Stuck On You Page 18

  It’s Christmas morning now and I’m spending it the only way anyone should spend it – sitting on the floor in a big pile of wrapping paper.

  My mum, God love her, still makes up a Santa sack for all of us. She’s even made an incredibly last-minute one for Damian, which makes it all the cuter.

  Selena, Mark and Ben spend their Christmas mornings at home before coming over here for Christmas dinner so this morning it’s just me, Damian, my parents and my gran.

  We’re drinking Buck’s Fizz and eating panettone, taking it in turn to open presents.

  I reach under the tree and grab my present for Damian. It’s a small, light box so I toss it to him.

  ‘Merry Christmas, gaffer,’ I say.

  Damian’s eyes light up. He examines the small package but only for a second before he unties the ribbon and rips off the wrapping paper.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he says as his eyes light up. ‘It’s the knife.’

  ‘The knife?’ my mum says.

  ‘The knife the murderer had,’ he says by way of an explanation.

  ‘It’s from a TV show,’ I reassure them.

  ‘It’s a Swiss army knife with a flash drive built into it,’ Damian tells the room excitedly. ‘But it only works with your fingerprint. There’s a little scanner built into the USB.’

  ‘I’m not fully sure what that means but it sounds good,’ my mum says.

  ‘Sounds very hi-tech,’ my dad chimes in.

  ‘You remembered that I really wanted one,’ Damian says, as if I didn’t know. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘I suppose I’d better give you your present,’ he says, pulling out a box from behind the sofa, which I absolutely hadn’t noticed him put there.

  Damian places the beautifully wrapped box down in front of me.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, I wonder what this could be,’ I say intentionally theatrically, because we both know that I chose this for myself. Damian flashes me a cheeky smile.

  I pull off the bow and tear open the paper and…

  ‘Oh… my… God! It’s a Dial-a-Date,’ I squeal in such a high pitch I’m sure only dogs and Mariah Carey can hear me. ‘You got me a Dial-a-Date – where the hell did you find a Dial-a-Date?’

  ‘Oh, God, she’s finally got one,’ my mum says, clapping her hands with joy. ‘Is that what you had delivered here that you didn’t want her to know about?’

  Damian nods. He looks so proud of himself and he should because this is all I have wanted for Christmas forever.

  ‘I can’t wait to show Selena,’ I say as I examine the box. It’s bright pink and covered with nineties-issue hunks and I couldn’t be happier with it. ‘We should all play it later.’

  As soon as I think about what the game entails I wonder if maybe it might not be my dad’s sort of thing – finding a hunky man to go out with.

  Damian pulls out another box.

  ‘Another one!’ my gran says. ‘He’s got her another one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say with a knowing smile.

  It means so much to me that, not only did he go out of his way to actually buy me a present himself, but it’s something so personal, that clearly shows how much attention he’s been paying. And I still have no idea where he got it from!

  ‘I wonder what this could be,’ I say, doing the dance again as I rip off the paper and open the box. ‘It’s…’

  I’m stunned into silence.

  ‘What is it?’ my mum asks, but I can’t speak. I don’t know what to say. I just stare into the box.

  ‘Come on, spit it out,’ my gran prompts me. ‘I don’t have long left. I’m not spending it watching you staring into a box.’

  ‘Damian, I can’t accept this,’ I say. I want to, oh my God do I want to, but I can’t.

  ‘Well, I certainly don’t want it.’ He chuckles.

  ‘What is it?’ my dad joins in. Even he is on the edge of his seat now.

  I wipe my potentially chocolatey hands on my soon-to-be-retired elf pyjamas to make sure they are clean before carefully lifting my present out of its box.

  ‘It’s my dream handbag,’ I say. ‘A vintage two-way Hermès handbag that turns into a backpack.’

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ my mum says.

  ‘It’s practically a deposit on a house, coupled with the other presents, and the bonus you gave me,’ I tell him, exaggerating a little, but not that much.

