Page 36 of Christmas Every Day
That result hit me like a swift kick in the guts. Dougal and Duff were pleased to announce that Zara Birkenshaw was now a partner. Even more splendid and wonderful was her upcoming wedding to Richard Abernethy.
The big day would be 20 July, five months away. Would my sister invite me to her wedding?
If she did, would I go?
If I did, would I end up breaking her nose for a second time?
I guess I couldn’t blame them for not inviting me.
I’d stick to blaming her for stealing my boyfriend, getting me fired and kicking me out of her flat three days before Christmas instead.
A few minutes later, Mack staggered in, panting. I quickly shut the computer down. Taking a long swig from a water-bottle, he threw himself into a chair. ‘Did you get what you needed done?’
‘Yeah, but I can’t submit the form without a bill proving my address.’
‘Right.’ He picked up the laptop and left, denying me the satisfaction of telling him it was confidential when he asked what the form was for. I picked up the car maintenance manual I’d borrowed from the library, and pretended to read it. Having to wait a few more weeks before submitting the DVLA form to find out who owned the car simply gave me more time to learn about changing car batteries. Or, even better, I might have found the paperwork by then, saving the DVLA charge of two pounds fifty plus the price of a stamp. That could probably buy enough petrol to reach the village, which was nothing to be sniffed at.
I put the book down, heaved myself into the living room and opened another box.
13
The next Monday, I had a major work-related breakthrough. Which led to a second, far more revealing breakthrough. That breakthrough just about broke my heart.
The first thing was I got all five kids to school on time. With fifty spare seconds, to boot. That morning, I had been amachine. Toast, cereal, bags, outfits, lunchboxes, untangling myself from sea-monster net-trap, locating runaway caterpillar. Nailed ’em all.
I strode into the playground like a warrior. Head high, arms swinging, breath only slightly more puffed than usual. I shooed the triplets over to where their teacher stood waiting with a big thumbs-up, hugged Maddie goodbye, and then realised I’d forgotten to hand Dawson his PE bag.
Hurrying round to his classroom door, I found him not yet inside.
My heart stopped, right before it cracked.
A group of boys were clustered in a circle, girls dotted around them. That strange mix of ten-and-eleven-year olds, some looking almost like adults, others still childlike in comparison, round-cheeked with innocent eyes.
And Dawson, huddled by the wall. Eyes on the ground, clutching his rucksack strap for dear life. The kind of utterly alone you could only be when surrounded by laughing, noisy others. Desperate to be invisible, so no one would realise what a nobody you were. Desperate to be noticed, for just one person to acknowledge you existed.
The bell rang, and the children started pushing and jostling their way inside. A particularly tall girl slammed into Dawson, causing his head to smack, hard, into the brick wall. The girl shouted in annoyance, charging after the boy who’d knocked her. But not before she paused to throw a look of such contempt and irritation at Dawson that I cringed.
Dawson held back, clutching his head, face screwed up in pain.
He hadn’t uttered a sound.
I hurried down the path, but he jerked away, straightening his jacket.
‘You forgot your bag.’ I held it out, trying to stop my hand trembling.
He stared at the ground, face a rigid mask. ‘Thanks.’
‘Dawson, are you having problems with the other kids?’
‘No.’ He tried to sneer, but his voice shook worse than my hands.
‘Have you talked to your mum or dad about it?’
‘About what?’ He looked at me now, and I saw fear in his eyes, despite the defiant voice. ‘A kid bumped into me. It’s hardly a big deal.’
I nodded. Now wasn’t the time – or the place – to talk about it.
‘Okay. Well. You’d best get inside. It would be a shame to be late the one day we’ve made it on time.’ My smile was about as convincing as his denial.
