Two Makeshift Christmases

Chapter One

All the noises of the city seemed somewhat muffled by the heavy flakes of snow falling from the sky. There was a distinct lack of traffic—most drivers seemed to have decided against travel today. Even the people who hurried past me, with scarves pulled up over their faces and hats pulled down over their brows, seemed quieter than usual. It was like the snow had cast a large white blanket over the buildings and cast a silence over everything. I couldn’t appreciate it. For one, I wasn't dressed for the cold. My shoes—a battered pair of red converse—were sodden, and my hair was saturated with water. So far, my jacket had kept out the worst of the cold and water, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before moisture started to seep through it. The snow was unexpected and if it kept on at this rate, I decided, the whole city would probably be in lockdown tomorrow. However, I had my priorities today, and I had to get home. Ignoring the biting cold nipping at my toes and scrunching my hands into tight fists in my jacket pockets, I began to battle my way through the weather. I didn’t know where my urgency to get home had stemmed from, but it was there all the same.

I lived with my stepmother and half-sister in an apartment complex not too far from school, where I was returning from. It was eerily silent as I arrived. Usually there were hoards of kids running amok around outside them, and a group of guys in their late teens or early twenties smoking around the shady doorways. Not today. The place appeared to be deserted. I supposed that the kids were probably trapped inside by their over-protective mothers; I’d a feeling that a lot of them would’ve been let out of school early for the day. The guys were probably in some pub or bar somewhere, where it was warm. I wasn’t that bothered by the lack of people, but the silence was unnerving, unnatural and unwelcoming. I hesitated for a moment, staring up at the windows of the apartments—with their welcoming orange glows—and watching my breath as it escaped my mouth in smoky tendrils, dissipating into the rapidly darkening sky. Dragon’s Breath. That was what my sister used to call it... An involuntary shiver coursed down my spine. I grimaced. Slowly, I stepped out of the snow into the building, and made my way upstairs. My shoes squelched slightly, leaving a very visible trail of footprints on the floor. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, I’d reached the door. I was cold, I was wet, but at least I was home. My mouth felt dry as I pushed open the door, wondering whether or not my stepmother would have gotten over the argument we’d had earlier.

The apartment was silent and dark as I pushed the door open; I flicked the light switch but none of the hallway lights flickered into life. Power cut. My stomach seemed to drop, and I immediately wished I'd been home sooner. Hastily, I closed the door and shut the freezing weather outside. I shook the snow off my coat before feeling for a free hook beside the door to hang it on. What was left of the snow in my hair began to melt and I could feel it trickling down the back of my neck, which wasn’t something I found pleasant. The house was cold though, and I found myself shivering as I made my way into the dark living room, wishing that I had a torch.

"Hello?" I called out, my hoarse voice seeming to echo.

There was no answer, but I saw the dark shape huddled by the fireplace, staring at the glowing embers studiously. Monica. My half-sister. At first glance, you would’ve found it hard to believe we were actually related. Monica was only six, my father’s child with Katrina—his second wife, my stepmother. I completely take after my dad, and Monica, she looks like her mum. I was tall for my age, with a shock of unruly black hair; I had a sharp nose and so many freckles that it was like a crazy join-the-dots puzzle on my face. Compare me—the lanky sixteen year old boy—to the tiny seven year old blonde girl with a snub nose, and enough freckles to look cute but not weird, and the last assumption that you’d jump to is that we were blood related. The only thing that tied us together is the fact that our eyes were the same colour. That, and the fact that I was very fond of her, and I guessed the feeling was mutual.

"Hey," I began quietly, walking towards her and squatting down beside her. "Alright?"

At first I didn't think she was going to reply, her arms remained firmly wrapped around her knees and her face turned away from mine. Then, her voice came, small and quiet. "Sure."

I could tell that she wasn't. It was cold, and it was dark. Neither of which were things that she was fond of.She wasn't afraid, but she'd often come trailing through into my room when she was younger, wanting me to check that there weren't any monsters in her wardrobe or under her bed. It'd been annoying at the time, but endearing all the same. Now she was seven, she was much too old for such things. Finally, her eyes drifted around to catch mine.

"It's cold," she stated softly.

"I know," I replied, fighting back another bought of shivers. "Where's Katrina—I mean, your mum?"

"Out," she tossed her light mousey-blonde hair slightly and changed her focus back to the fire.

Out. Out could mean anywhere. She could be late home from work, she could be out at the pub getting drunk, she could be snowed in somewhere, she could be...anywhere. Ever since Dad had died, two months earlier, she’d been unpredictable. Don’t get me wrong, Katrina wasn’t a bad person. Sure, we had never seen eye-to-eye, but she was the closest thing to a mother I could remember. She’d never been unkind to me, and although we weren’t close, she was kind enough to let me—her deceased husband’s son, who she was under no obligation to support— stay with her. If it wasn’t for her I’d be on my own. My real mother had died when I was only little and I didn’t know of any other family members, except my full sister, Riley. Riley was much older than me, but she’d left home when I was only about nine. I had no idea where she was, or when she lived any more. I think she’d fallen out with Dad before she left, she never left us a contact address.

However, I felt slightly angry towards Katrina. She’d left her daughter at home alone during a power cut, and with no means of keeping the fire stoked. That aside, anything bad could have happened! It was almost irresponsible, but I couldn't help but feel that it was somehow my fault, that she'd expected me home sooner. Perhaps she hadn’t realised that I was planning on taking my time, and she was just going to work to earn some more money. After all, it was only a couple of weeks until Christmas. We needed the extra cash... Then again, maybe I was just being stupid and paranoid. I felt bad for the way I'd shouted at earlier, so perhaps it was just the guilt getting to me. Still. I was home now.

I shifted and sat down on the rug next to my sister. Even in the darkness I noticed that her shoulders were shaking. It took me a moment to realise that she was crying. Astonished, I looked at her, concerned, before hastily wrapping my arm around her and pulling her in close to me.

"It's okay," I said to her sobbing form. "It's okay, I'm home."

I had a feeling that it wasn't just the cold, dark or loneliness that was bothering her, but she snuggled into me and we sat like that for a few moments, simply staring at what had once been a roaring fire. Eventually, I decided that it was cold enough. I had to put a log on the fire, something that Monica was strictly forbidden to do, and maybe light some candles or something. I pulled my arm away as Monica’s sobs subsided and tried to get up. However, one of her small hands clutched at the sleeve of my damp jacket. I turned to her. It was too dark too properly see her face, but when she spoke, the sadness was poorly cloaked in her voice.

“Drew...”

“Yes, Monica?” I asked, momentarily distracted from the task in hand.]

“I miss Daddy.”

The bluntness of her statement caused a rush of emotions in my chest, and a lump to form in my throat. I closed my eyes opening them again slowly and turning away so that she wouldn’t notice that there were tears prickling in the back of my eyes. I swallowed, trying not to sound pathetic in front of her. I knew what she felt, but at the same time I almost resented her slightly. At least she still had her mum. Me, I had no-one. The word sounded weird and alien to me, but I couldn’t avoid the fact that I was an orphan.

“Me too, Moni, me too,”