Twelve Days (4 page)

With the tea steeping in the pot, John walked back to the table. “Get it done, lad,” he muttered, hearing his grandfather’s voice in his head. His fingers picked at the serrated end of the tape, managing to peel back a corner until the strip pulled away from the brown paper. There was soon a pile of sticky discarded tape on the table, and John set about tearing through the paper. A picture of Edinburgh Castle appeared on the lid of the tin. “You were right, you little bugger. It is a biscuit tin,” John said with a hint of a smile, thinking back to his earlier conversation with Jamie.

“But there was no way I was going to let you see what’s inside.”

The lid was jammed down tight, but by wiggling first one corner and then the next John managed to remove it with a satisfying but somehow ominous pop.

In front of John was a mass of photographs, but on top was a neatly folded piece of paper with his name written in precise lettering. John instantly recognized it as Aunt Annie’s writing. The letter began with snippets of family gossip before it revealed its real purpose.

These were among your dad’s belongings,
John. We found them tucked away with his
medals and paperwork. I hope you don’t mind
Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

that your stepbrothers kept the medals, but I said
these pictures should be sent to you. Many have
your Gran’s writing on the back with dates and
such. The dates are important sweetheart.

Love, your Aunt Annie. xxx

John turned the first photo over and, sure enough, his gran’s old-fashioned script explained that the little boy in the picture was enduring his first haircut while sitting safely on his father’s knee. Putting it aside, John rummaged through the tin, lifting photos out to put them in orderly piles according to date. There were a lot more pictures of them as a family than John had imagined. Some brought back vivid memories, while others escaped him except for the barest recollections of the smell of beached seaweed on a daytrip to Whitley Bay, or the feel of his mother’s hand enclosing his.

John took a breath. There were still many more photos in the tin, but they were newer. He pulled them out one at a time; school photos, John proudly sporting his first football strip, standing somewhat sheepishly with his girlfriend before their first (and last) date, digging his grandad’s allotment when the task became too great for the elderly man.

On and on they went, long after his dad had left him behind. The image in John’s hand blurred. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking away tears that had begun to well.
The
dates are important sweetheart.

Here in this little biscuit tin was final proof that the dad who had abandoned him all those years ago thought about him, cared about his life. Each photograph documented a Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

stage in John’s life that his father had missed, but needed to somehow be a part of.

“You’re a clever old girl, Aunt Annie,” John whispered, rubbing his fingers over his eyes and refusing to cry, even though stray tears had already made their way down his cheeks.

Seven days…

JOHN had already gone down to open the store, ready for another day of cheery Christmas shoppers with lists in hand, mixed with the few who clearly had no idea how to tackle present buying. The latter John always guided into Jamie’s capable hands. So when the phone chimed another text message, it seemed to boom throughout the silent upstairs apartment.

David stared at the cell phone. It was just a small, innocuous piece of technology, but at that moment it threatened to unravel everything David had achieved over the past few months. Tempted to simply turn it off, David reached out to the nightstand, only to withdraw his hand before he touched it.

He’d not returned Adam’s last call, and now there was a text. David rubbed wearily at his eyes, trying hard to hold onto some semblance of control.

It shouldn’t be this hard. You know how to do this.
The thoughts circled round and round in his head as David clutched at all the coping mechanisms he’d been taught.

Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

With a concentrated effort David slowed his breathing and unclenched his fingers.
Just a message, words on a screen.

Another breath. He focused on the logo first, taking in the tiny sweep of letters, then broadened his vision while still trying to ignore the demands of the flashing red light.
Just a
message….
David’s fingertips tingled as the adrenaline that coursed through his body refused to dissipate. He could feel his anger growing, along with his anxiety. Anger at himself, not the son who was trying to reach out to him.

He sat on the edge of the bed to rest his forearms on his thighs. With slow, steady breaths, David stared as his bare toes curled into the carpet. He concentrated on relaxing them, letting them straighten so he could see they were clean. There was no dirt lodged between his toes or ingrained along his nails…. The skin was smooth and without calluses caused by old boots and no socks. David’s breathing eased.

This is your life now… and Adam should be part of it.
He knew that was true and desperately wanted his son in his life…. Adam was part of his life, so why was it so hard now?

The refrain of a song he used to sing to his son flitted through his mind. It was only a line from the chorus, but it was enough that David found himself humming….
Six white
boomers….
He smiled and remembered teaching Adam the song. Together they’d drawn Santa’s sleigh flying across the sky, being pulled not by traditional reindeer but six big kangaroos, white crayon almost sparkling against the dark blue cardboard. They lay on the floor coloring each present in the sleigh while Adam chattered about what might be in each of the parcels, or trying to decide if some of the kangaroos were girls so extra presents could be hidden in their pouches. The finished drawing was a little smudged Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

and not always colored in the lines, but they both signed it proudly and slipped it into a big brown envelope they decorated with Christmas stickers before addressing it to Adam’s grandparents.

David smiled and glanced at the texted “hello.” He left the edge of the bed and walked through to the kitchen table, where he assembled the necessary art supplies. While he drew he sang softly about the six white boomers, and although he only remembered half the words, he simply filled the rest in with hums and smiles. “Six white boomers, snow-white boomers….”