  ‘Not in London,’ Damian replies. ‘Come on, you’ve earned it. I’ve been an ars… an especially difficult boss this year.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  I can’t contain myself. I get up and practically leap into his arms, squeezing him tightly. It’s not that he bought me an expensive bag – and it is a bloody expensive bag – it’s the fact that he listened, that he values me.

  ‘Steady on.’ He laughs. ‘You don’t have to thank me so hard. I told you, you’ve earned it.’

  ‘And you’ve earned this,’ I tell him. ‘It’s so thoughtful, thank you.’

  I loosen my grip on him and look into his eyes for a second. He just stares back.

  My dad clears his throat and suddenly I remember all of my family members currently sitting in the same room as us.

  I let go of Damian and head back to my pile of presents, smoothing out my PJs as I go.

  ‘So an old board game and an old bag,’ my dad jokes. ‘I wish your mum was so easily excited.’

  ‘Oh, and here’s your boring face cream.’ Damian laughs as he places my third and final present down in front of me.

  And to think, I was so excited for my fancy moisturiser, and getting to finally try it out today. Now I don’t even care…

  29

  Whether it was down to the dry-run or my mum’s exceptional cooking skills (I'm sure it was the latter) Christmas dinner was a big hit – the only thing bigger right now is my stomach, packed to capacity with turkey, stuffing, vegetables, cranberry sauce, and, just when it seemed as if I was done, Christmas pudding with brandy cream. I would say that I don’t want to eat again until the new year but I know we’ll all be craving turkey sandwiches later on tonight, just as we always do.

  ‘Shall we get our comfies on?’ my mum suggests. ‘Play some board games?’

  We always dress in our best for Christmas dinner. I think all families go one way or the other, either dressing in their Sunday best or keeping it comfortable in their loungewear.

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ my dad says. ‘I need the loo anyway.’

  ‘Ohhh,’ my gran scoffs.

  ‘Don’t announce it, Eric,’ my mum ticks him off. ‘Shall we all meet back at the dining table in, say, half an hour?’

  We all agree to reconvene – providing we don’t play Monopoly, because life is too short to spend it falling out with your family over a board game that lasts hours.

  ‘Oh, we should take the family photo first,ʼ my mum says. ‘While we’re all dressed nicely and Selena, Mark and Ben are still here.’

  ‘Still want me to take it?’ Damian asks.

  ‘If you really don’t mind,’ my mum replies. ‘Imagine, a genuine Damian Banks on my wall, with me in it…’

  Damian smiles as he messes with his camera settings.

  ‘OK,’ he says, snapping into professional mode. ‘Everyone gather together around the sofa.’

  We all shuffle into position.

  ‘Ready?’ he says.

  ‘Aren’t you going to be in it too?’ my mum says.

  ‘Me?’ Damian replies. I don’t think he was expecting that.

  ‘Of course,’ my mum replies. ‘This is a family Christmas portrait and this Christmas you are a part of our family.’

  Damian looks at me.

  ‘I saved you a space next to me,’ I tell him, to let him know that, not only is it OK, but we all actually want him in the photo too.

  ‘Well, in that case I’d love to,’ he says. />
  Damian sets up his camera on the sideboard, piled high on top of a stack of DVDs, which he assures us is deeply unprofessional but he hasn’t got a tripod with him.

  He lines up his shot before setting the five-second timer going and hurrying into the frame next to me. He stands next to me, hooking his arm around my waist, leaning into the photo. When he shows us all, to see if we like it, I can’t help but smile at how at home he looks in the picture with us. It just looks right.

  Damian and I head upstairs at the same time. I remember what he said, the day we got here, when he asked to see my bedroom.

  ‘You wanna come in?’ I ask him.

  ‘Erm…’ He laughs awkwardly.

  ‘Just to see, I mean – to see the room. You said you wanted to see my room…’

  ‘Oh,’ he says – almost with relief. ‘Yeah, I’d love to.’

