t h i r t e e n
*
Two days later, I still haven't succeeded in getting Casper to watch any Christmas film other than Die Hard, and I belong firmly in the camp of people who don't recognise that as a Christmas movie. It's an action film that just happens to take place at the end of December, and not even a good one at that. But I know I can change that. I'm working on Casper, who does seem to have loosened up a little since we spent hours at Abernathy's on Monday. When he got back from work yesterday, he didn't grimace at the Christmas tree, and he didn't say a word about my Christmas music until I paused it to talk to him.
Today's the day, I've decided, that we watch Elf. It's one of my all-time favourite films, due in part to it being India's favourite when we were little, so I grew up on it with several viewings every December from the age of two. Hopefully he'll be tired from working a long closing shift, so when I pick him up and deposit him on the sofa after hours on his feet, he'll be powerless to resist a warm glass of mulled wine and a cosy, feel-good film.
It's a week before Christmas, after all, and I'm running out of time to get him to embrace my festive ways. He's heading towards tolerance, yes, but I need more than him just putting up with it. I want him to enjoy it: I want him to smile at this holiday and everything it means; I want him to laugh when we pull a cracker together; I want to cook Christmas lunch with him before my parents arrive. Living with me, he can't avoid a full King Christmas – he'll be here when my parents and my sisters and my brother-in-law rock up on the twenty-fifth, and the only way to make it out alive will be for him to embrace the season.
But I have two hours before it's time to collect him from Java Tea and rather than take a book and hole up in one of the comfy chairs in the corner, I'm meeting my little sister at a cafe closer to her school. Paisley and I used to be inseparable, but time and distance have started to push a wedge between us: with an eight-year age gap, it's hard to be as close as we were when she was a toddler and I was a doting ten-year-old who loved to play Mum.
I've been sitting in the bluntly-named Cath's Cafe for ten minutes when Paisley swings in through the door with a whirl of snow and a trail of slush, almost knocking over a waitress with her bag.
"Hey, Lehem," she says, swooping over to my table and sprawling in the chair opposite me. We're polar opposites: she's short and skinny, all knees and elbows, with dirty blonde hair in a messy topknot and 20/20 vision. India's the same; Juneau and I take after our dad more: taller, rounder, darker, and cursed with poor eyesight.
"Hey, Peabrain."
Paisley snorts, inelegantly lunging forward to take a sip of my drink. She wrinkles her nose when she realises it's an orange latte. "I don't know who you're calling Peabrain, Beaverbutt," she says. "I just smashed my history test. You're looking at the top of the class leaderboard." She sits straight and holds out her arms like she's welcoming applause.
"Nice one, Pea. Clever little monkey," I say as I pull out my purse and find a tenner.
"Ooh, is this a reward system? Ten quid for every test I ace?"
I roll my eyes at her. "No, it's ten quid for you to go and get yourself something to eat, if you want. I told Mum I'd feed you but I'm not going home until seven, by which point I imagine you'll have gone home."
"I'm staying with you tonight," she says.
"What? No you're not."
She stares at me. "Yes I am..."
"How come?"
"Dad's away at a conference in London until tomorrow and Mum had to go and see Granny so if she comes home tonight, it won't be until, like, two in the morning. I told her I'd stay with you. Figured you'd love a bit of sister-bonding, eh?" She grins and steals a corner of my croissant.
Shit. I love my sister dearly, but that puts a spanner in the works. "I don't have anywhere for you to sleep, Pea."
"You have a whole ass spare room."
"And a roommate."
Her jaw drops. I guess Mum hasn't passed on the news about Casper. "What? Since when?! Beth!"
"Since five days ago," I say. "My friend Casper needed somewhere to stay; he's in my spare room."
"Ugh." Paisley sulks and sinks into her chair. "We'll have to share a bed."
"You are not sharing a bed with Cas. First of all, you're sixteen and he's twenty-five. Second of all, just no. You've never even met. That's so weird."
"Jesus, Bee. I meant you and me." She splutters a laugh, spraying crumbs over the table and covering her mouth too late. "Or I can have your bed and you can sleep on the sofa." She bats long eyelashes at me, naturally blessed without the need for mascara.
"Or, you can sleep on the sofa, cheeky little miss."
Her nose wrinkles. "No can do. You see, I have school in the morning, and school is very important to studious pupils like me. I need at least eight hours of good quality sleep." She folds her arms on the table, nodding as she talks. When I flick her arm, she shrieks way louder than necessary.
"I'm not going on the sofa," I say.
"We can share. Like old times!" Paisley grins, bending and flexing the plastic ten pound note. "I'm a very quiet sleeper. Dipsy says it freaks her out, 'cause she thinks I've died."
