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Caution: not a merry Christmas
Dreaming Of
December 24, 1986
Joyce had never seen a drearier waiting room. All the doctors’ and dentists’ offices she had ever visited had exhumed an artificial cheerfulness, with bright colours, soft toys, and children’s drawings, yet she much preferred that over this black hole of a place. The wallpaper was yellowing, the furniture looked at least thirty years old, and there was a faint odour of something she didn’t dare to think of. The only picture on the wall was that of a sheep-filled meadow, and she had long tired of staring at it.
She had taken the glass she had been served lemonade in and placed it up against the wall, pressing her ear to the bottom. In the next room, she could hear the woman that had so oddly inserted herself into her life ten days ago speaking quite clearly.
“There were some problems. We feel perhaps the transition was too daunting, coming from a household with no siblings at all to a home where she had to share with four other children. And obviously she needs a lot of personal attention right now.”
There was a pause. Joyce could picture her, hunched over her desk and the bowl of acid drops she kept there, her delicate mouth at the receiver of the phone.
“I just mean she didn’t adjust too well.” There was a sigh. “Well, she got aggressive to the other children.”
Joyce didn’t even remember the outburst. All she recalled was the overwhelming urge to get out of the room, away from the noise and the near indifference of her peers. That was what had probably angered her: how commonly they all had been treating their situation. Neither of them were where they belonged. Well, what else was new?
In the next room, Sarah – she expressly wished to be called by her first name, even though Joyce hadn’t said a single word to her yet – sounded weary. “Mrs. Carrington…”
Joyce had met her grandmother at the funeral, four days ago. Or at least, she based this belief solely on the fact that it had been an older woman who had looked down upon her with disdain. It was all she had ever needed to know: the woman really didn’t like her father, she liked her mother less, and she liked Joyce least of all. In the past week, however, Joyce had begun to wonder why.
“I’m just saying it might be best if she spends Christmas with relatives,” Sarah tried. “No, I’m not suggesting anything, except for you to give it a chance. Maybe there is still some good to come from this tragedy. She is a smart child. She just needs some guidance. You could afford to give her the best possible future. She could become a part of your family that you’d be proud of.”
Another long pause. Another sigh.
“Mrs. Carrington, she is the only thing left to remember your son by.”
Joyce could almost hear the tirade coming from the receiver. Sarah’s head seemed to collide with the top of her desk. “No, I see. Yes. All right. Goodnight. Merry Christmas.” She hung up. “Bitch.”
Joyce quickly took the glass off the wall and sat straight when the door to the office opened and Sarah stepped out, putting on her coat.
“All right,” she said, trying to smile, “I think I’ve found the right place for you.”
***
Two hours later they were in Sarah’s Vauxhall, the highway lights tracing a dotted line across the bonnet. Joyce watched the signs for Bristol grow more frequent with dread. Sarah was trying to be reassuring.
“They work from home, mostly, so they’ll be there for you. Listen to you, whenever you want to talk. They’re taking care of another girl right now. She’s a few years younger than you. Her name is Dawn. She has been with them for four months already. She’s pretty quiet, just like you. That doesn’t sound too bad, does it?”
Joyce wanted her room. Her own bed. To pull the covers over her head and not get out for another month. She was suddenly so homesick she felt nauseous. As Sarah veered onto an off-ramp, Joyce could feel herself sink into the seat like heavy mud.
The car passed through a slightly decrepit neighbourhood, terraced houses with weathered stuccowork characterising the scene. Small groups of kids were playing with firecrackers on street corners. A cat slipped through a hole in a fence and crossed the street right in front of the car. The headlights reflected in its green eyes for less than a second. Sarah parked in front of a house with a wreath on the door.
“Number 17. Here we go.” She turned off the ignition and looked over at Joyce. “Do you have your bag?”
Joyce stared back, her bag on her lap. Her face felt so numb she doubted she wore any expression, but she was certain her eyes were talking.
Sarah’s encouraging smile faded. She unbuckled her seatbelt, sighing. “You know what the thing is, Joyce? There are only two people that you would want to spend Christmas with.” She hesitated to continue, and then closed her mouth, seeing there was no point.
***
Joyce sat motionless in her seat while Michelle (“I’m not trying to replace your mother, but I would like to become your friend”) cleared the table. Young Dawn, nine years old and so blonde she almost seemed angelic, was trying suppress a fit of hiccups by holding her breath. Her small cheeks were puffed up so that she resembled a hamster, particularly since her throat was still squeaking. Gary, in a sweater with reindeer, watched her from across the table with a warm smile. He finished his wine and handed the glass to his wife.
Michelle hesitated when reaching for Joyce’s plate. “You’re sure you don’t want to finish it?”
Joyce looked at her plate. Half of her turkey was left and she hadn’t even touched the mashed potatoes. Nothing tasted the way she was used to. She looked back up at Michelle, who shrugged. “I’ll save the turkey in the fridge. We could make sandwiches tom– Damn.”
She hurried into the kitchen, where the phone rang for the fifth time since Joyce had arrived.
“Fantim Cosmetics, how may I help you?”
The O’Connors ran a small business from their garage, where boxes of mascara and nail polish were stacked to the ceiling. Michelle did the paperwork and Gary drove the car around making deliveries.
Joyce looked to her left to find the man staring intently at the top half of her sweater. She wasn’t aware of what she was wearing, exactly, so she checked it to read: Champion.