  ‘It’s nothing special,’ I tell him as he follows me into the room. ‘I didn’t realise my dad’s plan to keep the rooms as embarrassment shrines, so I took most of my stuff out when I moved out. I took down my posters; all my childhood stuff is up in the loft. There’s just one bit of me left.’

  I close my bedroom door behind us.

  ‘Lie down on the bed,’ I tell him.

  Suddenly he seems a little nervous again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Lie down on the bed,’ I say again. ‘And close your eyes. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.’

  Damian does as he’s told, sitting on my bed before lying back cautiously.

  It’s dark outside now so I flick off the bedroom lights and lie down next to him.

  ‘OK, you can open them,’ I say.

  ‘Aww,’ Damian says. ‘That’s so cute.’

  For a moment we just lie together, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling.

  ‘I like that, even though you took everything else out, you left these up,’ he says.

  ‘I mean, technically they’re still up there because I can’t reach them to get them down,’ I admit with a laugh. ‘But I do like to fall asleep staring up at them every year when I sleep here. I doubt my dad even realised they’re still up there – not unless he’s had a row with my mum at some point and she’s made him sleep in here. I can’t imagine him sleeping in Selena’s room, can you?’

  ‘I don’t know, it seems like a good room to sleep in if you’re feeling blue,’ he jokes. ‘I swear, I’m used to them now. It’s going to be weird, when I have to go back to sleeping alone, without walls covered with men who are staring at me.’

  Damian sighs, but it sounds more like a sigh of relaxation than resignation.

  ‘I think a family Christmas was just what I needed to chill out,’ he says. ‘Thanks so much for having me.’

  ‘When were you thinking of heading back?’ I ask, while we’re on the subject.

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘Have I outstayed my welcome?’

  ‘No, of course not – are you kidding? I’m pretty sure any one of that lot downstairs would swap me for you in a heartbeat,’ I tell him. ‘I just wondered if you had plans for New Year’s Eve?’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘No, no plans at all… Did you have anything in mind?’

  ‘Why don’t you go see your family?’ I suggest.

  Damian doesn’t say anything, and because we’re lying here in the dark I can’t even see the look on his face to try and figure out how he’s feeling.

  ‘I just think they would all be so pleased to see you, and I think it would do you good to see them,’ I say. ‘And you said it yourself, you’re feeling less stressed, and you’ve loved being around a family… so why not give your own a go? I get that you have issues but – they’re your family. And, honestly, if they’re not making you dress up in Victorian gear or gluing elf ears to you so you can go watch a movie in your pyjamas… I still have glue behind my ears.’

  I stop talking and retreat to minding my own business. In the darkness I feel Damian reach out and take hold of my hand.

  ‘Will you come with me?’ he says.

  ‘Of course I will,’ I reply.

  30

  Where do you think the great Damian Banks comes from? I know he grew up in Banbury but that’s not what I mean. I mean, more specifically, what are the required conditions for creating someone so effortlessly talented? I’m curious about the house he grew up in, what he was like as a kid but, most of all, I’m so curious to see what his family is like.

  After a week of Kirke family festivities, I’m almost looking forward to visiting Damian’s family for a few days. Well, I’ve never seen how other families do the holidays and, while we might be through the festive bit, I’m excited about the New Year’s party.

  As well as being excited, I’m pretty nervous. I don’t know why. This is the first and last time I’ll see the Banks family. I suppose I just want to help Damian reconnect with them.

  I glance into the front of the car to peep at Martin’s satnav.

  ‘Seven minutes away,’ I announce. ‘Did you tell them what time to expect us?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Damian?’ I prompt.

  ‘I didn’t exactly tell them we were coming,’ he admits. ‘They had made clear that I was invited. I said I probably couldn’t make it, because I do feel bad just saying I’m not going – but we all know I’m not – but the offer stays open so…’

  ‘So you’re just turning up?’ I say. ‘Just turning up for a few days, to spend New Year’s Eve with them. With me randomly in tow…’

  ‘Yeah… they’ll be pleased,’ he says but then he doesn’t look so sure. ‘They’ll be pleased, right?’