Sometimes it's hard to keep up with my little sister. Not only does she talk fast, but she has a whole life, a whole set of friends, that I don't know much about. It's been years since we lived in the same house and I was privy to all of her school gossip, back when I knew all of her friends and all of the news.
"Who on earth is Dipsy?"
Paisley laughs. "It's what we call Aaliyah," she says. "She knows, don't worry. Bit of an airhead, but I am totally in love with her." A long sigh escapes her. She steals another piece of my croissant. I push it across to her and figure I'll just buy myself a new one.
That's classic Paisley. She falls in love fast and hard, her heart tripping over every other girl she knows. "Does Dipsy know that you like her?"
"Oh, yeah." She leans back again and swings one leg over the other. "I think she's kind of my girlfriend? Honestly, not too sure. We haven't had the talk"—she puts the words in air quotes—"but, like, we spend most of our time together. And most of that time is spent making out, not gonna lie."
She's such a whirlwind, almost running out of breath as she talks. There are no secrets when it comes to my little sister; as far as I know, she has never felt the need to keep anything from me. I was the first person she came out to, way back when she was twelve, a week before she baited our parents into a conversation about boys, just so she could triumphantly tell them that she's a lesbian.
"Sounds like she's your girlfriend, Pea," I say, laughing. "Congratulations!"
"Cheers. You'd like her. She's fucking hilarious. Not very academic, but who gives a shit about academics?"
I raise my eyebrows at her. "I think you do, Little Miss I-Aced-My-History-Test."
She flaps a hand. "Irrelevant. Anyway, opposites attract, right?" Picking at my croissant, she tears it into pieces and demolishes it within seconds, flakes of pastry cascading down the front of her uniform. A scruffy girl, her shirt's untucked and her skirt's skew-whiff, a ladder in her tights and mud on her shoes.
"Have Mum and Dad met her?"
"Oh, yeah. Ages ago. Before I realised I was, like, totally mad about her. She's been over for several sleepovers. I had Dipsy, Lils and V-dog over the other day and I'm pretty sure the 'rents thought we were having a big ol' lesbian orgy. Not that they did anything about it."
Our parents have always been incredible chilled out, especially compared to some of the stories I heard from friends when I was at school. India and Juneau had a tighter leash at one point, but Mum and Dad hardly know the meaning of strict or rules.
"Anyway," Paisley says, "speaking of attraction, who exactly is this new housemate of yours?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "Someone you're bonking? Have you finally moved on from Lame James?"
"Yes, I've moved on, but no, I'm not bonking anyone. God, Pea, that makes you sound like Dad. What kind of sixteen-year-old says bonking?"
"This one." She pokes her chest. "So, who's this Casper fellow? Oh! I'm gonna meet him, right? If he's living with you?"
"Maybe you should go to Dipsy's house," I say drily. I'm not sure I'm ready tor for Casper to be met with the tornado that is my little sister.
"No can do," she says, clucking her tongue. "Her parents don't know we're together and I'm about as subtle as a bulldozer."
I snort. "You don't say."
"Give me the low down. Who's Casper? How'd you meet? Is he cute? Why is he living with you?"
Untangling her flurry of words and questions, I say, "He's my friend; I met him a few years ago at Java Tea, where he works; yes, he's cute; he's living with me because his boyfriend broke up with him and he had nowhere to stay."
"Bummer. So he's gay? My next question was gonna be if you're hooking up."
"He's bi," I say, and Paisley's eyes light up. "No, we're not hooking up."
She winks at me. "But you think he's cute."
"That's just an objective fact."
"And that is what people say when they want to bang someone they shouldn't bang."
"You're right about one thing, Pea – you're as subtle as a bulldozer."
She laughs and nods. "You know it, Bethlehem. I can't wait to meet this dude. Does he know about me? Has he met any of the fam? Is he staying for Christmas?"
This girl, I swear. She is the human equivalent of a hurricane that swirls in and wreaks havoc with her whirlwind of questions and bluntness.
"He's met Mum."
"How come?" she cries out, suddenly indignant.
"We went for drinks on Monday; he charmed her. And yes, he knows I have three sisters."
She scoots closer. "Christmas, then? Is he staying with you, or returning to his own family, or what?"
"I'm pretty sure he's staying," I say, "but..."
"But what?"
"He hates Christmas."
"Oh. My. God."
"I know. Deal breaker, right?" I joke, but Paisley's grinning and shaking her head.
"No! What was I just saying?"
"Quite a lot."
"Opposites attract!" She claps and grins, mischief dancing in her eyes. "You're meant to be, Bee. You're a total nutcracker and he's a..."