Gary smirked. “You’re thirteen, aren’t you?”
Joyce didn’t nod. Dawn came up for air, coughing.
“I remember that age,” Gary said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
Joyce didn’t believe him. She wondered if he did.
“We have a stocking for you. Do you want to hang it?”
Joyce had no intention to. Gary got up. “I know,” he said. “You’re one of those that won’t talk.” He smiled at her. “Well, that’s perfectly all right.”
***
“May I ask,” Dawn said in genuine curiosity as Joyce slipped into her pyjamas, “why you won’t talk?”
The girl was sitting on the lower half of the bunk bed, holding tightly onto her My Little Pony.
“I mean,” she said, “when your parents died in the accident, were you hurt as well? Are you in fact not capable of talking?”
Joyce looked at her. It was odd how someone could seem so very clever and stupid at the same time.
“My mum took too many pills,” Dawn said. “She can only move three fingers. There’s a machine helping her breathe.”
Michelle entered the room. “All set? Come on, Dawn, get under the covers.”
Joyce climbed onto her bed, easing under the unfamiliar duvet. She could hear Dawn interacting with Michelle below her.
“I’m not tired yet,” the girl said.
“But you’re still going to sleep.”
“Can I stay up? Please?”
“You’ve been eyeing that big present under the tree, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t,” the girl denied. “Please?”
“Close your eyes. It’ll be morning before you know it,” Michelle told her. “And you…” She rose to her feet to look at Joyce. “Are you going to be okay?”
Joyce turned her eyes to the ceiling. Michelle placed her warm hand on her shoulder.
“I think you’ll feel better in the morning. You know you can always come to me for anything, don’t you?”
The phone rang again and she hurried to switch off the lights. “Goodnight, you two.” She closed the door behind her, audibly muttering something about the hour.
***
Joyce was still well awake four hours later. She had been listening to all the unfamiliar sounds in the house, trying to analyse them. They were stupid sounds, that was all she had managed to conclude. She would hate them as much as she hated the purple curtains, and the smelly carpet. She would hate them as much as she hated Dawn, and Gary, and Michelle. And Sarah.
There was a new sound now, coming down the corridor and towards her, a slow stagger it seemed. The bedroom door opened with a creak and a faint beam of light fell onto the bed. Joyce quickly closed her eyes to pretend she was sleeping.
Whoever was at the door stood there for a while. There was a smell worse than the carpet. Yet Joyce didn’t dare to look. She thought the person was leaving, but instead the door opened further. Suddenly she knew Gary had entered the room. He stood next to the bunk bed, his eyes surveying her. Joyce tried extra hard to look peaceful, but she suddenly realised she was holding her breath.
Gary didn’t seem to notice. He sunk down to the bottom of the bunk bed, whispering the other girl’s name. “Dawn.”
There was some stirring. A squeak like her hiccup.
“Dawn. Do you miss your mother?”
Joyce opened her eyes, knowing that was a positively stupid question.
Gary sat down on the edge of the bed. “Of course you do. Can I hold you and make it okay?”
Dawn took a deep breath. The bed creaked.
Joyce closed her eyes again and buried her face in her pillow. She thought hard of her own room at the top of the stairs, picturing herself jumping down them at seven in the morning. Sitting down next to the tree and listening to Bing Crosby while waiting for her parents to wake. She began to sing in her head, as loudly as possible, and waited for the dawn.
***
At breakfast Gary was once again staring at the top half of Joyce’s sweater.
Dawn was quietly drinking her milk.
Michelle was trying to juggle another phone call with making waffles.
Joyce’s mind was on the front door, imagining her room lay behind it. She shut her eyes and squinted hard.
“Something wrong, Joyce?” Gary asked.
She glanced up at him. A concerned look filled his eyes. But she wasn’t thinking about him and what he had done. She was thinking about the quickest route out of here.
Joyce reached out to where Dawn was sitting, grabbed the girl by the arm and started squeezing as hard as she could.
***
Sarah’s Vauxhall pulled up three hours later. Joyce wasted no time in carrying her bag out of the house. Michelle followed her in distress. “Joyce, wait.”
Sarah met them in the middle of the road, bundled up tight with two scarves around her neck. Joyce passed her and took position at the bonnet of her car to signal she wasn’t going to budge from it.
“Sorry to call you,” Michelle told Sarah. “Were you with your family?”
“It’s all right.” Sarah looked embarrassed. “How’s Dawn?”
“She’s fine,” Michelle said. “Just a bit sore. Gary is livid, though. He’s grown very protective of her.”
“I’m so sorry.” Joyce avoided the disappointed glance Sarah gave her.
Michelle was simply sympathetic. “He keeps on saying her age is the problem, but that’s crazy. Look, we can take on another child. Honestly. She’s welcome to return to us. Maybe it’s just too soon for her.”
Sarah turned to Joyce. “What do you think? Have you calmed down enough to give this family another chance?”
Joyce turned around, jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her. She watched Sarah and Michelle exchange some more words. Then Michelle returned to the house and Sarah got into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll take you back to our counsellor this afternoon,” she told Joyce. “But Joyce, if you won’t talk, then we won’t know how to help you. If you can’t tell us exactly what is bothering you… Do you understand that?”
Joyce switched on the radio. The Wham! song was playing.