Page 64 of It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
I could’ve slept for many hours more than I did, but I needed to beup and presentable by the time Tom was due to call round to put thecurtain up. That said, I was half-expecting a no-show given that he’dprobably only turned in a few hours ago.
Waiting for me on the doormat when I came downstairs was a padded envelope with a Post-it note attached:
Watch this from 42 mins. Believe me now?! Becky x
I tore open the envelope and extracted a loose DVD. Scribbled on it in Becky’s recognisable script – which I distinctly remembered she’d copied fromThe Baby-Sitters Clubbooks – wasSchool Stuff + Concerts.
I inserted the DVD into the dusty player under the TV and, after navigating the complex AV options, skipped the disc to the timestamp in question. It appeared to be a camcorder recording of a party from Year Eleven at Becky and Carly’s house – yet another one I hadn’t been invited to – the fifteen- and sixteen-year-old tipsy guests midway through a game of ‘snog, marry, avoid’. And it was Tom’s turn. I turned the volume right up to make out the muffled dialogue over the tinny soundtrack of ‘Crossroads’ by Blazin’ Squad:
Ryan: Brinton, you’re up! Okay, your choices are: Amelia Allister, Holly Jackson and Sammy Washington.
Tom: Argh, okay. First up I’d avoid Holly Jackson.
Ryan: Probably wise.
Tom: Erm, I guess I’d snog Sammy, which would leave Amelia forthe marriage option.
Ryan: You’d marry Double A?!
Tom: Stop calling her that. Yes, I would.
Ryan: Okay, Brinton, we’re going to need a better explanation.You… you don’t like her, do you?
I could feel my face burning, as if I had teleported to that early 2000s room with teenage Tom. The camera had zoomed in on his blotchy face for dramatic effect as he tried to collect his thoughts to answer the question as non-committally as possible but, before he could, a mass of male teenage bodies flung themselves on top of him.
A chant of ‘Tomelia, Tomelia!’ soon began.
From the bottom of the pile-on, some muffled protests struggled to make themselves heard.
Tom: I just think she’s… interesting. That’s literally all. And funny. That’s it. It doesn’t mean I fancy her.
Ryan: I think we’ve hit a nerve. Time to move on, lads.
Well, this was certainly some interesting information. Was it as definitive as Becky had indicated it would be? No, I didn’t reckon so – as Tom himself had said in the footage, he was simply choosing from the options available. Even so, I couldn’t shrug off the urge toactuallyteleport back to my teenage self and give her this nugget of promise.
I replayed the footage a couple more times and left the DVD on as I carried my cereal bowl into the kitchen and began washing up the precarious mountain of crockery from the last couple of days.
The rich, distinctive tones of a stringed instrument stopped me in my tracks.
I dashed through to the living room, my hands covered in soapy foam, my heart beating out of my chest. Before I even saw the source of the sound, I knew what – and who – I’d see on the screen.
It was Livvie. My beautiful teenage sister playing her beloved cello at some kind of Christmas concert, judging from the bunches of holly tied to her music stand. I choked on a sob and collapsed back into the sofa, bringing my hands to the side of my head with such force that the washing-up bubbles floated through the air like a brief flurry of simulated snowflakes.
As the suds settled onto the rock-hard sofa around me, her face filled the screen – the amateur videographer zooming in to capture the magical way she’d become one with the music, as she always did whenever she played.
Accompanied by a recorded piano backing track, she was playing the song ‘Angel’ by Sarah McLachlan – one of her (many) all-time favourite pieces of music. A song that had gone on to be played at her funeral – I hadn’t been able to listen to it since.
The footage was grainy, the audio quality poor. But I could stillfeelthe rich tone of her cello – a sound that had once vibrated around our Scarnbrook semi as she’d practised the piece for months. The warm melody of home. But I hadn’t even gone to this concert. No doubt I’d probably gone somewhere with Elle, instead.
The footage cut out after her solo, the DVD moving on to a dance recital that Becky and Carly had taken part in. I skipped it back to the moment that Livvie appeared, and watched it over and over again.
I was mesmerised by her, but the more I watched it the more overwhelmed I felt.
Why hadn’t I seen this footage before?
When was the last time I’d seen Livvie’s animated face?
What was I even doing back in Scarnbrook?
