“No no. That would be…great.” I got my phone out of my coat pocket.

  “Woah, relic,” Elijah said, taking in my mobile. “I’ve not seen one of those in a while.”

  “Oh, it was my brother’s.” The only way I’d ever got a phone was when Adam didn’t want his any more. I punched in Elijah’s name – he was only the sixth number on there.

  We walked back to the precinct, pointing out our favourite awful festive lights. For the first time in a long time I felt the spirit of Christmas engulf my body. All those warm sensations promised by November adverts became a reality. My smile could be felt in my stomach. We drew to a halt outside a high-street bookshop.

  “This is me,” Elijah said. “I need to get a popular psychology book that’s been widely disproved to troll my mum.” Elijah had explained over cup of tea number two that his mum was a clinical psychologist. But not one that really worked with any clients. “She spends all her time in the lab, doing experiments on children,” he’d said.

  “Sounds like a sensible plan.”

  “Yep, I may get books for my dad’s family too.” He saluted. “Christmas, you do not intimidate me.”

  I wiggled my toes in my boots to try and warm them up. Even though it was freezing, I wanted to stay put.

  “Well, have a good one,” I said. “Or a merry little one.”

  Elijah smiled at me in a way that I hadn’t been smiled at in years. “You too, Sifter. I look forward to hearing your Christmas Carol conclusions.”

  We danced in the cold a moment or two longer, figuring out how to say goodbye.

  “Bye then.” I turned and walked off into the fuzz of lights without risking a hug or a kiss.

  “Bye, Paige.” And then, after a few steps, he called back to me. “See you after Christmas.”

  I smiled the entire walk home.

  The days of Christmas passed without major incident, which was both a rarity and a blessing. We put on our Perfect-Family masks, smiling and happy and basically auditioning to be in a festive commercial where it’s always snowing outside and everyone’s hugging each other in paper hats. Christmas Eve was spent at Nana’s where we really had to up the ante to try and impress her. Adam returned to full Golden Boy form, allowing Nana to fawn over him, feed him up, and ask him endless questions about university. Dad looked on, grinning, so glad to have finally done something to make his mother proud.

  “Like father like son,” he said several times over the plates of Iceland canapés.

  Nana ignored him every time he said it, but Dad pretended she hadn’t.

  “Like father like son,” he’d just repeat, basically to himself, smiling and drinking more red wine.

  I sat, ignored, like I always did. Smiling through my teeth and watching Adam get enough devotion for two with no inclination to share. The highlight of the day was Nana asking me, “So what subjects are you doing again, Paige?” then glazing over before I’d finished telling her for the third time. She looked just like her son when she tuned out like that.

  It got to the point where my Mastermind topic could be, Adam’s first term at university.

  Adam’s favourite module is Richard the Third. Adam’s favourite club night is Motion on a Friday. Adam’s favourite place to get coffee is the Boston Tea Party. Adam’s already chosen who he’s going to live with next year. Four boys. Yes, it really will get messy, won’t it? He’s not drinking too much, don’t worry. Oh, he knows they’re proud. It’s great. He’s great. Adam is so endlessly great.

  Christmas Day itself was terse, as usual, once we didn’t have to pretend any more. Dad was terse about the fact Nana always spends it at Uncle Jack’s. Mum was terse about the fact Aunty Polly was there and Dad hates Aunty Polly. Aunty Polly was terse about all the terseness but hid it with wide smiles, overly extravagant presents, and an incredible ability to Teflon all Dad’s endless digs.

  “How much did it cost you to buy presents for all your cats?”

  “Twenty grand. I remortgaged the house. Would you like some more turkey, Glynn?”

  “Must get lonely, you know? Over the holidays? No one to share it with.”

  “Are you kidding? Getting the whole tin of Celebrations to myself without someone picking out all the good ones? It’s bliss. By the way, do you want twenty miniature Bounties?”

  Mum was a contagiously anxious scribble the whole day; my heartbeat doubled the moment she walked into the room. Everything had to be perfect, but perfect in a way that looked like it wasn’t any effort whatsoever.

