Christmas is Cancelled

chapter Thirteen





“Breakfast is ready,” Dean called up the stairs.

Tilly had gone up for a shower, and Phil hadn’t yet reappeared, so he’d had valuable time to surf the Internet on his laptop and check flights. He’d also read up on the marriage procedures, all the while keeping an eye on the breakfast, and his idea was definitely doable. His grandmother’s ring was now burning a hole in his back pocket, just waiting to be slipped onto Tilly’s finger.

“Smells good. I could get used to this,” Tilly said, shooting him a smile as she entered the kitchen. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.”

“Me too,” Phil said, right on her heels. “Unless you two are going to be all lovey-dovey and make me want to vomit.” His voice was deadpan, and Tilly whipped round to glower at him before seeing the playful smirk on his face that Dean had been able to see all along.

“Do you still take your passport everywhere with you, Phil?”

Phil’s smirk faded, replaced by a frown. “Yeah, why?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Tilly said as she fixed Dean with a stare. “He asked me, too, but wouldn’t tell me why.”

“Well, when I can get a word in edgeways”—Tilly stuck her tongue out at him—”I’ll explain in full.” His pulse raced as he recalled the words he’d been rehearsing for the past ten minutes. “I will explain, soon. I need to talk to you first though, I owe you an explanation.”

“Oh.” Tilly sank into the seat, her eyes softening, but her mouth tightening with apprehension. “Are you sure?”

Dean nodded and sat; his heart was hammering away like a woodpecker, pumping adrenaline to every muscle, making it difficult to sit still.

Phil hovered beside the table, looking unsure whether he should sit down or grab his plate and leave them to it. Dean caught his eye and tilted his head to the third place setting. “You should hear this too, Phil. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, not if we’re going to become family.”

The weight of Dean’s words sucked all the atmosphere out of the room. Phil exhaled and flicked a nervous glance at Tilly before taking his seat. They both looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Now that the moment had arrived, his mouth had dried up. Swallowing was useless, so he took a sip of water, unable to stop his hand from shaking as he lifted it to his lips.

Tilly reached for his other hand and gave him an encouraging smile. “Why don’t we eat first?” He could have kissed her.

“Good idea.” He was amazed he could keep his face relaxed and his voice calm when he was a gibbering wreck inside. The meal passed in relative silence and was over far too quickly. He stood and started to gather the empty plates until Tilly took hold of his hand again.

“No, Dean. They can wait.”

“Okay. I... I don’t really know where to start. It’s not...” His palms had gone clammy as he gripped Tilly’s hand. He sank back onto his chair before his legs gave way. “It’s not good.”

“Best to get it over with then, mate,” said Phil, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Get it over with, yeah.” Dean nodded. “I got into some trouble when I was fifteen. It was Christmas Eve, late at night. I was already in bed when Mum’s boyfriend came round. He was pissed out of his head and started shouting, beating the crap out of her like he did every other time he got in that state.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’d never been big enough before, but I was filling out by then. I figured I wasn’t that much smaller than him anymore, so I went downstairs to try and stop him.

“He didn’t like it when I got in front of Mum, acting as a shield, so he stuck a swing for me too, but I dodged him and punched him back. Just the once. I didn’t even do it right, only he went down anyway.” Dean focused on a blob of baked beans on the table until even that morphed into Jack’s face, no longer content with haunting his dreams. “I called for an ambulance but...”

“Go on,” said Tilly, giving his hand another squeeze.

“He’d suffered a traumatic subarachnoid hemorrhage.” Tilly and Phil looked at him blankly. “Yeah, it’s a right mouthful, isn’t it? It means he had a burst blood vessel in his brain, partly down to the alcohol in his blood dilating his blood vessels. Rare but deadly.” There was a collective gasp, but he ploughed on—he’d never be able to pick it up again if he stopped now. “He was already dead when the ambulance arrived.”

“He died?” Phil paled and looked at his bruised hands. “From one single punch?”

“Now you know why I don’t get into fights.”

“Shit.” Phil looked like he was going to be sick. “So what happened?”

“The police came for me as soon as the ambulance left, and I was arrested for murder. I spent Christmas Day at the station answering the same questions over and over again. They decided to charge me, and I had to appear at Youth Court; they then had to refer it onto the High Court.”

“Why?” Tilly asked. “You were still a minor.”

“It was too big a case for them to handle. The murder charge got downgraded to involuntary manslaughter... I pleaded not guilty anyway on the grounds of self-defense. I was remanded into custody and had to spend the next seven months in a youth detention center. Mum didn’t even try and visit me once.”

