Love At Christmas, Actually. Jenny Oliver
or this place. The decision is about whether to let me in. I can’t keep knocking at your door, Meg, not if I think you’re never gonna answer.’
Megan looked at him, his eyes so bright and sincere, that soft grin playing about his mouth because he knew he was right and was trying to be gentle.
‘I hate metaphors,’ she said softly.
‘I know.’
‘I hate how you make me make these big life-changing decisions.’
‘I hate how you run instead of making them.’
She wriggled in his arms, warm, and soft, and safe. The way it always had been.
‘Keep knocking just a little while longer, okay?’
‘Okay,’ he breathed.
***
February 2003
‘It’s that boy! I always told you he’d drag you down!’ Heather screeched at her, following her around with a piece of paper the school had sent home.
‘He’s not dragging me anywhere! We make music together!’ Megan yelled back, feeling shaken by the frequency of these arguments. It had taken years for her to find a voice, and now it felt like she couldn’t stop. First the hair dye, then the piercings, then the band. The day her cherry red Fender Strat arrived, delivered to the front door, her mother started such a screaming fit that Megan had to lock herself in her room to get away from it. And here they were again, round one thousand.
‘Oh that’s what they call it these days, is it?’ Heather smirked. ‘Music? It’s a wonder you haven’t got yourself knocked up.’
‘We’re in a band, Mum, I don’t see what’s so strange about that.’
‘This letter says you’ve been excused from your extra gymnastics and when I called the French tutor the other day, she said you’d already cancelled! Are you trying to throw your future away?’
‘I am trying to have some say in the life I build for myself! I want to pick my future, not the one you’ve picked for me!’
Heather’s face grew cold. ‘You selfish little bitch!’
A soft cough came from the background, where Jonathan stood watching the whole scene. His face was blank, and Megan couldn’t tell if he was going to say anything or simply let it carry on.
‘Jonathan?’ Heather said, smug smile on her face. ‘Do you have anything to add?’
Jonathan said nothing, standing in the corner, still as a statue. After what seemed like an age of looking to her father for some kind word, some staying hand, he simply avoided her eye contact and said, ‘Go up to your room Megan, please.’
She did so quietly, her mother’s words on repeat…selfish little bitch selfish little bitch…
An hour later her father came upstairs with a mug of tea and a bowl of soup, but said nothing. She wasn’t even surprised.
***
Jonathan was pottering around in the den, cleaning his vinyls and humming along to James Taylor. Megan was still trying to get used to how her parents looked different, more calm, more…provincial, somehow. Looking at them now, she got the strange feeling that they were never that scary, were never really able to exert any control over her. Like they’d known that all along, and that’s why they’d held the reigns so tightly. Not that she’d ever get over that look of disgust on her mother’s face, but the words were starting to fade a little. One thing was still bugging her, though, and it was more the things that had never been said. She’d been honest with everyone else; it was Jonathan’s turn.
She coughed, and knocked on the door to the den. His eyes lit up, ‘Come in, come in!’ and he pushed a few papers over so she could sit down on the sofa. ‘Is Skye with you?’
‘She’s reading upstairs,’ Megan started. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you…’
Jonathan nodded seriously, dragging over a swivel chair from the desk and perching on it.
‘Do you need money?’ he asked, ‘because I’m more than happy –’
‘No, Dad.’ Megan held up her hand. ‘Thank you, but we’re very much okay. I just wanted to talk to you about everything that happened, about…well, about everything.’
Jonathan looked down at the floor, a slight colour appearing in his cheeks. ‘Okay, what would you like to say to me?’
He looked like he was building a mental dam, preparing for the great waves to come crashing down. Megan didn’t let it stop her.
‘Why did you never defend me when Mum got on one of her over-achiever moments?’ she started gently. ‘You knew I didn’t want that life, you knew I was trying so hard, that I was working myself until I passed out. You knew I was exhausted and miserable and was only doing it to please her. Why didn’t you help me?’
‘Darling,’ he exhaled roughly, his eyes a little wet, ‘what do you think I’d been doing for the last twenty years of my life? Working until I was exhausted and miserable, just to please her.’ He shrugged. ‘Making her happy was the only thing I knew how to do. I never knew how to say no, and I just trusted she knew what was best.’
Megan knew the disappointment showed on her face.
‘I know I’m a coward,’ Jonathan said suddenly, ‘I know I should have stood up for you. All those times you were tired and ill, and I knew you were trying so hard, and I was just… Your mother was different then. I was different then.’
‘What changed?’
‘Well, you leaving, for a start. The realisation that you’ve failed your child, that you couldn’t be there for them when they needed you – it puts things in perspective. And without you to be her project, your mother actually went out and got hobbies, interests of her own.’
Megan nodded, noting that everything in the house seemed to have slowed, become gentler somehow. She thought perhaps it was that Jasper existed, and that her dad had taken retirement. But he was right, Heather was different.
‘It came from a place of love, Megan,’ he sighed, ‘a place of awe, even. Your mother thought you were so wonderful that you were capable of anything.’
‘Of anything but living a life that was mine,’ she replied dryly.
‘Well, you’ve proven her wrong, haven’t you?’ Jonathan smiled, and reached over to squeeze her hand. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’
Megan smiled back and nodded, getting up.
‘Did you get what you wanted from me?’ Jonathan asked her, pausing before they entered the kitchen.
‘I think so,’ she shrugged, knowing that it was more about her saying it than about him saying anything in return. They had only just set foot in the kitchen and greeted her mother when Skye burst in.
‘Trouble says he’s going to take me to see the reindeer in the park, can I go?’
‘Just you?’ Megan said, trying not to feel left out. Her mother laughed at her, standing doing the washing up.
‘I asked if we could spend some time together and he said yes,’ Skye shrugged. ‘Well, no, actually he said to ask you, and if you said yes, it was okay. So is it okay?’
Skye was rarely so excitable, yet there was a niggling feeling in her stomach. Sure, it was great that she and Lucas were on good terms again, it was great that Skye liked him. But it was impermanent. She had escaped this village once, and she wasn’t staying any longer than necessary.
‘Baby, did you already see the reindeer