  “God, you’re so stressful,” Dad said, multiple times. “Relax, it’s Christmas.” Then, ten minutes later…“These pigs in blankets are soggy, Jane. Can you put them back in the oven? You know what? Never mind. I don’t want them any more anyway.”

  I watched Polly watch her. I saw her fingers grip the table. “Please, let me help,” she uttered countless times to the flap of a dismissive hand. But, despite all this, we made it through the day. I even managed to enjoy segments of it. Like unwrapping the stunning notepad Polly gave me as my present.

  “Oh my God, it’s gorgeous,” I said, stroking the peacock-blue silk cover. “It’s so pretty I’ll be scared to write anything in it.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “You OWE it to a notebook this beautiful to fill it. Otherwise the notepad will get hugely offended and depressed, as you’ll be denying its true purpose.”

  I turned the thick, empty pages, blank and heavy with possibility. My first thought was to use it as one of my school reporting notebooks, but it was just too gorgeous to besmirch with tales of Grace’s bullying antics.

  “What do I write in it?” I asked.

  Polly laughed and hugged me. “Whatever the hell you like. Your thoughts, your interviews, your journalism, what it means to be you.”

  Dad eyeballed it suspiciously, like she’d given me a live bomb. “Careful, Polly,” he said. “She’ll suddenly start thinking she’s going to be the next Shakespeare.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Polly didn’t even look at him. “We are well overdue another Shakespeare if you ask me.”

  He used his hand to make a chattering sound while her back was turned, and I hated him so potently in that moment, I could’ve hit him. Then the rage passed, and all I felt was stupid to think I’d have any thoughts worthy of filling a notepad.

  Elijah: Christmas is weird, isn’t it?

  Elijah: Like, so weird.

  Paige: Weird how?

  Elijah: Just how everyone’s doing exactly the same things in the country at exactly the same time. Like a flash mob, but in the privacy of our own homes.

  Paige: We might be doing different things!

  Elijah: Oh yeah? What are you doing right now?

  I sent a photo of my feet up, surrounded by balls of scrunched-up wrapping paper, the TV in the background playing Frozen.

  Elijah: SNAP.

  Elijah: Told you!

  He sent back a practically identical photo apart from the different carpet.

  Paige: OK, so it’s weird.

  Elijah: Are you eating some Roses out a tin right now?

  Paige: How did you know?

  Elijah: I’m watching you through the window.

  Paige: You’re hilarious.

  And, later, when Dad and Adam were on the brandies, swilling them around with their swollen stomachs puffed out – like they were old gentlemen in the first-class cabin of Titanic before it hit an iceberg.

  Elijah: You finished the book yet, sifter?

  Paige: Almost.

  Paige: It’s OK, but I get a bit bored of reading books that were written in the olden days.

  Paige: Use a full stop or two, Dickens.

  Elijah: That’s your critique of Dickens? He wrote some of the most timeless pieces of fiction ever, revolutionized what we know as “the novel”, and your feedback is…

  Charlie, use more full stops?

  Paige: Yep.

  Paige: I love full stops.

  Elijah: …

  Paige: That was technically an ellipsis…

  Elijah: Wound.

  Elijah:.

  Elijah:.

  Elijah:.

  Paige: Best Christmas present ever.

  Elijah: Don’t you mean…

  Elijah: Best. Christmas. Present. Ever.

  Paige: I’m. In. Heaven.

  It was crazy how easy it was to write messages to him. How much of…me just came out. Parts I’d forgotten I had since Ruby went away and parts I’d forgotten I liked. I smiled at my own words as I punched them out, not even overthinking them, and everything landed with him. Like we spoke our own language, even though we hardly knew each other.

  Christmas Day drew to an undramatic close. I was the only one to walk Polly to the door after Adam won Monopoly.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said, hugging her tight. “Thanks again for the amazing notebook.”

