Page 42 of Sad Girl Hours

Chapter Forty-two

Saffron

In the days before Christmas, the house is a hive of activity and warmth.

The Holloways weren’t kidding: there are always people coming and going at Christmas – all of them lovely, of course.

There are games and good food and drink; there’s a wrapping party on the twenty-third where everyone goes into different rooms to wrap the presents for each other.

Nell and I stay in her room, of course – I’m allowed to know what the others are getting – but she does banish me to the bathroom for a few minutes while she wraps mine.

(Her present is already wrapped at the bottom of my suitcase.)

Then, on Christmas Eve, it’s a full day of Holloway traditions.

After breakfast, it’s all hands on deck in the cookie factory (the kitchen).

We made some dough the other day and just have to roll it out and cut it into gingerbread shapes.

Xander teaches me how to make melomakarona (which are delicious but result in the twins leaving lovely little sticky fingerprints everywhere after they’ve eaten them).

Naomi also insists that Santa likes chocolate cookies best so we make those too.

Although, given the amount of raw cookie dough and fresh cookies she ‘taste-tests’, I suspect Santa’s flavour preferences may have had little do with her insistence.

When we’re in full decorating mode, Owen pushes something across the worktop towards me.

“It’s you,” he says, and when I look I find a gingerbread person with a lot of bright yellow icing around its head for hair, a giant wobbly curved smile and a green dress.

“Thank you, Owen.” I smile at him. “It’s lovely.”

“She looks like a lion,” Nell notes, and Owen scowls.

“Dads always say if we try our best then that’s good enough. And anyway, your Bean Burger just looks like an ugly orange blob.”

He sulks away. I look over at Nell’s creation and bite back a grin. He’s not entirely wrong.

“Don’t,” Nell warns, watching me. “Remember what happened last time I had a baking-related artistic crisis.”

“Vividly, yes.”

After we’ve all cleared up and eaten lunch (only food that was carefully approved by Xander, who has been obsessively checking no one is consuming anything intended for Christmas Day), Nell and I help prep all the veg for tomorrow while the twins run back and forth, taking the veg scraps to the pig and the chickens outside. Then, f inally, it’s games time.

We start with charades. I’m nervous at first. I overcompensate by acting out the entire plot of Ratatouille in what everyone says is an Oscar-worthy performance. But after Eric has acted out Winnie-the-Pooh , and I’ve caught the hysterical giggles off the twins, I’ve never felt less nervous.

Next, they bring out the Scrabble. Nell tries to insist that we play the regular version this time, despite Naomi and Owen’s objections.

As we play, the daylight starts to fade outside, and Xander gets up to light the fire.

“Hey.” Nell nudges my side gently – we’re sitting next to each other on the floor, our backs leaning against the sofa, the board on the coffee table in front.

I look over and see that she has, in fact, spelt out ‘hey’ with her letters, the others shoved to the end of the rack. I smile and turn to my letters. Hmm … Aha.

U SMELL

Nell laughs quietly. “Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, I think I should get points for that – it used nearly all my letters. And besides it didn’t say you smelt bad. You smell lovely, as always.”

“You’re always smelling me? Pervert.”

I roll my eyes playfully but then Naomi’s voice calls out. “HEY, Saffron and Nell are cheating!”

“We’re not cheating,” Nell fires back. “We’re just chatting because someone is taking seven hours on their turn.”

“Can you spell ‘duck’ with just a curly ‘c’ on the end and not the ‘k’?” Owen asks thoughtfully.

“Can you spell what ?” Xander looks panicked.

“ Duck , darling,” Eric says swiftly. “Duck. And no, Owen, you can’t. Not in this game.”

“UGH. But I only have a ‘c’.”

“Sorry, bud.”

I can still see Nell’s letters and, while the others bicker, I sneakily remove the ‘o’ and ‘v’ from her spare letters on the rack and move them around with mine.

Naomi is now telling Owen he needs to hurry up and just play a word before she quote ‘dies of boredom’, and I take the excuse to poke Nell. She looks down at what I’ve spelt out and I watch a smile transform her face.

“ Love you too ,” she whispers.

The game comes to an abrupt end as Bean Burger leaps up on to the board, scattering letters everywhere.

