Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Christmas Eve 4:50 p.m.

For noodles’ sake. I should never have told Adam off for flirting with me. I reckon I could have escaped him quickly, gone to Tesco to grab my booze and none Christmassy food for the week and scooted off back to my safe haven. But I must have pissed him off because now he has decided that he simply must have decorations for his tree because – and I quote – ‘a tree without decorations is like Christmas pudding without brandy, completely unreasonable and and an insult to the festive season.’ So now we are in the little Notting Hill Gift Boutique choosing baubles. And the little Notting Hill Gift Boutique is indeed little. The owner – a kindly looking elderly cockney looks horrified as the pair of us squeeze ourselves in, crutches, Christmas tree and all. It is incredibly difficult to negotiate the wheelchair between the ornaments, plants, candles and junk and not knock any of it over.

‘We’re not really wheelchair friendly,’ the woman says with a shrug.

‘Maybe you should make a few changes?’ I suggest. ‘People in wheelchairs buy gifts too, you know.’ I point to the massive row of porcelain cats in the middle of the shop. ‘How many of these do you sell?’ I ask.

The woman shrugs. ‘About one a week at Christmas and about one a month the rest of the year. They’re not our best sellers.’

‘That’s because they are very creepy. If you just displayed one of them and kept the rest in the back then there’d be enough room for a wheelchair user to move around more comfortably.’

‘It’s a beautiful shop,’ Adam says leaning his Christmas tree and tinsel wrapped crutches against a bare bit of wall by the door and giving the assistant his big smile. The woman immediately smiles back and even gives a little giggle. I look at her name tag. Denise. Denise is old enough to be his granny, yet is reacting to him in the exact same way as the girl serving us the perfume. I don’t get it!

‘That’s a very good idea about moving the cats,’ Denise gushes, still looking at Adam, as if he made the suggestion.

‘It really is,’ Adam shrugs modestly, also as if he made the suggestion.

‘I will move them as soon as you’ve finished shopping in here.’ Her eyes flick up to me and then immediately back to Adam as if she simply can’t bear to look away from him.

Adam claps his hands. ‘Right, Phoebe! Help me choose some baubles!’

This is my actual nightmare. Choosing plastic balls for a plant that, little by little, dies in your home. What is even the point? Christmas is ridiculous!

The shop assistant points us in the direction of the Christmas decorations, and a little selection of coloured glass baubles. Even I have to admit that the way they shine under the display lighting is really quite enchanting.

‘What’s your favourite colour, Phoebe?’ Adam asks. ‘Mine is red.’

‘My favourite colour? What are we? Ten?’

‘Mine is duck egg blue,’ coos Denise who has swiftly and silently traversed the shop to be standing next to Adam, looking down at him with the kind of twinkle in her eye that should frankly be kept private.

‘Go on, love. Tell him. Your favourite colour.’ She slightly nudges me with her shoulder as if I’m acting like a spoilsport, which, to be fair has kind of been my default state for a while.

‘Fine.’ I roll my eyes. ‘My favourite colour is green. Like a jade green. A witchy green. Like that bauble there.’

‘Witchy green. Sounds about right,’ Adam mutters. I ignore him because he’s not wrong and also he is not flirting and as long as he’s not flirting he can say whatever he likes.

‘Jade green. Very nice.’ Denise nods with approval.

‘That decides it then. I will take three red baubles, three duck egg blue baubles and three witchy green baubles.’

I glance at the price tag. These baubles are ten pounds each! Adam is going to spend almost a hundred quid on baubles? That would get me two weeks worth of food shopping! His books can’t be doing too badly if he can afford that. Or maybe it’s Mummy’s money he’s using – wouldn’t surprise me. He definitely has more than a touch of spoiled brat about him, what with the entitled behaviour and the threatening to tell over me if I was mean to him.

‘Will you choose a star, Phoebe?’ he asks me, with a kind smile that makes me feel slightly guilty for thinking bad thoughts about him. Maybe he just saves his money up like an adult? I should really try harder not to jump to conclusions so readily.

‘I will,’ I say, walking over to a shelf filled with sparkling stars made with little diamonds and pearls and gold and silver glitter. They’re beautiful! One of them, though, is extra special. It’s smaller than the others. It’s made out of copper, twisted and bent to form a star. At each bend in the copper there is another tiny copper star. It’s really elegant and unusual. I pick it up and enjoy the pleasing heaviness of it in my palm. Then I see the price tag. Fifty nine quid!

‘Fifty nine quid!’ I yell, unable to help myself.

‘Well, it’s hand-made by a local artist,’ Denise sniffs, heading over to the till and ringing up the purchase.

‘I do like to support the arts,’ Adam says, wheeling himself over to the counter where while Denise carefully wraps up the star and baubles. ‘It’s my duty as a writer to support our creative community.’

‘You’re a writer?’ Denise breathes.

‘Yeah. I write that series The Newcomers. The one about the teenagers who find that spaceship? It won the YA book prize three years ago and book four in the series has just been released.’

I roll my eyes, peek through all the sparkly decorations in the window and look outside. Shit. People are finishing work now which means Tesco is going to be chock-a block. I curse myself for leaving it too late to do an online order.

We eventually leave the shop, Adam having cheerfully agreed to mentor Denise’s granddaughter who also wants to become a professional writer. The bags and trees and crutches are piled precariously upon Adam’s thighs, making the wheelchair extra hard to push.

‘Ready to go home now?’ I say to Adam, already moving as swiftly as I can, which is not very.

Adam responds by lifting a hand to his ear, as if he’s in an old black and white movie and can hear something compelling in the distance. ‘Is… is that carol singers?’

I prick my ears and hear the sound of a group of people singing Good King Wenceslas, which is surely the shittest of all the Christmas songs. My head thumps a little harder in protest at the very sound of it.

‘Follow the singing!’ Adam declares, pointing a finger in the opposite direction to his house.

I stop short of stamping my foot like a toddler in a tantrum.

‘I thought we were going back now?’ I hiss. ‘I still need to get my food shopping from Tesco and it’s getting busier and busier out here.’

Adam wheels himself round so that he’s looking up at me.

‘Listen, if we could just go and see the carol singers for a little bit I will pay for your food shopping.’

Of course! Rich kid thinks he can flash the cash and get whatever he wants. But a free food shop would not be totally unfortunate. Maybe I could get some extra stuff. And maybe I could get all the extra special Tesco Finest brand rather than the cheap Tesco own brand I usually get. And maybe I could pick up some bits and pieces to take to the food bank, if he’s paying. And maybe I’ll buy some nice new books and a new bra while I’m at it!

‘Deal,’ I shrug, being careful not to let my face display my plans to spend a ton of his money.

‘Yes!’ Adam pumps his fist and I wonder, once again, how much codeine he’s taken.