I don’t know when Novel Number Six will be ready for general release, but considering all the work that’s gone into editing it this year, I have some hope that it might be next year. While the work has been in process, I have been keeping a tight lid on the details of the plot. However, in recent posts I have revealed a little bit more about the characters. It is exciting to share something that is so close to my heart but also quite nerve-wracking, especially when there is still the potential for improving changes to be made. However, I will never forget a time when Sebastian Faulks, author of Birdsong, came to the bookshop to do an event for his book The Fatal Englishman, a non-fiction book that he had written. To our great surprise and pleasure, he read us an extract from the novel he was currently working on, which happened to be Charlotte Gray, the follow-up to Birdsong. I had never known an author to share something from an unpublished novel before and I was awestruck. And it has made me want to do the same. Obviously, I’m not comparing myself with Sebastian Faulks, but I am pleased with the work I have done this year and I’m eager to tell you more. And having told you about the Christmas section in my last post, I thought it would be appropriate to share an extract from that part of the novel; hopefully it will give a taste of what is to come without giving too much away. Consider it a little Christmas present from me. I hope you find it interesting, and that it whets your appetite for the rest of the novel. MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Then Mum packed us off to bed, with strict instructions not to come downstairs or to do anything that would wake Louis or Alex. That was fine with Jay and me, as we had our own plan. We crept upstairs to my room, with the intention of staying awake till midnight and then exchanging our presents.
“I love Christmas Eve,” I said as we crashed down on my bed to wait out the final minutes. “Why is it so much better than Christmas Day?”
“It’s the sense of anticipation,” said Jay, “before the disappointment of reality sets in. I can’t believe your family still goes through that rigmarole of leaving a drink and a snack for Santa.”
“It’s for Louis and Alex,” I said, though I wondered if Jay had seen just how important the ritual was to me.
“You know, Louis doesn’t believe in Santa anymore,” he said. “He told me he was just going along with it for Alex’s sake but Santa was for babies.”
“Probably worried he would get less presents if he doesn’t,” I said.
“Alex isn’t so sure though,” said Jay. “He admitted that he was almost certain that Santa couldn’t exist, but he was worried about what would happen if he was wrong. I mean, it wouldn’t be wise to piss Santa off by not believing in him, would it?”
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“Well, I had to agree with him,” said Jay. “We had a very interesting discussion about pragmatism and altruism.”
I smiled at the thought of this symposium between Jay and my youngest brother, knowing that both would have enjoyed it for very different reasons. “I guess it won’t be long before we have to admit truth,” I said, “but keeping up the pretence has been part of the fun. It won’t be the same when that’s gone.”
“I found out the truth when I was five,” said Jay. “One of Mum’s boyfriends thought it would be funny to tell me that Father Christmas was just a lie made up to make kids behave.”
“Really? But that’s horrible,” I said. “Didn’t your mum do anything?”
“I think she tried, but it was too late,” said Jay. “She said I probably would have worked it out soon anyway. I was always smarter than her.”
Although there was probably some truth in this, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little boy who had had the magic ripped out of Christmas by one vindictive adult. Something else occurred to me.
“Then you knew the truth all those years and never said anything,” I said. “You must have thought we were all idiots.”
“No,” said Jay. “I didn’t want to spoil it for you too. I can see why parents do it. In a way, Santa does exist, as a collective psychological impulse to make magic for children.”
“Yeah, that would look good on a Christmas card,” I said, making Jay laugh. But I still felt sad for him. He said he hadn’t wanted to spoil it for us, but I guessed that he had also been hiding the reality of his shitty childhood from us. Not only had Christmas been ruined for him, but he had been ashamed of admitting it. It was so unfair, it brought tears to my eyes. To hide them, I decided to ditch waiting for midnight and give him his present straight away.
“Here, I can’t wait anymore,” I said. “Open it now.”
As he ripped off the paper, he looked as excited as a little child. When he saw the fountain pen, his face glowed.
“Wow, that’s so nice,” he said. “It must have cost a fortune.”
“I saved up,” I said. “You’re worth it.”
He looked at me suspiciously, scrutinising me for signs of pity. I quickly put on a playful act. “You’d better not lose it,” I said.
“I won’t,” said Jay. “Here, your turn.”
I took the present he handed to me. It was big and squashy, and something of a mystery, as he had hardly been out of my sight since moving in and I didn’t know where it had come from. And then I realised that I did.
“This is one of your presents,” I said. “It’s the one from your mum, isn’t it.”
Jay grinned sheepishly. “Busted,” he said.
“I can’t take your present,” I said, pushing the parcel back at him.
“I want you to have it,” he said, pushing it back. “Mum gave me some money as well, and I figured I could either use it to buy you something, or give you this. Don’t worry, I’ve checked what it is. I think you’ll like it.” When I still hesitated, he said, “Please open it.”
I pulled off the paper to reveal a hooded sweatshirt, bright red and very baggy.
“Oh, it’s great,” I said, putting it on straight away.
He smiled shyly. “It makes you look like Santa,” he said. “If you don’t like it, I’ll get you something else.”
“No, I love it,” I said, seeing the generosity behind the gift. “Won’t your mum mind?”
“She probably won’t notice,” said Jay. “It looks better on you anyway.”
I leant over and hugged him. He squeezed me really tightly, keeping hold of me for longer than I had expected. But he had shared something more intimate than a present with me that evening, and it had brought us even closer together. Maybe it was that Christmas Eve magic at work.
M J Schofield 