Owen cheers in joy, Eric and Xander share matching exhausted expressions, and – even though I was somehow miraculously in the lead and now Beanie Baby has ruined my chances of Scrabble redemption – I still feel as though I’m winning with Nell grinning next to me.

We eat a huge feast of Chinese food after the games are cleared away. Then we set out the milk and cookies for Santa, a carrot for Rudolph and all huddle round the tree.

“All right,” Xander says. “Are you ready for your entirely mysterious Christmas Eve present?”

“It’s Christmas jammy time!” Owen screeches. “YEAH, BOY!”

“Christmas what?” I whisper to Nell.

“Pyjamas. We get a new pair of pyjamas on Christmas Eve that we wear tonight and then to open our presents tomorrow morning. Oh, and we get a book to read tonight when we can’t sleep because we’re too excited. We do it every year.”

“That’s so cute,” I say, watching as Eric starts passing out a gift bag to the twins, then to Nell and Xander, and then finally— “Oh!” There’s a bag being put in front of me. “I’ve got one too?”

“Of course,” Eric says. “You’re an honorary member of the clan this year. You have to have the festive attire to match.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice a little quieter than I intended. “That’s so kind.”

They both smile a you’re welcome , and I turn away to open the bag.

“Oh my GOD.” It’s Naomi’s turn to screech now. “DINOSAUR PYJAMAS!”

“Spoilers, Naomi,” says Nell, laughing.

They are, in fact, dino jammies – a soft shirt top and matching bottoms with a print of small dinosaurs wearing Santa hats.

“I’m so sorry,” Nell whispers to me. “You don’t have to wear them if—”

“NO,” I say fiercely, clutching the soft fabric to my body. “I am absolutely wearing these. With pride.”

She smiles. “All right then.”

We vanish to put them on and then come back downstairs.

The twins are dancing around together, having been sent a bit feral with pure dinosaur-jammy excitement.

Xander and Eric are watching on with love in their eyes.

Nell and I complete the set, and Nell insists on taking a picture of us all in front of the tree.

I ask her to show me the photo when we’re back upstairs in her room.

I’m lying down on the floor, already thinking that I’m going to find it harder than the twins did to get to sleep.

They claimed they were going to try to stay awake all night and finally catch Santa in the act.

But, when we looked in on our way past a couple of hours later, they were both dead to the world, Naomi’s book rising up and down on her chest, Owen’s having slipped to the floor.

Nell’s shuffling around, getting comfy up on the bed. “Sure, come and see,” she says.

I get up and sit beside her as she points her phone at me, showing me the photo of us all looking wonderfully ridiculous in our matching pyjamas, smiling at the camera with the tree behind us.

“Incredible,” I say. “Will you send it to me?”

“Of course.” She starts flicking through the rest of the photos we’ve taken this week.

There are the ones of our perfect baking creations, a photo of the view at the top of the hill, pictures of Bean Burger from every conceivable camera angle, and some of us all outside feeding the pig, goat, chickens, guinea pigs and ducks.

As we keep looking through, the well of something in my chest floods upwards. I don’t know how I’m feeling.

On the one hand, these past few days have been some of the happiest of my entire life.

But, on the other, these photos remind me of how lovely it is here and how soon it’s going to come to an end.

I can’t exactly come back here every holiday, every summer break.

And, after uni, if I don’t get a job or go on to further study straight away – what then?

This has been a lovely interlude, but it is only an interlude. Real life is still waiting.

Nell scrolls past a photo of Owen and Naomi welly-deep in the pond, trying to get the small bucket they’d put feed in back from Jemima the duck. Nell cracking up so hard she’s basically doubled over, Xander and Eric arm in arm by the pond side, looking slightly stressed but mostly amused.

They’re a family. A proper one. And, as much as I wish I could be part of it forever, I know I’m just an interloper. One of the many strays that they’ve brought home.

Oh. I think I’ve realised what it is.

I’m homesick.

Not for my supposed ‘home’ but for a whole childhood that I never got to have.