  “Merry Christmas yourself. And, as I said, I want you to fill that thing with your thoughts.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good. And who have you been messaging all day? Has Ruby been in touch or something?” Ruby hadn’t been in touch since the last, terrible time I saw her. I got a flash of hearing Ruby’s voice on the phone in my hallway, muffled, laughing, cruel. Polly sensed me tense up and glanced over my shoulder. “Want to walk me to my car?”

  I nodded. We stepped into the bracing cold. The street was serenely empty with fairy lights blinking in most windows.

  “So, who is it?” she asked with the door shut behind us.

  I smiled from my stomach. “Just a new friend.”

  The word friend felt tingly on my tongue, like it was a dare to say it aloud.

  Polly caught my smile. “Oh yeah? How did you meet?”

  “At school. We’ve only been for one coffee. It might not be anything. They’ll probably not want to meet up again.”

  “Don’t be stupid. They’re lucky to have you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You have to say that because you’re my family.”

  Her eyes darted back to my house and I knew we were both sharing the same thought. That, actually, that wasn’t the truth at all, if my own immediate family were anything to go by. She shook her head.

  “You’re a wonderful person, Paige,” she said. “Honestly, I’m not just saying that because we share blood or whatever – though I’ll be hitting you up for a transplant if my cancer ever comes back.” She laughed, whereas I never could when she joked about getting sick. “You’re kind, and real, and see the world for what it is. That’s rare, you know? Especially for someone so young.” She laughed again at my squirming. “It’s all true,” she promised. “This new friend is very lucky to have you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I don’t lie. Right, I better go see if the cats have all gone feral after I overdosed them on catnip this morning. Merry Christmas, poppet. I had a great day.”

  After one last bear hug, I crept back inside. The sounds of some comedy special blasted from the living-room. Mum clattered in the kitchen, returning the house to perfect again after the wrapping-paper pile and plates of dried-on gravy had bastardized her show home. I felt happy in that moment, and full, and therefore it was a good idea to avoid everyone and go to bed.

  I climbed into the new pyjamas Mum had got me, like she does every year. And, with my smile still smiling, I picked up my copy of A Christmas Carol, snuggled down, and promised myself I’d finish it before sleep.

  It was Boxing Day by the time I reached the end, and the house was silent. I thumped the book shut, and stared at the front cover, letting the story of Scrooge sink in. Then I skimmed back through it, looking at the passages I’d highlighted along the way, reflecting on how much my book looked like the ones Elijah had got through before me. I found the page I was looking for and nodded to myself. This was it. The diamond of the story. I scrambled out of bed, looking for my new notebook hidden under a Cadbury selection box. I yanked it out, and a pen, and opened it to the first page. There’s something so poignant about marking the first page of an empty notepad. And the nicer the stationery, the higher the stakes. I hesitated, wondering if I really wanted to start it this way. Then the pen was bleeding ink onto the page, my handwriting staining the thick paper of this fresh start. My hand moved for me until the line was written. And when I read it back, I was glad I’d started the notepad this way.

  I closed the book with a thwack, shuffled down under my heavy tog duvet and stumbled wonderfully into the nicest of sleeps.

  Elijah: Happy Boxing Day. Does anyone ANYWHERE know what that means?

  Elijah: You’re not allowed to google it.

  Paige: Morning! Umm, I thought it was because you put all your Christmas presents into boxes?

  Elijah: Just after you’ve received them? Shove them in a box the next day? Oh my God, you’re SO ungrateful.

  Elijah: Remind me never to get you a Christmas present.

  Paige: Does this book not count?

  Paige: PS: It loves its new box home.

  Elijah: Heathen! I can’t believe you put Dickens in a box.

  Elijah: He’s going to send three spirits to haunt

  you and make you think about what you’ve done.

  Paige: Jeez. Is that his default way to solve problems? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?

  Elijah: LOL

  Elijah: I wrote that because I did, literally, laugh out loud.

  Paige: *bows*

  Elijah: What are you doing today anyway? I’m in divorced parents hell. I have to go to my dad’s house and have Christmas again and pretend it is actually still Christmas.

  Paige: You are gaslighting Christmas.

