‘Danny, could you go and see if the cherry pie’s done?’
I was in the middle of opening a forgotten stack of Christmas cards and putting them on the mantelpiece. They’d arrived earlier in December but had been tucked out of the way, and if I didn’t open them today the entire purpose of their festive wishes would soon be irrelevant. Pete was glued to Miracle on 34th Street, with the rapt attention of someone trying to make sense of a play by Pinter. We were supposed to be having guests round – the Winters. They were Pete’s friends, as usual, although these ones were normally quite fun to be around. Sadly, they’d both come down with some horrendous colds and had to cancel, saying they didn’t want to give it to us in time for Christmas Day.
‘Very considerate of them to warn us,’ I said, although I was a little irritated that I had already bought the food we were going to cook for them.
‘Either considerate, or they couldn’t be bothered,’ Pete mumbled as he started eating some of the nice crisps I’d planned to put in bowls.
So instead of a lively festive gathering, we’d settled down for Christmas Eve on our own, eaten our dinner without our guests and were now about to tuck into a warm cherry pie in front of the television and the roaring fire. It would have been idyllic and cosy, if it hadn’t been for our main growing concern: Danny. He’d spent nearly all of the day in his room and when I tried to give him jobs to do – like pop out to the shops to get some cinnamon and ginger – he’d just grunted and trudged off without even saying goodbye. He only came down to watch a Christmas film with us because I went upstairs and guilt-tripped him into it, saying it would be nice to spend such a special evening with his parents rather than stare moodily at the walls of his room. It was almost like he’d reverted to being a child again – though a withdrawn, difficult child, quite different from the boy he used to be. This impression was amplified further when I consistently heard audiobooks of stories like The Famous Five and The Chronicles of Narnia coming from his bedroom rather than the usual thudding bass of a rock song or something he was streaming on Netflix. I got the feeling he was seeking comfort and solace from the familiarity of those childhood tales, although what he was trying to escape I still couldn’t find out.
For all his determined concentration, Pete fell asleep at 9.25pm, just before the film ended. Considering it had been me who had done most of the work that day, I wasn’t too impressed with this, although didn’t complain when he said he might go to bed for an early night. This left Danny and me alone. I asked him if he wanted to choose something else to watch – perhaps another film?
‘No,’ he just said, barely looking up from his phone screen. He got to his feet and stretched, then mumbled something about going to bed too. I made a joke about how lucky it was we weren’t one of those families who went to midnight mass, otherwise we’d all be falling asleep in the service. He didn’t respond.
I decided I’d had enough. Taking a deep breath, I said, ‘I wish you’d just tell me what’s wrong.’
This was going against what Pete and I had agreed a few days before. We’d both been nagging Danny to explain why he was acting so strangely, with me maintaining it was something to do with that weird scene I’d witnessed in the boys’ bathroom. But we never really got much of a response, just assurances he was fine and entreaties to stop pestering him. Pete decided we should just leave him to work through whatever it was. ‘Teenagers have friendship problems, relationship issues, make-ups, break-ups, sexual experimentation, all that sort of stuff,’ Pete said dismissively. ‘You must remember what it was like when you were his age.’ I told him I did, although I chose not to mention that the one big crush and sexual experience that had defined my later teenage years had all been down to him.
Although I had prepared myself for a cold response from Danny, when I asked him on that Christmas Eve night when we were alone in the lounge, I wasn’t ready for what he actually said. He froze halfway to the door, then turned around slowly to look at me. There was something deeply unsettling about his face, like he was in severe pain or trying not to be sick. Then he said, ‘Stop asking me. Please. Just stop.’
That was when I worried something really, really serious was going on. I took a step towards him and saw some tears escape his eyes. ‘Danny, my love, please… what is it?’
He rubbed at his face, as if furious at himself for letting the tears fall, yet unable to stop them. ‘It’s all just… I can’t… I don’t know…’
‘Just tell me what it’s about. Please. Just a few words, just give me a hint. I’ll do anything to make whatever it is go away, or we can sort it out…’
‘It’s… photos…’
I frowned, confused, although even without any context, there was something in that word that made a chill sweep the length of my neck and back. ‘What photos? Who has photos? Photos of what? Is this… is this to do with Jonathan?’
He winced at the sound of the name and wiped more tears away.
‘Tell me, Danny, or I’ll march over the road to that house right this second and demand that boy explain everything if you don’t start talking—’
I shouldn’t have made that threat. Perhaps, if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have made his. Because the next words he said were the worst he’d ever spoken.
‘If you do that… if you tell Dad about this, or try to ask me about it again, I’ll tell everyone about what you did.’
If the cold ripple I’d felt earlier had been a chill, what I experienced then was an ice-cold tidal wave, cutting through me, ripping me to pieces. He couldn’t have just said what I’d thought. How… how could he possibly…?
‘Danny…’ I said. It was the only word I could muster.
‘You heard what I said. I know everything. Don’t ask me about it again and I’ll keep your secret. Even though it makes me feel ill thinking about it.’
He looked at me as if I were a stranger – a terrifying, repulsive stranger. Then he left the room, leaving me standing there by the Christmas tree, as the strains of ‘Silent Night’ emanated from an advertisement on the television behind me.