“I’m sleepy,” Nell says, putting her phone away and snuggling down. “I’m normally much too excited to sleep, but I think I may actually get –” she grabs her phone again and checks the time – “five hours at least before Naomi comes in screaming that Santa’s been. Warning for that, by the way.”

“I consider myself warned.” I’m practically lying down now next to Nell, having gathered close for our slideshow. “Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep before then too.”

“You not feeling tired yet?” Nell asks.

“Not really. I’ve never been able to sleep well before big events. I’m not sure why.”

“Excitement.” Nell nods.

Not quite , I think.

“But all right, if you’re not ready to sleep yet, I have a plan.”

“Always a dangerous sentence coming from your mouth.”

“Oh, there’s nothing dangerous about this apart from the risk of having TOO much fun. Be right back.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, bemused, as she darts out of the room, returning with a pile of about ten blankets.

“What…”

“It’s blanket-fort time, bitch. One of the last few things we have to check off.”

When I’m watching her stand precariously on her desk chair, straining to reach the beam to pin a blanket up there, I have to bite my tongue to comment on her false claim about a lack of danger.

“Come here,” I say. “Let me.”

Fifteen minutes later and the area around Nell’s bed looks like the inside of a very higgledy-piggledy tent.

“And the finishing touches…” Nell turns on the fairy lights and the fort is filled with tiny twinkling stars. “Ta-da! What do you think? Is this a nicer place to fall asleep in or what?”

“It’s lovely. Although technically the fort is only round your bed and not the air bed,” I point out.

“Ah. Good point.” She pauses. “Do you think it would be nice to fall asleep in here, though?”

“It’d be lovely, yes, but there’s no way I’m letting you take the air bed instead of me.”

“Then I guess we’re at an impasse. An ‘only one fort situation’ if you will. But,” she says ponderingly, “you know, we could…”

“We could…”

“We could both sleep up here. There’s plenty of room for two.”

“Oh.” My heart lunges in either anxiety or excitement – I’m not sure which – at the thought of spending the whole night lying next to Nell. “Yes. I guess we could.”

“All right. Then that’s settled.” Nell throws herself down, shuffling her body on to the right-hand side of the bed, patting the left with her hand.

I lie down next to her, turning to face her just as she does the same, and I must admit that the fort is very cosy – especially with Nell’s smiling face just across from mine on the pillow, warmth flowing between us.

There’s quiet for a bit, Nell’s eyes flicking closed for a while and then back open, closed and then open, while I wonder if I’m brave enough to shift any part of my body closer to hers, to close the empty space that suddenly feels so wasted.

“Saffron?” Nell’s eyes are back open; her voice makes me start.

“Yes?”

“Are you having a nice time?”

I smile back across at her and say, completely earnestly, “The best.”

“Good.” Nell smiles back, satisfied.

Nell’s breathing gradually grows slower and steadier. I watch as the warm glow from the fairy lights slowly fades on and off, on and off her peaceful, sleeping face.

After I realise I’ve been watching her sleep for a while and grow uncomfortable with the Edward Cullen-esque implications, I pick up my phone to absently scroll until (hopefully) tiredness takes over and I can sleep.

I open up Instagram to look at the photos we’ve both posted over the week.

The rest of the gang have commented on them:

BEAUTIES, ily both xoxo (Jenna.)

enjoy the snow (while it lasts) x (Casper’s clearly in an existential climate-change-induced crisis.)

And simply:

big slay (Vivvie.)

I love them so much.

I keep mindlessly scrolling, still too wired to sleep, until I see something that makes me stop and scroll back up a little.

It’s a photo Melanie posted. I should have unfollowed her years ago, I know, but…

Well, I didn’t. Her family have had a Christmas Eve party.

She’s taken a selfie, lips pouting, but I’m not really looking at her.

I’m looking at the background. Standing next to Mel’s parents, all of them holding wine glasses, are my parents, clearly mid jovial conversation.

Our parents were never close really. They’d chat if they met, but they certainly weren’t Christmas Eve party close.

My parents know how Melanie treated me. They saw it.

But they clearly don’t care.

Maybe that’s not fair. I guess if they’ve somehow got close to Petra and Steve then that’s fine; their relationship with them can be a separate thing.

But then why does it still feel like I’m drowning a little bit?