Tilly sniffed; she looked ready to burst into tears. “Hey, it wasn’t all bad, they did practical courses like woodwork and laboring. It’s where I learned my trade. I managed to catch up with what I’d missed at school though, so I did all right in my exams. They even threw me a party for my sixteenth birthday even though they weren’t supposed to do stuff like that.”

“So what happened when you got to court?” she asked.

“My defense produced Mum’s medical records detailing injuries consistent with domestic violence. There was a report from the headmaster at my school, too, to show the dates of my absences coincided with the dates of Mum’s injuries. When it came down to it, the jury found me not guilty, and I was acquitted of all charges.”

“Well, I should think so too.” Tilly was up on her feet, outraged on his behalf. “You should never have been charged, for crying out loud.” She jabbed a finger into Phil’s shoulder. “I told you he wasn’t a murderer, didn’t I tell you?”

“That explains how the murder rumor came about then,” Phil said. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

Tilly shot him down with a glare. “Isn’t being charged with murder bad enough?” If looks could kill, Phil would have been in big trouble.

“No, it’s okay, he’s right,” Dean said, letting Phil off the hook. “There is more.”

“Oh, God.” Tilly flopped back into her chair.

“I should have known something was wrong when Mum didn’t even come to the trial. I think she hated me for taking her boyfriend away. She turned to alcohol and was drunk most days. I used to find bottles all over the house. But then even that didn’t seem to work anymore.

“I was eighteen. It had to be Christmas again, didn’t it?” Dean couldn’t help laughing even though it wasn’t remotely funny. “I came downstairs on Christmas morning and found her in a heap on the floor surrounded by a load of empty painkiller packets and an empty liter bottle of vodka.”

“Oh.” Tilly gasped. “Now I understand the pulse thing. You did that to her too?”

“Yeah. She was stone cold. I tried to revive her anyway. She’d written her suicide note in a Christmas card, which is why I didn’t find it until later on. It was mixed in with all the other cards on the mantelpiece.”

“Shit,” Phil muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair with his hands on his head.

“Old man Bert took more of an interest in me after that, hiring me to do all sorts of odd jobs. Stuff he could easily have done himself, but he knew I needed the money and recommended me to all his mates at the bowling club too.”

“Wow, he always scared the hell out of me,” Phil said.

Dean looked at him. “Did you ever actually try and have a conversation with him?”

“No, can’t say I did.”

“He was a good bloke, we used to chat when I was working, and he’d tell me about his Army days.”

“That’s nice,” Tilly said. “Whatever happened to him?”

“He’s actually the one that gave me my big break. Do you remember me saying I’d come into some money, enough to start a business up here?”

She nodded. “Oh, was it a gift from him?”

“Sort of. He died.” Tilly’s shoulders drooped, and her eyes misted over. “He didn’t have any family, and for some reason, he left everything to me.”

“The rumor was that you’d swindled him,” Phil said. “No one could understand why he’d give you anything.”

“No, nobody knew I was with him a few times a week. More-so at the end, running errands, looking after him when he got really ill. We got pretty close in the end, he was like the grandfather I never had.”

Phil shoved his chair back, the legs scraping over the floor, and stormed out of the room. Dean searched Tilly’s face for answers, but she looked as shocked as he did. They both stood up, trying to decide whether to follow Phil or not. He took the decision out of their hands by barging back into the kitchen.

“I misjudged you,” Phil blurted, raking his hand through his hair. “You were right, it was easier to believe the bad stuff, and that was wrong. I should have had your back. Tilly never doubted you, and I shouldn’t have either.” Phil offered his hand. “For what it’s worth, I was a fool, and I’m sorry. I’d be honored to call you my brother.”

Dean eyes smarted, so he did the only thing he could and hid it from Phil by doing the manly fist-pump thing on each other’s back. Tilly wasn’t fooled for a second and was trying desperately not to cry and threw her arms around them both.

“So does that mean you still want to marry me?” There was only a slight quiver in his voice.

She let out a sob. “Of course I do, you idiot.”

“Thank you.” He could breathe again. “Can you give me your hand then? I’ve got something for you.” He pulled his grandmother’s ring out of his back pocket and slid the emerald and diamond ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit, matching her eyes as if it had been her destiny to own it.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Not half as beautiful as you.” Dean pressed his lips to the back of her hand, sealing the ring in place. “Right, we’d better get packing.”

Tilly tore her eyes off the ring to look at him, the tears spilling on her cheeks sparkling as brightly as the gemstones. “Packing?”

“We leave tomorrow, you’ll need something special.” He was feeling lighter than air. “You too, Phil, if you want to be best man.”