Page 93 of We Three Kings

Mum nods. Dad comes over to the sofa so they can sandwich me together and infuse all their love into me. I tear up at how unconditional and perfect it really is. ‘It’ll all come good,’ Mum mutters. ‘I’d be more worried if you were sitting here like some ice-cold corporate clone telling me you’d fired someone, rubbing your hands together, not giving a damn.’ I nod, taking in her words. At least I’d look less like a tramp who’d broken into their house though.

‘It doesn’t have to be that brutal either. You graduated with all them other computer science people. Surely you’ve got contacts so whoever goes can land on their feet?’ Dad says wisely.

I feel a weight lift a touch from my shoulders. That’s excellent advice. I do. People who went into big corporations butothers who have their own setups, who went freelance. I can certainly make sure any split is done with good intentions with where they end up.

‘But you’ve got a good heart, just listen to it.’ I lean into Mum who cups my face in her hands and tries to wipe away the worst of my tears. ‘And there we were thinking that you’d come here to see us,’ she mutters.

‘I’m sorry…’ I say. ‘I just needed to be somewhere I felt…safe.’ Dad grins at this point. This is always what this house was about. From the beech coffee table, to the familiar long pile of their beige carpet and the same spotty mugs we’ve been drinking out of for years, this place will always be home. ‘And how was your trip? Do you have photos?’

‘Do we have photos?’ he scoffs. ‘How about we freshen up, get some of that party food up and you can do that fancy tech thing where you get the photos on the telly?’.

I laugh under my breath. For all my academic achievements, this is the thing he tells people about the most. That and the fact I know how to charge a phone from a laptop. ‘It sounds kinda perfect.’

‘Also…’

My mum goes to her sideboard and pulls out my stocking. It’s the same one I’ve had since I was young and she hangs it off her arm. ‘I know it’s a bit late but I couldn’t not. Merry Christmas, marvellous Maggie.’ And as grateful as I am, as soon as I see it, I think of a Christmas morning with Leo, the stocking Sandy made me and a perfect moment in front of a fire, falling in love with someone so very wonderful and kind. And I think about how much I miss him completely.

THIRTY-THREE

31st December

New Year’s Eve. There is something about this day that never quite computes with me. When you’re little and have parents who work shifts, you tend not to recognise days of significance anyway. You realise these are just days. You can eat turkey any time you want, really. However, New Year’s Eve is always some big celebratory party day where people dress up, kiss and be merry. I never got it. It’s simply the beginning of some arbitrary day as dictated by a calendar. Plus, it’s always felt like a time to reminisce too – to reflect on a year gone as opposed to the new one ahead. A time to be quiet. Well, that’s what I’m telling myself anyway as I sit on my sofa, alone, watching Graham Norton, with a cup of tea and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

‘So…tell me about your new film…’

‘I’m glad you asked, Graham. So I’m an android who lives in the future, trying to desperately save a planet that is now underwater…’

‘That would never happen, your circuitry would never survive the moisture,’ I tell the Oscar-winning actress living inmy television, like she can hear me. I listen to her babble on about how she shaved her head for the role and tell a funny story about Tom Cruise. I laugh. God, this is really quite sad. I think about how I’m going to spend the rest of this evening. Possibly in bed as I really don’t want to fall asleep on the sofa and wake up scaring myself. I could watch a film on my laptop, read a book, cry into my pillows. I did have options. Gemma mentioned a night at hers involving wine and charcuterie, Mum and Dad invited me out to share an evening with their mates but my mood was so low that I didn’t want to bring that to other people’s celebrations. It honestly felt like the better option to just wallow on my own, think how a decent year turned sour in one single day, and await a whole new year of uncertainty ahead.

The doorbell suddenly gets my attention. Expecting no one, I can only think it’s a food delivery meant for my neighbours again. The doorbells are very well labelled so it always annoys me a tad. I head over to my intercom. ‘It’s not for me, wrong house,’ I say weakly. I return to the sofa but the buzzer rings again. They’re persistent at least. I head back to the intercom. ‘I’m 1A, you’re likely looking for Mahmood in 1B.’

‘Who the fuck is Mahmood?’ the voice on the other end says.

I jump back from the intercom and stare at it for a moment. I press the button again tentatively. ‘Jasper?’

‘This better be Maggie.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him.

‘I thought I’d come and just chat to you through your intercom,’ he replies and for a moment my heart warms to hear his sarcasm. ‘Are you letting me in or am I going to have to eat this takeaway on your doorstep?’

I press the button and look down at my fleece onesie and fluffy socks, dusting crisps that have been caught on the shelf of my bosom. It will have to do. There’s a knock on my door and Ianswer it, peeking my head around the corridor, feeling some slight disappointment perhaps that he’s on his own. He stands there with two paper bags, the same mismatched medley of clothes he always wears, like Dr Who had he also been into vintage and trainers.

‘God, you look bloody awful,’ he tells me.

‘Charming,’ I reply, opening the door and letting him in. He looks around the flat, inspecting my front room and half-dismantled Christmas tree. ‘I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a tip. How did you know where I lived?’ I ask him curiously.

‘Leo,’ he tells me, my heart lurches to even hear his name. ‘Obviously, he didn’t tell me to come here. That was me though.’ My once lurching heart falls flat on its arse.

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘To say hello. See your sad face.’

‘You didn’t have grand New Year’s plans?’ I ask, tentatively.

‘Oh, the family are in some castle up in Edinburgh but I opted out. Skiing was enough.’ He looks around the flat, putting his bags down on my kitchen counter and unwinding his scarf from around his neck. I see his eyes surveying the artwork and photos.

‘So, I was the second-best option?’

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