Brad nods, too welled up with emotion to reply.
We usually hang out with our extended family, aunts and uncles and cousins. But three years ago, we decided to be on our own at Christmas, so if we wanted to be sad, we could. There is nothing worse than pretending to be happy when you’re dying a little inside.
“I’ve found a buyer for Mum and Dad’s house,” Elanor announces.
I frown. “We aren’t anywhere near selling, it’s going to take six months to clean out everything.”
“I’ve done it.”
“Done what?” Brad replies.
“Cleaned out Mum and Dad’s house.”
“What?” I frown again. “What do you mean?”
“It’s been six years, someone had to do it.”
“We told you we wanted to do it together.”
“Well, you two have been fucking around for forever.”
“Because we weren’t ready,” I stammer. “Where is their stuff?”
“Gave most of it to charity.”
I fall back in shock as my eyes well with tears. If she hit me with an axe it would hurt less. “Tell me you’re lying.”
“What good is it to us? I donated it all.”
“What?” I cry as I jump from the table. “How could you?”
“You better be fucking lying,” Brad growls. “We told you not to touch their house.”
“Somebody had to do it. I’m sick of waiting for you two.”
“Where are their things?” I cry.
“I told you, I donated a lot of it.”
I get a vision of all Mum and Dad’s precious belongings sitting in a charity shop. “Where?” I begin to cry uncontrollably.
“Calm down,” she huffs. “I kept the photos.”
“What about my things in the attic?” I ask.
“Gone.” She shrugs casually without a care in the world.
I think of all Mum’s cross-stitch and crockery, her clothes and all the things I wanted to pass down to my children one day, and I cry harder.
How could she?
“I cannot believe you would do this to us . . . Actually, I can,” Brad yells. “You think of nobody but yourself. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You know damn well Kate wanted those things.”
My chest is wracked with tears and I just need to get away from her.
I run upstairs to my bedroom and slam the door.
I can hear Elanor and Brad having the screaming match of all screaming matches and I put my pillow over my head to try and block out the sound of fighting.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Hi Pinkie,
Merry Christmas,
How was your day?
I can hardly read his message through my swollen eyes. I’m not going to drag him down.
It was great.
How was yours?
I screw up my face in tears as I wait for his reply.
When I talk to him, I feel better.
Edgar Moffatt, my sweet distraction.
The only problem is our friendship isn’t even real.