I grunted. “Well, it’s a low bar.”
Both of us were silent for a few beats.
“I never understood why you stopped celebrating after your gap year. Growing up in Snowsly, I’d always loved Christmas so much. I wanted to pass that joy down to you, but somehow I managed to do the opposite. Was it because you didn’t like the commerciality of it, or was it too childish?”
Did she really not know?
“You and dad were always arguing,” I said.
“But not at Christmas. Even after the divorce, we had an agreement that we never argued over Christmas. We had a very strict rule. And that’s why I always felt okay keeping you home for the festive season.”
Was she high or was I losing it? Our memories were diametrically opposed. I thought back to those Christmases. The terse words while we opened stockings. The way they’d try not to look at each other while they discussed what Christmas film we were going to watch. The three of us around the dining table wearing paper hats, while my mum and dad tried not to let their pasted-on smiles slip. My jaw clenched and my shoulders inched higher just thinking about those times.
Maybe they hadn’t been arguing, but because they’d been trying so hard not to, it just felt like they may as well have been at each other’s throats.
“I hate to tell you mum, but the tension could be sliced with a spoon. I swear, I developed gray hairs spending Christmas with you and dad.”
“Really? I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to make it special. Is that why you don’t celebrate?”
“Partly,” I said, only partly telling her the truth. Unbeknownst to me, she’d obviously been trying to create the Snowsly Christmas magic. She’d had good intentions. I didn’t need to devastate her by telling her that every year, I’d listened to her talk excitedly about Christmas and every year, I thought things would be different. That Christmas would be just as magical as she had described. And every year, my stomach churned with tar at the reality of the situation.
“How come we never went to Snowsly for Christmas if you loved it so much as a child?”
“Your father hated being out of the city. You know what he was like.”
That made sense. He’d been a creature of habit. Liked his routine and home comforts.
“And I didn’t want to deny him a Christmas with his son.”
I glanced out of the window at the dark hedgerows. How sad that two people who wanted their son to be happy, managed to achieve the exact opposite.
“What about now? You never come over to Snowsly at Christmas now.”
“Granny’s busy. And you’re not there. It feels like it wouldn’t be the same as I remembered. I’d rather keep the great memories as wonderful as they are and not ruin them.”
My heart squeezed in my chest.
“Snowsly is still a very special place at Christmas,” I said, a reel of memories of the last few weeks whirring through my brain. “I’ve been helping Granny with the market. It’s really quite . . .” Magical was the word that sprung to mind, but I didn’t believe in magic. Despite the disasters that had seemed to strike on an almost-daily basis, we kept our spirits up and, in the end, the market and the village were better for surviving them. Everyone pulled together and created a Christmas team—a family—that could be counted on in any situation.
She sighed. “Yeah, she said you’d been. That’s very good of you to change your holiday plans. You know what?” she asked, her tone brightening, but still melancholy underneath. “I’m going to imagine myself back at Snowsly this year.”
She sounded so low. So sad. I wasn’t sure if she never sounded like this or if I’d just never heard it—tuned it out somehow. Like I’d learned to tune out their fighting. My brain started to jog into gear, then broke into a sprint.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “A proposition, if you like.”
“Tell me,” she replied.
I couldn’t believe I was about to suggest what I was going to say. But Granny was getting older and I wasn’t a child anymore. And I’d had a damn good time the last few weeks. I didn’t need to lie to convince my mother that Snowsly was still a magical place—because it was still a magical place. And if that was the case, why was I heading to Barbados for Christmas?
Why in the hell wasn’t I spending Christmas with my family? My Snowsly family.
“Why don’t we both go to Snowsly for Christmas next year?”
I thought I heard a half-sob on the other end of the phone. “There’s nothing I’d love more than to spend Christmas with you again, Sebastian. Being in Snowsly would be the icing on the cake.”
“The Christmas cake,” I added and she let out a half-laugh. “It was good to talk to you, mum.”
“And you, my darling son.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow to wish you a Happy Christmas.”
We said our goodbyes and I hung up, feeling like a lifetime’s worth of unspoken truths had finally been said and a childhood of acrimony had melted away.
I felt lighter. Happier. And I felt bloody festive. Spending next year in the UK for Christmas didn’t seem so daunting. What did I have to lose? I knew I’d let go of the lost Christmases I’d never experienced as a child. I wasn’t a child anymore. If it turned out to be terrible, it wasn’t the end of the world. But the last weeks had shown me that Snowsly in the run-up to Christmas was anything but terrible. It was full of warmth and kindness and people looking out for each other. There was nothing to suggest that was all going to dry up as soon as the clock struck midnight on Christmas Eve. Next year, I’d spend Christmas in Snowsly and finally get the Christmas I’d always wanted as a child. Hopefully, Granny would be thrilled.
I turned back to unwrapping the present Celia had bought me. The first one was square and hard and felt a lot like a book. I ripped back the paper to reveal a copy of The Night Before Christmas.
I opened the cover and inside was an inscription.
Even if you don’t like Christmas, I know for sure you like what comes before.
She was right. I’d enjoyed all the buildup. The happiness on people’s faces as they shopped in the market. The lights that seemed to make the dark something to crave. And the hot chocolate—with or without brandy. I’d even started to enjoy the dulcet tones of Michael bloody Bublé.
I set the book to one side and opened the second gift. It was a framed photograph of Snowsly, obviously taken in the last few days. The Manor stood tall and proud in the background, while in the foreground, Celia had managed to capture the delight and activity of the Christmas market. I turned it over as if searching for more. And I found it. On the back, she’d written, To keep you company on Christmas Day. Wish you were here.
A deep sense of belonging settled low in my chest. What was I doing? What was I running from? If I was prepared to risk Christmas in Snowsly next year, then why not now?
“Bradley?”
Our eyes met briefly in the rear view. “Yes?”
“Please turn the car around and head back to Snowsly. I’m going to be spending Christmas in the Cotswolds.”
Twenty-Four
Celia
There was only one explanation for me hiding behind a bush, two hot chocolates in hand. It was dark, freezing cold, and my thighs burned because of the half-squat I’d forced myself into. I dipped my head as I silently chastised myself for wearing my bright red Christmas hat. At least I’d turned off the flashing lights of my favorite Christmas cardigan.