"Grinch. He's a total grinch."
My sister winks. "Not for long, I bet. And I'm here to help get you together."
With a groan, I fold my arms on the table. "No, please don't."
"Too late. Imma steal your bed and he'll be like, ooh, Beth, you can sleep with meee. Before you know it, you're engaged and getting married on Christmas Day next year, and he wants to call your kids, like, Winter and Santa and Wreath."
"In your dreams, Peabrain."
"Nuh-uh." She shakes her head and fixes me with a knowing look. "In yours."
*
"Apparently you live with my sister now," Paisley says when we meet Casper as he's locking up, a few minutes after seven.
"Hmm?" He turns around, surprise fading into recognition when he looks from Paisley to me. "Oh. Hi. Um, yes? If you're a King, of course. Then yes."
"This is Paisley. The rudest of the King clan," I say. "She's staying over tonight."
He slips into his charming customer-ready persona, complete with crooked smile and sparkling eyes. "Hi, Paisley. Nice to meet you. I'm Casper. I'm guessing you already know that though."
She nods, eyeing him. "I also know that you don't like Christmas. Why you ended up living with Beth of all people is beyond me. But I guess it's a good opportunity for you to get the candy cane out of your arse, and it gives Bee something to do."
"Hey," I say, whacking Paisley's elbow. "God, you're so rude."
But Casper's laughing, his eyes creased. "I have a ... what? I have a candy cane up my arse? What?"
"You know," Paisley says as we walk to the car. "Like a stick up your arse, but festive, considering it's the eighteenth of December and you're a grinch."
"Ah, okay. Fair enough." He grins and meets my eye over Paisley's head; we share a knowing look, as though we're a couple of despairing parents.
It's such an intimate look, even if there's nothing particularly intimate about it, that a shiver rolls through me and I have to tear myself away from him after he has already turned away from me.
"Have you been forced to watch any Christmas films yet?" Paisley asks.
"I've managed to avoid them so far," he says. "We did watch Die Hard, but I do-"
"That does not count," she snaps, cutting him off. "I'm talking hardcore Christmas. You know, like, Elf and Nativity and Arthur Christmas."
Casper chuckles. "I've only heard of one of those."
"Fucking hell." She shakes her head and I resist telling her off for her language because I was her age when I started swearing like a sailor. It's strange how I felt so much older then than I can bear to believe she is now. She nudges me and shoots a glance at Casper, as though he isn't two feet away. "You've got your work cut out for you, Bee."
"I'm working on him," I say with a conspiratorial wink.
"And I," Casper says, "am doing a pretty good job of resisting."
*
After Casper cooks – mainly to avoid further interrogation from my sister, I think – we put Elf on and we eat in front of the TV. He has no escape.
"I think this counts as torture," he says, grimacing at the screen as the film starts. It goes in hard and fast with the Christmas theme, from the jolly music to the snowy screen and the festive credits.
"You're just in denial," Paisley says through a mouthful of broccoli. "By the end of this, you're gonna be singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town in the shower and Beth will realise she's created a monster by unleashing your inner demon." She points at his chest, swirling her fork in a circle before she stabs a potato. "There's a heart of holly in there."
"I like your optimism," is all Casper says.
He doesn't say much else for the next thirty minutes, until he offers to take our plates to the kitchen and my sister yanks him back to his seat. Ten minutes later, I notice when he tries to stifle a yawn, eyes twitching and nostrils flaring. I'm more focused on watching him watch the film than I am on watching it myself. I know it inside out by now; I could recite the lines along with the characters; I know each word that comes next before it's spoken.
I don't recall a cut-to-black screen around the forty-five minute mark, confused for a moment before I realise there's been a power cut.
"That's a sign if I ever saw one," Casper says, trying to contain his laughter. "You've pissed off Mother Nature, and mother knows best, right?"
Paisley groans. "The guy's cursed, Beth. I think you need to kick him out."
"I think what I actually need to do is flip the switch in the fuse box," I say with a sigh. Sometimes, when it's cold and windy, the power goes out. But it is an unfortunate coincidence that it happened for the first time in months before I've managed to get Casper to sit through a proper Christmas film.
Somehow, it's almost nine o'clock. I don't know where the time went, between getting home and chatting with my sister and making yummy noises at the smells Casper made in the kitchen. We haven't even watched a full hour of the film yet but next to me, Paisley's tucked up on her side, yawning her head off.
I flip the switch in the cupboard under the stairs. The TV comes back on but the internet's down. It always takes a while to reboot, if it'll even be able to with the way the wind is. My connection is often patchy at the best of times, let alone when there's a storm howling outside.
