Harry was woken up by Jemima tapping on his forehead at five in the morning. ‘No, you have to go back to bed, it’s too early.’
‘But Santa’s been.’
Hannah rolled over and with her eyes still shut said, ‘I know, but Santa might come back and take it all away if you’re not careful.’
Jemima legged it out the room.
‘Can you say things like that?’
‘Anything, Harry, you can say anything, as long as it makes them go back to sleep.’
It was seven thirty when Jemima came back in again, dressed in her little reindeer pyjamas and dragging her stocking behind her, she clambered into bed between them. Harry had to rub his eyes to wake himself up properly. They’d gone to bed at maybe one in the morning, two, perhaps, wrapping stacks of presents and drinking the port that had been opened for Santa.
Hannah yawned and stretched next to him. ‘How did you sleep?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea,’ Harry said. ‘I was asleep.’
She rolled her eyes and bashed him on the arm, then looked down at Jemima who was pulling little parcels out of her stocking at lightning speed.
Suddenly there was a loud ‘Morning all!’ and the door bashed open.
Harry looked around, startled.
He saw Hannah rolling her lips together to stop from smiling.
‘How is everyone this fine morning?’ Dylan asked as he swept into the room with a tray filled with mugs of tea and chocolate biscuits. ‘It’s snowing outside, I hope you realise. Actually snowing on Christmas Day. Never happens. Should have put a bet on.’
Harry wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Why was Dylan in their room? When Hannah had said they were going back to her parents’ for Christmas Day she had never mentioned this.
‘Budge over, Harry,’ Dylan said, lifting the covers and squeezing in next to Hannah so that Harry was now half off the bed.
‘Maybe I’ll go and sit in the chair,’ Harry said, lifting the duvet ready to get out.
‘You can’t sit in the chair,’ said Dylan. ‘That’s where Tony sits.’
As if on cue Tony strolled in in his satin dressing gown and slippers, a cafetiere for one on a tray with a mug and a little jug of milk, and made himself comfortable in the armchair.
Next came Robyn, her glasses on wonky, her hair a mess as if she’d just woken up. ‘Morning. It’s snowing. Did you see? Ooh, Jemima, can I have a chocolate coin?’
Harry looked at them all, then back at Hannah who tipped her head to the side and gave him a little smile of pity. ‘Is it all too much, Harry?’
He frowned. ‘No. No, I can handle it.’
‘You sure?’ Hannah asked.
He nodded.
‘We’ll be home tonight,’ she whispered.
‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ Harry nodded.
Then the door opened again and in came Hannah’s parents, dressed in their matching dressing gowns with a cup of tea each and her dad carrying a handful of stockings.
‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ Harry whispered under his breath.
‘Harry!’ said Jemima. ‘It’s Jesus’s birthday.’
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Harry nodded. ‘Sorry. Yes.’ And then watched as Hannah’s parents sat side by side on the sofa as Robyn leapt up and grabbed the stockings.
‘There’s one there for you, Harry,’ Hannah’s mum said as Robyn handed him the red felt sock packed with little presents.
Harry tried to remember when the last time he’d had a stocking was. Maybe twenty years ago? More perhaps. He wanted to shrug it off, to say that it wasn’t necessary and that he was far too old for a stocking.
But before he could, Jemima said, ‘And we’ve got ones for you, Granny and Grandpa!’
Much oohing ensued as Jemima jumped off the bed and went to pick up two stockings that were resting against the side of the sofa out of sight and handed them to her grandparents.
With the spotlight off him, Harry found himself free to contemplate the strange novelty of having a stocking. He felt the weight of it first, then inspected the lumpiness of the presents poking out the sides, the crackle of the gift wrap, the clink of maybe some chocolate coins in the foot and perhaps a tangerine, and as he reached in to take out the first gift he felt the bubbling sense of childhood rush up through him. He felt his eyes widen and his heart beat slightly faster as his fingers tingled with anticipation.
Then he looked up to see the whole of Hannah’s family watching, a bit nervous, to see if this was all OK, if Harry was onboard or not. And Harry just about managed a half-smile before instinct overtook him and he started ripping the wrapping off the present. He heard Hannah laugh next to him, felt Jemima cling onto his arm to see what it was, saw Robyn out the corner of his eye already on her second or third little trinket.
What had they got him? It barely mattered. A pocket cycle map of London, a bar of shaving soap, luminous socks, a snow globe of New York city. The expectation of every package was enough to make Harry feel Jemima’s age. To remember what Christmas could be like when all that mattered was whether Santa would like the sherry and mince pies, if Rudolph would like the carrot and there’d be huge pile of presents under the tree, a bulging stocking at the end of the bed and a massive turkey on the table.
The last present was Top Trumps Food which Jemima proudly announced had been her idea and should they play a game now.
‘No we’ve got to get up. What time’s your mum getting here, Harry?’ asked Hannah.
‘Sorry, what?’ Harry said, distracted by the array of little gifts, by the pile of chocolate coins, and then by how much he enjoyed the sip of tea as he sat back against the cushion and watched Tony pour his coffee and peruse the paperback he’d been given, Dylan reach over and take the Top Trumps and start a game with Jemima, Robyn start painting her nails with some new nail varnish and Hannah’s parents inspect their surprise gifts.
‘Your mum,’ Hannah repeated with a half-laugh. ‘And your sister? What time are they arriving?’
‘Oh, erm…’ Harry frowned then looked at his watch. ‘Not for a couple of hours yet. No we’re fine. Yeah. Deal me in, Dylan. I’ll play.’
Jemima whooped and Harry felt Hannah’s arm around his shoulders as she leant over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she pulled Jemima onto her lap so she could sit close to Harry and flick through the Vogue that had been in her stocking while Dylan, Jemima and Harry played Top Trumps and everyone else drank their tea or sipped their coffee and examined their odd little presents in intricate detail. Exactly as this new family’s Christmas morning should be.