  Elijah: LOL OMFG

  Paige: I am hiding in my room away from my hungover parents, and feeling smug about the fact I’ve finished A CHRISTMAS CAROL already.

  Elijah: You have? I’m only up to the ghost of Christmas present. I blame my mum making me pretend to be all happy families yesterday. Have you sifted yet?

  Paige: *bows*

  Elijah: I knew you would’ve. Gah! OK, wait for me to catch up. I’ll get lots of reading done tomorrow when the gaslighting of Christmas is done. Want to meet up on New Year’s Eve for coffee to compare our findings?

  Paige: Sure. That would be great!

  The days leading to New Year’s Eve dragged so badly I felt like I was crawling along on my stomach using my elbows.

  “Alexa, why won’t time hurry up?”

  “Your computer may be slow for a number of reasons. When did you last update it? How much memory have you used…?”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  Silence.

  “Alexa, what is A Christmas Carol about?”

  “It’s a festive tale of redemption and compassion.”

  “Alexa, I love you.”

  The song “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” started playing from the speakers.

  “Was that an ‘I love you too’?”

  Silence.

  A day sludged past. Another day passed even sludgier than the previous day’s sludge. I was always too nervous to message Elijah first, and always waited before replying. I convinced myself I was annoying and needy and desperate, and he’d smell it on me and not want to message any more. But he messaged regularly, and our conversations were long and rambling, philosophical and funny. It was such a weird juxtaposition – my phone pinging silently with alerts, while my parents hovered around Adam like flies, and hardly acknowledged me at all. At least Dad was being calm. It was almost worth all the ignoring for that.

  Far too slowly, the last day of the year arrived. I woke up super early – a pathetically eager response to a simple coffee meet-up. Elijah hadn’t mentioned New Year’s Eve night, but I assumed he had great fun plans, like everyone else in the universe who wasn’t me. Adam was going into town with who he now referred to as his “hometown friends”. Dad and Mum were doing their annual jolly to the local four-star hotel’s “Shindig”. Yes, that was actually what it was called. None of them had asked me what I was doing.

  I started getting ready at twelve, wondering if maybe I was more like my mum than I’d thought. I washed my hair, and found a YouTube tutorial to work out how to blow-dry it in a nice poofy way. It came out only a tenth as good as in the video but, still, a huge improvement. I stole a few pumps of Mum’s nice-smelling creams from the bathroom and blinked my old crusty mascara onto my eyelashes. I was even grateful for the mustard hat-and-scarf set Mum had got me for Christmas. I arranged the rest of my outfit around it, after asking Alexa what went with yellow.

  By two, I was all ready.

  By two-thirty, I took off my hat, scarf and gloves because I was too hot.

  At three, I put them all back on again.

  At three-fifteen, I went downstairs with my bag.

  “Just off out,” I told Dad, who was watching the TV in his favourite chair.

  He nodded.

  “Just off out,” I called up the stairs. My reply was the running water of Mum’s shower. Adam, at least, called down a disinterested “Bye”.

  It was dark already, the Christmas lights now taunting everyone rather than cheering them.

  I kept checking my phone, for a message from him cancelling. I thought I’d be first to arrive as I was ten minutes early. I looked through the coffee shop window to find it empty compared to the week before. But there, among the non-crowd, was Elijah, sitting at the same table as last time, lost completely in A Christmas Carol.

  I felt a ridiculously overwhelming urge to break into tears. He had come. Of his own free will.

  I took some deep breaths and, when satisfied I’d disguised my patheticness, I put a smile on my face and walked through the door.

  The warmth from the central heating was nothing compared to the warmth of Elijah’s smile. He even stood up to greet me, arms open for a hug.

  “Paige, hi. Oh my God, you have to try the festive orange hot chocolate. I’ve only just discovered it and it’s being discontinued tomorrow and won’t be back till the sixteenth of November NEXT YEAR, can you believe it? Life giveth and life taketh away. Anyway, get one, get one. I’m going to get another. I’ve already had two. Full of sugar, can you tell?”