  ‘They’ll be pleased to see you, for sure, but it’s just… all a bit weird.’

  No weirder than me turning up at home with my boss, I guess, but still. At least I told my family that I was bringing him. They were prepared – physically and mentally.

  Martin chuckles quietly to himself. ‘Here we are,’ he announces. ‘Weird Christmas number two.’

  We’ve clocked some miles together now so I feel as if we can make jokes.

  ‘Come on, it’s going to be fine,’ Damian says with a big smile. ‘I’m weirdly excited to see everyone now.’

  He gets out of the car with a real spring in his step.

  ‘Don’t worry, Martin, we can take our bags,’ he says. ‘Come on, Sadie.’

  ‘I guess I’m going, then, Martin,’ I say. ‘See you in the new year.’

  ‘Yeah, see you then,’ he replies. ‘And don’t worry. No one takes someone to meet their family unless they really like them.’

  I’m so glad Damian didn’t hear him say that. Is that true? Is Damian only comfortable bringing me here because he really likes me? By that logic, did I only bring him home for Christmas with me because I really like him? Obviously I really like him, we’re friends – and we feel closer now than ever – but is Martin suggesting something more? I don’t need to worry about it. He’s a driver, not Jerry Springer.

  Damian’s parents live in a perfectly typical semi-detached house on a completely usual cul-de-sac. I’d wondered if he’d been brought up by super-rich, ultra-eccentric arty types but I couldn’t be looking at a more normal house. It just goes to show, once-in-a-generation talent can grow in any type of land; it doesn’t need to be a purpose-built, crazy hi-tech greenhouse with perfect conditions.

  We stand on the doorsteps with our bags. Damian tries the door, but it’s locked.

  ‘They’re definitely here, right?’ I ask as I turn around and watch Martin drive away.

  ‘The latch will be on,’ Damian says as he rings the bell.

  ‘Don’t look so nervous, they’re going to love you,’ he reassures me.

  I smile. I hope they do. I don’t know why, because there really shouldn’t be any high stakes here, but I really hope they do.

  ‘Rudolph’s lit up,’ Damian says, nodding towards a reindeer light in the window. ‘My parents would never go out without turning that off because my
mum would worry about fires and my dad would worry about the electricity bill.’

  A light appears in the hallway and then it’s only a matter of time before the door opens.

  A sixty-something woman answers the door. If I didn’t know we were at Damian’s parents' house (which seems as if it could have been a possibility, given that they didn’t know that I was coming) I would know, without a doubt, that this was Damian’s mum standing in front of us. She looks just like him – or rather he looks just like her, technically.

  She stares at him for a few seconds, then glances at me, then back to Damian. Then she bursts into tears.

  ‘Damian,’ she says. ‘Oh, Damian! I can’t believe you came.’

  She hugs him tightly before sticking her head back through the front door.

  ‘Ray,’ she calls out. ‘Ray, Ray, quick, come here.’

  ‘Is it that bloody fox trying to tip the bin again, is it?’ a man asks as he emerges from one of the rooms. He’s wearing a pair of navy sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie. I thought Damian looked a lot like his mum but he is the double of his dad.

  ‘Damo,’ he blurts. ‘Bloody hell, what are you doing here?’

  ‘We thought we’d come for New Year’s Eve,’ Damian says, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘If we’re still invited?’

  ‘You’re always invited, to everything, ever,’ his mum insists. ‘And you brought a girl, oh my God, no wonder you didn’t tell us you were coming. I bet you thought we’d put a banner up or something.’

  As Damian’s mum hugs me tightly I look back at him. He nods wildly to suggest that a banner absolutely would have happened.

  ‘Don’t stand out here in the cold, come in, introduce us to your lady properly.’

  ‘You asked for this,’ Damian whispers to me as we head inside.

  The living room is so homely and inviting. There’s a real, roaring fire on the go, and delicious-smelling scented candles lit on the coffee table along with a glass of wine and a beer. I can see that we’ve interrupted them watching Eastenders because it’s paused on the TV.