as soon as we're inside, probably to do some last minute wrapping. I'm left to hum carols and hang my stocking by the fireplace, leaving a glass of whisky, two mince pies and a carrot underneath it. I always wonder what actually happens to the carrot.

Then I warm some milk in the microwave and make myself the first of Sandy's salted caramel hot chocolates before climbing the stairs and wriggling into my pyjamas. I'm just settling down on my bed with my mug and the polar bear toy when my phone buzzes. My heart glows when I see it's from Sandy.

'One hour to Santa... xxx'

'He's probably circling Paris xxx' I type. Then add a second message, 'Bet he comes to London before Edinburgh xxx'

'I hope he does...' Comes the reply. I squint my eyes at the phone as if Sandy can see my facial expression. Another buzz: '...then he can pick you up...' My smile is spreading unconsciously. '...and I'll find you in my stocking tomorrow morning :) xxx' I laugh despite myself.

'All you want for Christmas is me? xxx' I send it and then instantly regret it, worrying the text is too much, too soon. But his reply says otherwise.

'Which means I already got my wish :) although some new blades for those soakers would be nice... xxx' If anyone was looking at my grin I'm certain they'd think I was insane. Before I can reply another text pings through, 'Better get to sleep before Santa arrives. Merry Christmas beautiful xxx'

Beautiful. I send him a reply, then put my phone away and curl up around my polar bear. I take my first sip of the hot chocolate and, sure enough, it's delicious.

I think I've already got my Christmas wish, too.