The sitting room is illuminated by the glow of the fire, crackling flames casting soft light throughout the room. Casper stretches out in his seat, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands, and his eyes fall on Paisley; I follow his gaze and see that her eyes have flickered shut in the five minutes it's been since the power died. I remember being her age, exhausted by school, and the heat of a log fire and a thick blanket are plenty to induce a good night's sleep after a long day of lessons.
"Hey, Pea," I say softly as I nudge her. "I think it might be time for bed."
"Ugh," she groans.
"We can finish the film another day." I know we won't. Maybe we'll start it again the next time I see her; maybe we'll fall asleep to it on Christmas Day, but it's such a familiar story that it doesn't matter if a viewing goes unfinished.
Paisley groans again and drags herself off the sofa. "Mkay," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes and pushing her hair off her face. "Okay, I'm going up."
"I'll be up later. What time do we have to leave in the morning?"
"Uhhh ... quarter past eight, at the latest."
"All righty. Sleep well, Pea. See you in the morning."
She gives me a hug and pats Casper's head before she disappears upstairs. Once she's gone, he looks over at me with a laugh behind his lips.
"She's a card."
"She's ... something," I say. "So, be honest, did you arrange a power cut? Do you have contacts with my energy supplier? Does your grinchiness run that deep that you can't bear to watch one single Christmas film?"
He grins and shakes his head at me, and he tops his glass up from the bottle of white on the coffee table before he comes over to sit where Paisley was, and he fills my glass too. "I'm not that invested, I'm afraid. Or ingenious."
I lift my glass at him before I take a sip, closing my eyes for a moment. There are a couple of seconds of peace, before I'm hit by an intrusive thought that won't go away until I let it spill from my lips.
"Wait."
"I'm waiting."
"You go on about how you don't watch Christmas films, but you called me Cindy Lou the other day." I twist in my seat to face him, one leg pulled up on the sofa between us. "Does that mean you've seen the film of your namesake? Or, I guess, the namesake of my name for you?" I narrow my eyes at him as I ask, "Have you secretly watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas?"
Casper swirls his glass and takes a sip, lifting one languid leg to cross his knees, his right heel gently bouncing against his left calf; his non-wine-holding hand rests in his lap and an easy smile slips over his lips.
"Oh my god! You watched a Christmas film without me?"
His polished exterior drops when he laughs. "No. But you keep calling me the grinch; I had to do some research. It took about four seconds on Google to figure out that if I'm the grinch in this dynamic"—he points at me and then himself—"then you must be the Cindy Lou, right?"
I'm torn between being slightly disappointed that he didn't watch the film – though I'd've probably been upset if he had – and touched that he bothered to check it out. I settle for the latter, and my warm cheeks agree.
"Yeah, I guess I would be."
"My research was very shallow, I'll admit, so that was a shot in the dark."
"Bullseye," I say. "So, I know we only got halfway through, but how'd you feel about Elf?"
He wrinkles his nose. "Do you really want to know the answer?"
Judging by his face, I don't. But I grimace and nod, swigging my wine. It's only my second glass but I can feel it going to my head already; I rarely have more than one when there's rarely anyone to drink with.
"It's, uh, I don't get the hype. Is it a piss take? Because it seems kind of like a piss take. And am I supposed to believe there could be chemistry between Will Ferrell and New Girl?"
"Buddy and Jovie," I correct with a scowl.
"Right. To be honest, I'm with the dad on this one. The whole situation is weird as fuck."
Why is it that he seems a bit less attractive all of a sudden? Just a bit. And not for long.
"Anyway," he continues slowly, eyes on me, "I guess I can't really judge when I haven't seen the whole thing. One day I'm gonna need you to explain why you love all these films so much, but I'll give you time to prepare your answer. In the meantime, a toast."
He holds up his glass until I clink mine against it and he says, "Here's to you."
"To me?"
"To you. The most generous person I know. I genuinely don't know what I'd do without you, even if last week, we had what you called a situational friendship. I like to think it's more than that now."
"I think so," I say, taking a sip when he does. My tongue feels dry, even with a mouthful of Chardonnay. He's staring at me so intensely, as though those dark brown eyes are boring a hole into me, like he is seeing every shadowy corner of my mind.
"I know so. So, here's to you."
He's tipsy. He must be. He's had more than me, on his third glass by now. Maybe he has a low tolerance too. I'm sure of it when he takes a sip and leans forward, planting his hand on my shoulder and his lips on my hairline.
"You're one in a million, Bethlehem King. My shining star."
*
happy monday! i don't know about you guys, but i much prefer mondays to sundays. anyway, hope you like this chapter - a bit more of beth's family!