I’m Santa.’ She said it out loud.
‘Can I share?’
And Rob was in the doorway, looking at the tree. ‘I thought of it while I mopped,’ he told her. ‘We need to play Father Christmas.’
They could. There was a stash from long ago...
If she could bear it.
Of course she could bear it. Did she make her decision based on emotional back story or the real, tomorrow needs of one small boy? What was the choice? There wasn’t one. She glanced at Rob and saw he’d come to the same conclusion she had.
Without a word she headed into their bedroom. Rob followed.
She tugged the bottom drawer out from under the wardrobe, ready to climb—even as toddlers the twins had been expert in finding stuff they didn’t want them to find. She put a foot on the first drawer and Rob took her by the waist, lifted her and set her aside.
‘Climbing’s men’s work,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’ Unbidden, came another memory. Their town house in the city. Their elderly neighbour knocking on the door one night.
‘Please, my kitten’s climbed up the elm outside. He can’t get down. Will you help?’
The elm was vast, reaching out over the pavement to the street beyond. The kitten was maybe halfway up, mewing pitifully.
‘Right,’ Rob had said manfully, though Julie had known him well and heard the qualms behind the bravado.
‘Let me call the fire brigade,’ she’d said and he’d cast her a look of manly scorn.
‘Stand aside, woman.’
Which meant twenty minutes later the kitten was safely back in her owner’s arms—having decided she didn’t like Rob reaching for her, so she’d headed down under her own steam. And Julie had finally called the fire department to help her husband down.
So now she choked, and Rob glowered, but he was laughing under his glower. ‘You’re supposed to have forgotten that,’ he told her. ‘Stupid cat.’
‘It’s worth remembering.’
‘Isn’t everything?’ he asked obliquely and headed up his drawer-cum-staircase.
And then they really had to remember.
The Christmas-that-never-was was up there. Silently, Rob handed it down. There were glove puppets, a wooden railway set, Batman pyjamas. Colouring books and a blow-up paddling pool. A pile of Christmas wrapping and ties they’d been too busy to use until the last moment. The detritus of a family Christmas that had never made it.
Rob put one of the puppets on his too-big hand. It was a wombat. Its two front paws were his thumb and little finger. Its head had the other fingers stuffed into its insides.
The little head wobbled. ‘What do you say, Mrs McDowell?’ the little wombat demanded in a voice that sounded like a strangled Rob. ‘You reckon we can give me to a little guy who needs me?’
‘Yes.’ But her voice was strained.
‘I’m not real,’ the little wombat said—via Rob. ‘I’m just a bit of fake fur and some neat stitchery.’
‘Of course.’
‘But I represent the past.’
‘Don’t push it, Rob.’ Why was the past threatening to rise up and choke her?
‘I’m not pushing. I’m facing stuff myself. I’ve been facing stuff alone for so long...’ Rob put down his wombat and picked up the Batman pyjamas. ‘It hurts. Would it hurt more together than it does separately? That’s a decision we need to make. Meanwhile, we bought these too big for the twins and Danny’s tiny. These’ll make him happy.’
She could hardly breathe. What was he suggesting? That he wanted to try again? ‘I...I know that,’ she managed but she was suddenly feeling as if she was in the bunker again, cowering, the outside threats closing in.
Dumb. Rob wasn’t threatening. He was holding Batman pyjamas—and smiling at her as if he understood exactly how she felt.
I’ve been facing stuff alone for so long... She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that. She hadn’t been able to face his hurt as well as hers.
Guilty...and did she need to add coward to her list of failings as well?
‘Would it have been easier if it all burned?’ Rob asked gently and she flinched.
‘Maybe. Maybe it would.’
‘So why did you come?’
‘You know why.’
‘Because it’s not over? Because they’re still with us?’ His voice was kind. ‘Because we can’t escape it; we’re still a family?’
‘We’re not.’
‘They’re still with me,’ he said, just as gently. ‘Every waking moment, and often in my sleep as well, they’re with me.’
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re not in this stuff. They’re in our hearts.’
‘Rob, no.’ The pain... She hadn’t let herself think it. She hadn’t let herself feel it. She’d worked and she’d worked and she’d pushed emotion away because it did her head in.
‘Jules, it’s been four years. The way I feel...’
‘Don’t!’
He looked at her for a long, steady moment and then he looked down at the wombat. And nodded. Moving on? ‘But we can pack stuff up for Danny?’
‘I...yes.’
‘We need things for Amina as well.’
‘I have...too many things.’ She thought of her dressing table, stuffed with girly things collected through a lifetime. She thought of the house next door, a heap of smouldering ash. Sharing was a no-brainer; in fact Amina could have it all.
‘Wrapping paper?’ Rob demanded. The emotion was dissipating. Maybe he’d realised he’d taken her to an edge that terrified her.
‘I have a desk full of it,’ she told him, grateful to be back on firm ground.
‘Always the organised one.’ He hesitated. ‘Stockings?’
She took a deep breath at that and the edge was suddenly close again. Yes, they had stockings. Four. Julie, Rob, Aiden, Christopher. Her mother had embroidered names on each.
But she could be practical. She could do this. ‘I’ll unpick the names,’ she said.
‘We can use pillowcases instead.’
‘N...no. I’ll unpick them.’
‘I can help.’ He hesitated. ‘I need to head out and put a few pans of water around for the wildlife, and then I’m all yours. But, Jules...’
‘Mmm?’
‘When we’re done playing Santa Claus...will you come to bed with me tonight?’
This was tearing her in two. If she could walk away now she would, she thought. She’d walk straight out of the door, onto the road down to the highway and out of here. But that wasn’t possible and this man, the man with the eyes that saw everything there was to know, was looking at her. And he was smiling, but his smile had all her pain behind it, and all his too. They had shared ghosts. Somehow, Rob was moving past them. But for her... The ghosts held her in thrall and she was trapped.
But for this night, within the trap there was wriggle room. She’d remove names from Christmas stockings. She’d wrap her children’s toys and address them to Danny. She’d even find the snorkel and flippers she had hidden up on the top of her wardrobe. She’d bought