‘You can ask him tomorrow,’ Mum says. ‘When you lot do your little Christmas dinner. I’ve always thought it’s so sweet, your little dinners together.’
‘Shotgun,’ Taylor says, and I climb quietly into the back seat and look out the window, away from the church.
***
Late on Christmas Eve, I pull my letters out and don’t open them. After Christmas, I’ll be ready to face whatever Kelly wrote to me about. It’s not avoidance, I tell myself. It’s just good strategy. It’s planning. It’s being the architect of my own future.
Christmas morning is strange. Mum has Taylor for Kris Kringle and Dad has me. He gives me a fine gold necklace that I smile at and put on, even though it makes a lump lodge in my throat that I can’t quite swallow away. Nobody asks where he got it from, but the question fills the spaces between us, anyway. We eat pancakes for breakfast and don’t talk much. Afterwards, we sit around the television, which is playing a Christmas movie marathon. Dad walks to the local grocery store – the only place in Sutherbend open on Christmas day – and comes home with a backpack full of food.
Mum stares. ‘Three roast chickens?’
‘They didn’t have any turkeys.’
‘But . . . three of them? That’s nearly one each, Charlie.’
‘It keeps.’
‘You just don’t think!’ Mum starts savagely pressing buttons on the CD player and Dad stands there forlornly, cradling one of the roast chickens.
Matthew knocks on the pole near the annex door and we all jump.
‘Oh, Matthew,’ Mum says. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, good. Just wondered if you’d like some candy canes? I got some for the kids, but I over-estimated.’
‘Think we’re all pretty full from brekkie,’ Mum says. ‘But come in – there’s plenty of food. Too much, really.’ She glances at the backpack. ‘And some crackers.’
Matthew doesn’t move. ‘I don’t want to interrupt.’
‘Get in,’ Taylor snaps, and he does, not looking at her.
‘Not having lunch with your dad?’ Mum asks.
Matthew winces. ‘We eat at night.’
We spend the next couple of hours eating chicken and salad and watching a Christmas movie. Dad goes out for a walk. We spend a good half-hour trying to fix the portable fan. Mum reads Little Women like she does every Christmas, and then there is the sound of crunching gravel and someone swearing as they try to undo the annex zipper.
‘You’re kidding me!’ Mum says, tucking her book away.
I look up at Clem, who’s trying to juggle a cooler bag full of leftovers while he unlaces his shoes. Mum beams at him.
Clem glances at Matthew and tries to smile. ‘Not with your family?’
I frown. ‘Clem.’
I want to explain about Matthew’s dad and the yelling we hear every few nights. But I know Matthew well enough to realise he wouldn’t want anyone outside Fairyland to know about that stuff. And Clem would just feel pity and I don’t want that, either.
Matt shifts a bit in his chair and I see Taylor notice.
‘It’s actually been an acceptable day,’ Taylor tells Clem.
‘She’s only happy because Adam’s taking her away for the weekend,’ I tell Clem flatly. I’d been meaning to tell Taylor about Adam blabbing to everyone about us living here, but I hadn’t been able to quite bring myself to do it.
Taylor rolls her eyes.
‘That’s not happening,’ Mum says. ‘You’re not going away with Adam.’
‘Mum!’
‘You’re sixteen!’
‘Seventeen.’
‘You’re seventeen! Too young to go away overnight with your boyfriend.’
‘You’re such an old fuddy-duddy!’ Taylor moans. ‘And honestly – if I wanted to do it, I’d have done it already! I wouldn’t bother waiting to go away for the night!’
Every part of Mum stiffens. ‘Have you slept with Adam? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No! I’m saying teenagers are inventive and that I don’t get what the big deal is about us going away – it’s such a sweet idea.’ She spins around to face Clem so fast that he winces. ‘Isn’t it a sweet idea?’
He crosses his arms. ‘Very, very sweet.’
‘No, Taylor.’
‘Why?’
‘Because people will talk!’ Mum snaps. She flushes immediately and pours herself more soft drink.
Taylor bursts out laughing. ‘More than they do already? Get real, Mum!’ Taylor starts counting things off on her fingers. ‘We live at Fairyland – no offence, Matt.’
‘None taken.’
‘You stole all Stella’s letters.’
‘I just kept them safe!’
‘I already got expelled over that whole misunderstanding about the school library.’
‘You set it on fire,’ I mutter. Matthew clears his throat.
‘And Dad’s probably at the pokies right now. And you’re worried about people talking? Seriously?’
Mum stiffens. ‘What about the pokies? What do you mean? He’s at the shops! It’s Christmas.’
‘He’s not at the pokies, Taylor,’ I say.
‘He’s getting cream! He forgot the cream this morning. Bought three chickens but forgot the cream. He’s getting cream.’ Mum pours another glass of soft drink. ‘Don’t say things like that, Taylor. It’s mean and ridiculous.’
‘It’s true. And you know what else is true? I’m going away with Adam.’
‘You’re not.’
‘I am.’
‘Did you guys have turkey?’ Clem asks hopefully and we all stare at him.
Matthew points at the remains of the supermarket chicken carcasses in the middle of the table. ‘Chicken.’
Clem looks at him. ‘Chicken.’
‘Don’t you two sit too close on the couch,’ Mum says to Clem and me. I feel my face flush and Clem does an awkward scoot away from me.
Taylor frowns. ‘Huh?’
‘Don’t think I’m not keeping an eye on you all,’ Mum says, pointing at us. ‘Because I am. I’ve been distracted lately, but that doesn’t mean you can get away with acting like animals.’
‘This is fun,’ says Taylor as Muriel pokes her head in with a huge bowl of leftover trifle. ‘Yoo-hoo! Want some trifle? You young’uns will have to go easy on it – my arthritis played up when I was pouring in the sherry.’
‘Yes please,’ we all say at the same time.
***
Later, I walk Clem out to the gate of Fairyland. The place is a mess of tinsel from the discount store near the cinemas and the oily smell of barbecues. Kids ride bikes and run toys up and down the pathways between the cabins. Richard and Ginny wave from the doorstep of their cabins and I wave back. Clem kicks along with his hands in his pockets and turns to face me when we reach the road. I keep thinking about Kelly, wondering how she’s spending this Christmas.
‘You’re very quiet.’
‘No I’m not. What was that?’ I ask.
He runs his hands through his hair. ‘What was what?’