Driving Home For Christmas - A. Michael L.

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bet he does,’ Dezi mumbled, lifting her head up briefly enough to roll her eyes at Megan.

      Simon always had notes. Great, long notes written out in his chicken-scratch handwriting, that he would make them wait around for him to decipher. It also didn’t help that he’d decided being an academic meant dressing like a granddad. His elbow patches were not ironic. Megan was pretty sure he’d painstakingly searched for an original tweed jacket, as he wore it with such pride, unaware that the youth of today could find the same thing in Primark.

      ‘Some notes would be great, Simon,’ Megan smiled, then gestured towards the kettle. ‘Shall I make us both a cuppa and we can have a chat about them?’

      Simon seemed to light up at the prospect, becoming all awkward and rattling, the same way he was anytime Megan showed him some kindness. It was accepted in the office by this point that Simon had a little ‘thing’ for her. Dezi insisted it was all-out love, Molly thought it was a crush. She thought…well, she just kind of wished he’d find someone else to focus on and let her get on with her work. It was uncharitable of her, she realised, and promised herself she’d get Simon a really nice gift for Christmas. Nothing too nice, obviously, just in case he took it as a sign.

      Megan was a speech and language therapist for the kids at St Joseph’s, and a couple of the other neighbouring schools. She found it hilarious that those mothers who judged her at the school gates had no idea that she was qualified and actually helping their children. They’d seen her walk into the centre, but probably thought she was there to seduce one of the male teachers and make him her Baby Daddy. Not that she cared what they thought.

      Megan loved her job. She loved the look of surprise when the kids could suddenly make a sound or say a word they’d never been able to say before. Even the smallest success, a ‘bl’ sound for ‘blue’, or being able to blow through a whistle, all these were massive achievements for the kids, and she loved seeing the change in them.

      Half the time she worked on helping the partially deaf kids sound out words, hear themselves. The rest of it she was working with Molly, prepping the kids who were going to have cochlear implants so they could hear for the first time, and helping them after as they learned how to use their vocal cords as well as signing.

      The day passed quickly enough, and Megan couldn’t help but wonder what her parents would think of her job. She couldn’t even remember what she wanted to be back then. The plan had always been to go to Cambridge, do English, but mostly that was just because she loved reading, and her parents had decided they wanted an Oxbridge graduate. In many ways, that extra couple of years to consider what she wanted to spend her life doing, how she wanted to provide for her daughter, helped her make the right decision. Every decision she’d made since getting pregnant had been the right one. Except, maybe, deciding to go to her parents’ for Christmas.

      ***

      November 2004

       London looked beautiful in the run-up to Christmas. She’d been tempted to make a day of it, go to see the lights on Oxford Street, wander around Selfridges. Maybe even go down to Somerset House and see the ice-skating rink. She and Lucas had done that last year. Every year, now she thought about it. He loved stupid stuff like that. Had absolutely no qualms about throwing away his rock ’n’ roll persona and being silly with her. But it was too painful to think about Lucas right now, probably off somewhere with Belinda. Maybe he was doing all that stuff with her. Maybe he’d lent her his leather jacket and held her hand as they slid across the ice, laughing and smiling. The thought was just too much, and for the hundredth time that week, she wanted to vomit. She knew she’d caused all of this.

       All she wanted was to do the normal Christmas stuff in town, find little trinkets for her mum, go to Forbidden Planet and pick up something Matty would get overly excited about. But instead she was squatting above a grotty toilet in Euston station with a third pregnancy test.

       Three tests. Three positives.

       Merry fucking Christmas, Megan McAllister thought.

      ***

      That night, Anna was having one of her soirées. Around this time of year, Megan always got a bit withdrawn, throwing herself into work and present-buying, and ensuring that her daughter had the best Christmas ever. Anna was insistent that it was time for Christmas cheer.

      ‘It’s not even December until next week,’ Megan moaned, sitting at the kitchen counter, throwing an apple from the fruit bowl over to Skye. ‘And aren’t you having all your old biddies over on Christmas day? Isn’t that why we’re being banished?’

      Anna was an imposing figure at the best of times. She’d always been slim and tall, but was starting to verge on spindly these days. Megan kept trying to sneak her extra portions of food, but Anna had the same rules about food now as she’d always had. Little, but luxurious. ‘The French know how to eat, darling,’ she always said. Although that usually meant that she wanted an excuse to open a bottle of champagne with dinner, just because it was a Tuesday.

      She raised a perfectly arched, and drawn on, eyebrow, her sharp cut dark bob fitting her face tightly. ‘Biddies? If you mean some of the most prominent and talented people ever to grace the stage, then yes, darling, they are experienced.’

      Anna moved to the bar in the far corner of the kitchen, the only part she seemed to use frequently, and started making two gin and tonics. ‘And don’t think of it as banishment. Your mother wants you there, wants you both there.’

      Skye jumped up on the stool next to her mother. ‘I’m excited about Christmas.’

      ‘You are?’ Megan raised an eyebrow.

      Skye shrugged. ‘Well yeah, if it’s good then we have a great time. If it sucks, we go to Disneyland. It’s win-win.’

      Anna pointed at her in triumph. ‘Smart cookie.’

      Megan turned to her daughter. ‘You wanna –’

      ‘– go do my homework so that you’re not drinking in front of your one and only child and feel guilty about it?’ Skye finished, picking up her school bag, saluting and skipping up the stairs. Megan’s jaw dropped. One more thing to panic about. Her daughter thought she was an alcoholic.

      ‘I don’t know whether to be amazed that I’ve raised a genius, or terrified that she is so aware of everything.’ Megan slumped. ‘Anna, are you sure this is the right choice?’

      ‘Well, I decided foie gras was a bit much, so I settled for a mainly seafood selection, but the caterers are very good –’ Anna started.

      ‘I wasn’t talking about the party,’ Megan whined, running a hand through her hair.

      Anna brought over two thin glasses with a slice of lime in each. ‘I know, darling, I just didn’t know what answer to give you.’

      Anna perched on the chair next to Megan, and softly ran a hand over her niece’s hair. ‘I’ve loved having you here these years, you know. You’ve brought me back to life, given me back my purpose, my vivacity.’

      ‘It didn’t seem like you ever lost it,’ Megan said, ‘in fact I was more worried about us getting in the way of your parties and your exciting life.’

      ‘Nothing is more exciting than seeing two wonderful people grow and change and become who they are,’ Anna smiled, her dark lip liner rippling. ‘Now, as for your parents, they’ve finally been motivated. You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s been some illness in the family.’ She watched as Megan’s face fell, saw as her mind started racing from terrible to worse. ‘Everything’s fine, everything’s okay now. But scares like that, well, they put things into perspective, don’t they?’

      Megan nodded, and took a sip of her drink, perfectly cool, the gin just a little too strong. She felt the muscles in her legs relax as the alcohol kicked in.

      ‘So they really want us there,’ Megan mused.

      ‘They really

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