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☾ 𝑇𝑊𝐸𝑁𝑇𝑌 𝐹𝐼𝑉𝐸
With some well paid luck, Christmas was cold that year and there was no doubt upon whether or not the snow would fall before January. It was hard for Anna to believe that a year ago, she was glued to her bed, too ill to move her own muscles, all while being in a foreign country across the world. The idea of it was surreal, and her place with her mother seemed as normal as ever, as if nothing had changed throughout her life. But Anna knew it was there that she belonged, even if the people were broken and the times could be rough.
They decorated the house for Christmas. Michael had grumbled that it was the first time in years since Polly had dragged the haggard box from below her bed. The tired ornaments were probably as old as her, and had most likely not seen the light of day since Michael's first Christmas at home. But either way, her brother was happy to see her enjoy the time, and was relieved to see that Polly had shaken her previous airiness straight from her head.
There was no tree, just a few Angels with hands for candles and little holly wreaths that could be hung from doors, yet the house still looked cosy, and far more lived in than it ever had before. Polly was bent down by the fire, warming her hands as Anna boiled the water for some tea. From the kitchen, she heard the door clatter open, letters falling from where they'd been stuck in the post box. She glanced through, spotting Michael as he rounded the door post, hanging his coat upon the peg.
"Is that the post?" Her mother shouted.
"And Michael," she replied.
"Run and get it for me, will you darling?" Polly asked.
Anna was already half way down the hallway as her mother shouted through. Michael greeted her with a friendly smile and a quick hug, his head tucking around the door to see where their mother was sat. Anna scooped down to the floor, collecting the few letters and flicking through them. There was a large one, covered in brown tape that wouldn't budge.
"It's a package, I can't open this one," she said, glancing to Michael who still hadn't gone through to the next room to Polly.
He nudged his head to the coat stand. "There's a knife in my coat pocket."
She dropped the post to the bench at the front door before she reached her hand into his deep pockets. Her hand shuffled around, coming into contact with cold glass. She pulled out three tiny, blue bottles- cocaine bottles. She'd seen ones identical in Stafford, stacked on the benches of Will's dad's house.
"What's this?" She stared at him with wide eyes, voice full of accusation.
Michael sighed, taking the bottles and shoving them back into his pocket. "I sniff a bit of snow. So what?"
"It's bad for you."
He rolled his eyes. "It keeps me awake. Stops me from thinking about what happened."
