Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,45
was wrong.”
“No, I corrected his stance. Of course I told him that he shouldn’t deal with problems by using violence. Then I bought him ice cream for tea.”
He grins and holds out his fist for a fist bump. “Exactly what I’d have done.” He lowers his hand, his smile falling away. “I hate that he gets crap because of us.”
I stand up and plop down on his lap. “Asa, if it wasn’t that, it would be something else. Kids are cruel. Lord of the Flies sometimes reads more like an instruction manual on child behaviour than fiction.”
He huffs a laugh and hugs me, looking up as Billy wanders back in and asks, “Can I have apple cake for breakfast?”
Asa blinks. “Billy, in what dimension have you ever been able to have cake for breakfast?”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Billy says indignantly. “There aren’t any rules at Christmas.”
“Who told you that?”
“Sam Fisher at school.”
“Is that the one who was making fun of you?”
“No,” he says in a duh voice. “That’s Tristan Sampson. He’s not my friend. I don’t listen to him.”
“Did he upset you?”
“No, why would he?” Billy bends down to pet Stanley. “He doesn’t know anything about us. He doesn’t know that you and Jude love me more than anyone and that you read me stories every night and Jude makes me laugh all the time. I think he’s a bit jealous because he’d like two daddies,” he adds sagely. “But he can’t,” he finishes somewhat callously, abruptly ending his saintly air. “Because I have and he hasn’t, and he’s just a big stupid head.”
Asa dumps me off his lap and stretches before picking Billy up and hugging him tight. “I’m very proud of you,” he says seriously. “You make me proud by the way you try to be kind to people and think about what might be making them unhappy. Maybe remember that Tristan might be sad inside and be kind to him, eh?”
Billy stares at him calculatedly. “If you’re proud of me, does that mean I can have cake for breakfast?”
“Bacon and egg?” Asa says in a negotiating tone, and Billy nods happily.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I say, standing up and sliding my arms around my two boys. “How about after breakfast we take Stanley down to the beach for a walk and then we’ll see if Uncle Dylan and Uncle Gabe have got here yet?”
“Yes!” Billy shouts. “Can we take the kite?”
I shrug. “If it’s windy.”
“It will be.”
“Okay, Michael Fish.”
I wander out of the kitchen, pausing in the hall by the console table to right a couple of figures in the nativity scene. I smile at the Father Christmas and Yoda figures that are currently sharing the stable with Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus. Christmas is a lot more inclusive in the Jacobs house. Last week I’d found two stormtroopers and the Green Goblin in there paying their respects.
Later on, at two in the morning, I have to say that my smile has slipped slightly. Holding Billy’s stocking, which is bulging with small presents, I slowly turn the handle of his bedroom door. The old door creaks and I freeze, but when there’s no response, I step cautiously into the room.
Stanley lifts her head from where she’s lying at the bottom of the bed, and I shoot her the evil eye, silently warning her not to bark like she did before. She immediately adopts a pious air and puts her head back down.
There’s no sound from the bed, and I smile in satisfaction. He’s asleep at last. I step towards the bed and, almost as if synchronised, his tousled head lifts up from the pillow. “Father Christmas?” he says hoarsely.
I groan. “No, mate. It’s Jude.”
“What are you doing in here?”
I think hard. “Erm, I’m looking for the remote control. Have you had it?”
He yawns. “No.” He looks at me blearily. “You’ve been in here a lot tonight, Jude.”
“I know,” I say.
“And you seem to have lost everything and think it’s in my bedroom.”
“Oh, yes?”
He nods, his expression sharpening. “I know what you’re doing.”
“You do?” My voice is higher than it should be. Fucking hell, my first time of having a child at Christmas and I’ve destroyed his belief in Father Christmas. I am a terrible new parent.
“You’re waiting to see Father Christmas too, aren’t you?” he says.
“Oh yes,” I say gratefully. “Yes, definitely.” I laugh somewhat hysterically. “You caught me out, Bill.”
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yes, why?”
“Because you’re quite loud.” He yawns. “Father Christmas won’t come