Page 41 of A Merry Little Christmas
A minute later, the door burst opened and he appeared, hair wet, dressed in his pyjamas.
‘Are you okay?’ He looked pale as a ghost in the thin light that was shining through the landing window. ‘I was really worried about you. What happened?’
He was just staring at me.
‘Oh, my goodness. Here. Put this on, love.’ Suddenly realising he was shaking, I snatched his dressing gown off the hook on the bathroom door and helped him into it. Then I guided him downstairs to the sitting room, where he sat sideways in an armchair, curled in a ball, burying his face in his upturned knees. He had his arms wrapped around himself like a shield.
I kneeled on the floor beside his chair and placed my hand gently on his back. After a while, I murmured, ‘Can you tell me what’s wrong, Will? I’d really like to help if I can.’
‘Nobody can,’ he said, his voice muffled and thick.
‘Is it Lewis Hatcher?’ I asked him gently.
Will shook his head.
‘Because if itishim who’s the problem, your mum will want to know about it so she can sort it out.’
But he didn’t reply, and I didn’t want to push it.
I got to my feet and said cheerily, ‘Okay, let’s see if we can shed some light on the matter. I’ll go and find the fuse box.’
‘No!’ He looked up in alarm at that. ‘I’ll come with you.’
I nodded. ‘Okay. You can show me where it is.’
Tying his dressing gown belt, Will led me to the understairs cupboard. ‘There’s a torch,’ he said, picking it up and flicking iton, and in the glaring light I saw to my relief that a little colour had returned to his cheeks.
We immediately saw the switch that had caused the electricity breakage. I let Will flick it back into position and suddenly the place was flooded with light. It was almost too bright.
Sensing that Will was still in a state about something – whether or not it was Lewis Hatcher – I suggested I make some hot chocolate, and the way he jumped at the idea showed me I was right. He was reluctant to go back upstairs, I could tell, and so we shared the sofa and drank our hot chocolate.
‘My Granny Olga is very wise,’ I told him. ‘Do you know what she used to say to me when I was little and afraid of something?’
He shook his head.
‘You are your own darkness and your own light, Katja. You have to pick which one you give power to.’
He thought about this. Then he nodded. ‘Cool. I think I would like your gran.’
‘I think she’d like you, too.’ I smiled at him and then I suggested he pick a favourite film to watch.
Thinking he’d choose something scary or with fighting in it, I was quite surprised when he chose a comedy that I loved myself. As we watchedMrs Doubtfire, I was relieved to see him gradually relaxing as we laughed heartily at Robin Williams’ antics.
‘Thank you for the hot chocolate,’ he said, standing up as the credits rolled. He gave me a sheepish smile. ‘I’d better go to bed now in case Mum comes back.’
I grinned up at him. ‘Good idea.’
He disappeared, and when I went upstairs ten minutes later and peeked through his half-open door, he was fast asleep with his bedside light still on. I crept in and switched off the lamp and went back downstairs. And about five minutes after that, I heard Penny’s key in the lock.
I glanced at my watch in surprise. She was back earlier than I’d expected.
I hoped that didn’t mean the date had gone badly.
‘Hi!’ I whispered, greeting her in the hall. As she took off her coat, exclaiming how cold it was outside, I glanced upstairs. I was feeling quite protective of Will and hoping he wouldn’t wake up. ‘Good time?’
She laughed. ‘Well, it was certainly an interesting evening.’
‘Ooh, he sounds . . . promising?’
