There was nothing but dustsheets covering every object in the house. Room after room, Jake had flung open each door, not stopping to enter, not stopping to reflect. There were memories in the house; memories no amount of dustsheets could contain.
Jake opened the door to the last room in the house – the cellar. He couldn’t imagine anyone would be down there with the other comfortably furnished floors on offer. Still, he liked to be thorough.
He took the steep wooden steps slowly. The only light came from a small window on the far side of the cellar, which left the top half of the staircase in complete darkness. A third of the way down Jake knocked his forehead on the ceiling. He stopped and rubbed his head with one hand while running his fingertips along a piece of cold metal plate fixed to the wall where he had just hit his head. Jake didn’t need a light to know what it was.
In metal class at school one year, they’d had to make something useful. Jake couldn’t remember what he had made, but Marcus’s little creation had been much more memorable. Jake was in his mid-teens and had grown several inches that year, so Marcus had used his metal class to make a sign that hung in that exact spot to remind Jake to watch his head. Marcus’s teacher was not too enamoured with his choice of words, but they’d had the desired effect:Duck, dipshit.Jake smiled at the memory.
At the bottom of the stairs, nursing his forehead, Jake’s smile vanished. In the centre of the room was another dustsheet, filthy with years of accumulated dust.
Jake stood motionless; his hand stuck to his forehead. There was no one down there. He knew he should go. But he was riveted to the spot, his eyes fixed on that dustsheet.
Jake dropped his hand from his forehead and moved towards the workbench. He circled it slowly without touching it, just simply taking in the peaks and troughs, the flow of the material.
Jake fought the memory – unsuccessfully …
‘I got a letter from Santa!’ Eleanor shouted excitedly, herpigtails bouncing in wide arcs as she jumped up and down, waving her letter from Santa in front of two uninterested little boys.
Jake glanced at Marcus. They had both been interrupted from their frantic snatch and tear at the presents under the tree by Eleanor waving her stupid letter at them. They exchanged a glance, knowing exactly what the other was thinking.
‘I got a letter from Santa and he said he used my drawing I sent him!’ Eleanor repeated excitedly.
‘Oh yeah? How do you know? Maybe it’s a lie …’ Marcus said, drawing out the last word; his intention was to hurt.
Jake looked at Eleanor. She stopped jumping excitedly. Her face fell. Jake saw her top lip covering her bottom lip, the way it always did when she was thinking.
‘Santa doesn’t lie, does he, Jake?’
Jake turned to Marcus, who was looking at him with his eyes crossed, which made Jake laugh. They both knew something this Christmas that she didn’t know. It was their secret. Well, it was theirs and everyone else’s who wasn’t a baby like she was. Neither of them knew what she was on about when she’d said that Santa had used her drawing, but what they did know was that Santa was a lie. Jake knew that Marcus couldn’t wait to tell her, and he didn’t care if he got into heaps of trouble because it would be worth it for Marcus just to see his sister cry.
‘Let me see,’ said Marcus reaching for the letter in Eleanor’s hand.
Jake shook his head,no.
‘It’smyletter,’ she said. ‘See – it saysDear Ellie. That’s me,’ she said proudly, holding it in front of Marcus’s face.
He snatched it.
The letter tore.
Eleanor stood very still with her hand still outstretched, holding her piece of the torn letter. Then her bottom lip startedto quiver, but she did not cry. She pointed at the torn piece of paper in Marcus’s hand. ‘Give me that.’
Marcus shook his head and grinned.
Then Eleanor bit her bottom lip and launched herself at her brother.
Marcus’s hand shot up in the air, holding the letter out of reach, frustrating his little sister’s attempts to make a grab for it. On the fourth try, amid Marcus’s hysterical whoops of laughter, Eleanor lost her balance and fell hard. There was an almighty crunch.
Marcus stopped laughing instantly.
Jake helped Eleanor to her feet and they both looked down at the crumpled box. She had fallen on a large Christmas present that was still unwrapped.
‘Hey, that’s my present!’ Marcus rushed forward and fell to his knees, tearing off the wrapping to reveal a broken toy. He looked up. ‘Look what you’ve done to my present, you stupid …’ He got off his knees and started to move towards his sister, his plump fingers curling into fists.
Eleanor backed away, clutching her torn letter, her eyes wide.
Jake stepped in front of Marcus, blocking his way to his sister.
Grace must have heard the commotion from the lounge across the hall. She appeared in the doorway of the children’s den.