Six days…

“HAVE you decided if you’re buying your mam’s partner a Christmas present yet?” John asked the teenager sitting opposite him.

“Dunno?” Adam shrugged and fiddled with the straw sticking out of his orange juice.

“Time’s getting away from you, lad,” John pushed, and signaled the waitress to bring him another tea.

“Mmm, I guess,” Adam replied and stabbed the bottom of the glass, crumpling the straw midway. He looked up. “Is Dad bad again?”

John knew he couldn’t lie to David’s son and said, “He’s not too good. Ghosts of Christmas past I think.” When Adam just sat and looked at him, John knew he had to elaborate.

“He’s a bit quiet right now; he does that when he has things on his mind. We talked a bit about some of the things he Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

used to do with you when you were little and I suggested he call.”

“But he hasn’t,” Adam mumbled.

John sighed and stirred a sugar into his fresh tea. “You might need to forgive him for that, Adam. I don’t think he knows how to deal with it this year.”

Adam nodded like he understood, but quickly followed it with a frown that made it clear he didn’t understand at all.

“Wouldn’t it have been harder before… well, before you two got together?”

“I’m not sure what it is either,” John admitted and decided that today he needed that extra spoon of sugar he’d been denying himself. “Perhaps it’s different this year because he’s spoken to you?”

“Shouldn’t that make it easier?”

“For you and me it would, but for your dad….” John shrugged, knowing full well he only had the barest understanding of how David’s mind coped with daily life.

“Do you think it would be okay if I gave him a present?”

Adam suggested. “Maybe came around to your place on Christmas day if I can escape my mum?”

John wanted to lie and say it would be fine, but he’d made a pact with himself to be as honest as possible with David’s son, so he sighed and said, “I don’t know. I’m just not sure how he’s coping right now.”

“This really sucks, you know,” Adam said and shook his head.

John gave a sad chuckle at the honesty of youth.

“Couldn’t have said it any better myself, but we have to see Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

this as a little setback. He’s been doing so well and this is a big hurdle for him.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, not totally convinced, then after a moment of swirling the ice in his juice, stated, “Well, I’m gonna finish his present anyway and even if I can’t give it to him on the day, he’ll be okay after and I can give it to him then. But I really think he’ll figure it all out.”

“He did in the past and I have to keep telling myself to trust him to do it again. Your dad knows we’re there to help if he needs it and….” John stopped, not quite ready to tell the teenager how deep his feelings were for his father.

“And he knows we love him,” Adam offered, then shot John a look that clearly said,
But don’t you dare make me
say it.

John nodded; David knew his son loved him, and perhaps that’s what scared him the most?

JOHN smiled at Jamie, who was finishing up with a customer, and walked to the rear of the store where David was restocking shelves. John ran his hand over the back of David’s fine hair and said, “Adam’s well and still complaining about your ex’s new partner.”

David gave a half smile and slotted another book onto the shelf.

“He wants to talk to you soon, if that’s okay?” The suggestion was made and John waited nervously for a reply that didn’t come. “In your own time,” he whispered, and checked that no one was around before leaning in to gently kiss the curl of David’s ear.

Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

“I don’t want to be like this, John,” David said very softly and dipped his head to look at his hands. “I want to be a proper dad, but
things
get in the way.”

“What things?” John asked and slid his hand down the tense back.

“That’s the problem,” David replied and turned away from the shelf. “Things are stopping me and I don’t know what they are.”

There was genuine fear in his eyes that tightened John’s chest. There was nothing he could physically do to help, and he had never been one to stand back and let things happen around him. “You have us… and your son. There’s nothing going to stop us helping if you ask, David, but we need to know what we can do.”

The answer didn’t help and John knew it when David nodded and turned back to the shelves. He shook his head at his own ineptitude and with a silent caress of fingers over David’s back walked through to the front counter.

“You alright, boss?” Jamie asked.

John let the question go with a wave of his hand and said, “Go grab some lunch and see if you can get him to eat something.”

Five Days…

JAMIE was hunched over his laptop; a frown line creased his brow in concentration
. Scroll, click… next.
The line deepened at another dead end and he hit the back button several Twelve Days |
Isabelle Rowan

times. With a small frustrated growl, Jamie sat back in the chair and stared at the screen. “You will not beat me,” he muttered and leaned forward again to try a new link.

“Do you plan on doing any work today?” John grumbled when he entered the store’s kitchen.

Jamie glanced up, still lost in his thoughts, and said, “I’ll be out in a minute; I just need to do this, okay?”

John was rarely interested in Jamie’s flights of fancy, but there was a tone in his voice that John hadn’t heard before that intrigued him. “So what is it you’re doing that
needs
to be done right now?”

The lid of the laptop was not-so-subtly shut when John moved closer and Jamie shook his head. “It’s a Christmas present and I don’t want anyone to see yet, because I’m not sure if I can get it.”

“Now I’m worried,” John said. “You better not be buying something that would make your mother blush.”

Jamie grinned at the implication and stated, “Do you really think
anything
would make my mother blush?”

“Knowing Maggie, I doubt it.” John eyed the closed laptop and said, “Anyway, it looks like you’re done shopping, so how about you get out to the store and sort the pile of Christmas pick-ups?”

“Yeah, well, you know talking about Mum has made me think I should give her a call.”