‘Hello, boy.’ I bend down towards him and he leans away from me, but holds his ground, regarding me with his one good eye. So I sit on the step next to him. ‘This is a nice surprise that you’ve come to say hello to me.’
He meows and rubs against my leg, which is definitely a Christmas miracle.
‘Would you like something to eat? I can probably rustle up some cheese as long as you don’t tell Lucas.’ I think there’s some in the back of the fridge for my non-vegan emergencies. I’m frightened if I move, he’ll bolt, but I want to give him a treat if I can. Moving slowly, I risk going to the fridge and do, indeed, find a morsel of cheese for him. Thankfully, he’s still waiting when I go back outside.
I hold out my hand and Phantom takes the cheese, scoffing it down greedily. Perhaps it’s a real luxury for a cat who’s used to foraging for himself.
‘Do you think you might like to live nearer to us, eventually?’ I ask him. ‘I’d love to look after you properly. I could put a bed under the van for you as a start?’
But he’s too busy licking his whiskers to reply. Then he turns and walks off across the yard, flicking his paw in his strange goosestep as he goes. I hope he’ll come back soon. Perhaps now he’s made the first approach, we might have just turned a corner with him. It was a lovely Christmas present, nevertheless.
With a smile on my face, I go back indoors to find that Lucas is just emerging from his room in his T-shirt and torn joggers. He yawns and scratches his head.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I say.
‘Oh yeah. Merry Christmas.’
Still in tactile mood, he hugs me. Then he looks out of the window. ‘Christ, look at the snow.’
‘It’s lovely out there,’ I tell him. ‘The sun’s out, the sky’s blue. It’s a gorgeous day.’
‘A white Christmas. Who’d have thought?’
‘I’ve got some vegan bacon. We can have sarnies for breakfast.’
‘Top job,’ Lucas says and curls himself into the sofa where Little Dog takes up residence on his lap.
So I fry the bacon and we eat our breakfast together while listening to Christmas songs on the radio.
‘Your dad phoned early this morning.’
Lucas raises one eyebrow.
‘He was at the airport and was thinking about not going to LA.’
‘But he still did,’ Lucas says.
‘I told him he should.’
‘Good call. We’re better off without him.’
Only time will tell, I guess.
‘It’s OK to miss him,’ I point out.
‘For you,’ he replies, crisply. ‘I got over my dad years ago.’ I don’t think that’s entirely true. I’m sure this is tough for Lucas and he’s putting on a brave face, but I let it go. It’s Christmas Day and I want us to have a lovely time together.
‘I don’t suppose Superstar Daddy remembered to buy us any Christmas presents?’
‘No,’ I admit. ‘But he has been very busy.’
Lucas tuts. ‘Tell me something I don’t know. He could have got a minion to do it, as he usually does. He’ll put some money in my account when he remembers. Throw some cash at it. That always eases his conscience.’
I don’t want to argue with Lucas and, in fairness, he’s probably right. ‘Well, I got you a present.’
In the cupboard, I find what I’ve wrapped for Lucas. There’s a book of poems, The Sunshine Kid, by one of his favourite poets, Harry Baker, and a T-shirt that says POET – BUT ONLY BECAUSE SUPERHERO IS NOT A JOB TITLE. I think he’ll like them.
He unwraps them enthusiastically. ‘These are totally awesome. I’ve wanted this book for ages.’ He holds the T-shirt against his skinny chest. ‘I’ll put this on tomorrow when we’ve got visitors. Thanks, Molly.’
‘My pleasure. We’ve got gifts from Bev and Alan too.’ I find those tucked in a box under the sofa.
There’s a bottle of Aldi rum for me and a hand-knitted Doctor Who-style scarf for Lucas.
‘Cool,’ he says. ‘Top presents.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of them.’
‘I can wear the scarf on our obligatory walk.’ He stands up and winds it round his neck. ‘I’ve got a present for you, too. I didn’t buy it, but I hope you like it.’
Lucas stands up and takes up position in the middle of the kitchen floor and says, ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’
I turn to face him. ‘I am.’
‘This is for you. It’s called “Without You Too”.’
He lets out a wavering breath and, from memory, starts to recite.
To have lived my life without you
would’ve been to have lost all hope,
of ever standing on my own;
of learning how to cope,
with the pains I faced so early:
the loss you helped me through;
the second chance you offered me,
and from which our friendship grew.
I could have lived my life without you,
but how cold would I have felt,
without the warmth you gave so freely,
that caused this heart of ice to melt?
There’d been a fork in the road ahead;
a darker path that beckoned me,
but you were there:
your light
to guide my way;
encourage:
set me free.
And now I wouldn’t be without you;
you mean that much to me,
you’ve been a friend;
a coach;
a mother;
made me the best that I could be.
And so from me to you this Christmas;
offered unreservedly:
my thanks;
my humble gratitude
for a life without you in it . . .
Is one I wouldn’t want to see.
He stops and looks up at me, as if uncertain of my reaction.
‘Oh, Lucas.’ I don’t even bother to hide the fact that I’m crying. ‘That is the nicest present I’ve ever had.’
‘Then you must have had some really shit presents in the past,’ he says, but I can tell that he’s secretly pleased that I like it. No, I don’t just like it. I love it. I adore it.
I remember so well the moving poem that he wrote for his mother to express how he felt without her and this, I feel, is Lucas coming full circle. It’s a statement of where he is now and I couldn’t be more proud. I’m proud of myself too for being part of his life.
‘Should have put on my poet T-shirt before I did that,’ he says, shyly.
‘You should because you are an amazing poet.’
‘Heartbreak and misery, it turns out, are very good for creativity. Perhaps I wouldn’t be a poet if I was deliriously happy.’
‘Are you not happy?’
He thinks for a moment and then gives a rare smile. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think I might be.’
‘Hug?’
With only a moment’s hesitation, he steps into my arms and I give him a good squeeze while I have the chance. I have so much hope for Lucas’s future. He’s made mistakes, had setbacks, experienced love and loss, endured moments of darkness and doubt, but he’s turning into a fine young man and I can’t wait to see what’s to come.
‘You can stop crying now,’ Lucas says.