Page 71 of The Merry Christmas Project

‘No, no, nothing like that. I er …’ he exhaled. ‘I er … I came to use the bathroom. I’ve been at my dad’s and must have drunk three mugs of tea and after I left his flat and went out into the cold, well, I needed to go.’

‘I see.’ Poor, poor man. Nothing worse than being really desperate. Except perhaps being locked in the dark. ‘Do you still need to go ?’

‘Well, yes,’ he replied brusquely. ‘I do.’

Before I could stop it, a noise escaped, half sob, half laugh.

‘Oh dear,’ I said squeakily.

‘I’m glad you find it funny.’

‘I can’t help it,’ I said, holding my stomach, unable to control my laughter. ‘It’s just all so ridiculous : me desperate to get out and you desperate to get in.’

He gave a low rumble of laughter and then groaned. ‘Don’t make me laugh, I’m in agony here.’

‘Sorry,’ I said in a strangled voice, trying to pull myself together. ‘Will asking me another question help take your mind off it ?’

‘Maybe.’

I heard him making umming and ahhing noises until finally he said, ‘OK, tell me something about yourself that not many other people know.’

I touched my fingers to the torchlight on the floor and tilted my head back. There were so many things which fell into that category.

‘Where to start,’ I said. ‘We could be here all night.’

‘Let’s hope not, eh ?’ He gave a half-laugh. ‘I’ll tell you something about me if you like.’

‘Go on then.’

‘My mum had a vegetable patch in the garden. Quite big, there was more veg patch than actual usable garden by the end. Anyway, one year when I was about eight, she managed to grow cucumbers for the first time. She was so proud of them.’

Already I was interested. A vegetable patch, a garden and a mum who could grow cucumbers ; a childhood a million miles away from mine.

‘I had a thing at the time about having midnight feasts. I used to stash food away in my bottom drawer and then wake myself up late at night and eat it by torchlight.’

‘That’s so sweet.’ I gave an inaudible sigh, imagining Cole as a little boy in shorts with grazes on his knees and his hair cut like Christopher Robin, he’d have been so cute.

‘Hmm, not sure about that. Anyway, for some reason known only to eight-year-old Cole, I decided to pick all of Mum’s cucumbers and hide them in my drawer ready for the next midnight feast.’

‘That sounds like a healthy feast,’ I commented. My diet in my early years had consisted mostly of things from tins.

‘That night I crept out of bed really late and took a bite out of the end of one of them. The taste was horrible, all bitter and hard, it can’t have been ripe. I spat out my mouthful and shut the drawer and forgot all about them. When my mum noticed that her cucumbers had all disappeared, she was devastated. They weren’t even ripe, she told us all. She was convinced we’d been burgled. I denied all knowledge and then didn’t dare move them in case I got found out. I forgot about them until everyone started to complain about the bad smell upstairs. Eventually my dad narrowed the pong down to my room and discovered my crime. I’ll never forget the disappointment on my mum’s face. Not only had I picked them, but I’d lied about it.’ He laughed softly. ‘I don’t think I ever told her another lie after that. There you go, that’s my story : the case of the missing cucumbers.’

‘I lied to my mum too once,’ I said.

‘Phew,’ he said jokily. ‘I’m not the only criminal then. What did you lie about ?’

I closed my eyes as the memories came raining down on me like icy hailstones. I could do what I usually did and make something up, or I could tell him. Honesty and openness, I reminded myself, thinking about my earlier musings, truth and trust. I took a steadying breath and began.

‘My mum was only seventeen when she had me. She’d been living rough when she got pregnant. We had what they called a studio flat, which was a posh way of saying bedsit. I have memories of her dancing around, so proud of her home. She said she felt like a queen in her castle and I was the princess. There was only one bed and we both slept in it. She’d be up later than me and she kept a lamp on so she could read ; to begin with she’d read stories to me and then afterwards her own book. All I’d ever known was falling asleep with the light on.’

‘She sounds like a fun mum.’

‘Sometimes she was, and at other times she’d be ill and couldn’t look after me. She was ill quite a lot. And then I’d be taken away from her and put into care. Looking back, she was obviously suffering with her mental health, but I didn’t understand that at the time.’

‘Bloody hell, Merry, I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound like fun at all.’

‘I stayed with quite a few foster parents. Most were OK, but one lot said I was too old to have a nightlight on and made me sleep in the dark. I lay there petrified, worried that there might be a monster under the bed and I wouldn’t be able to see it. I was still awake hours later when the door opened and a stripe of light from the landing hit the floor and lit up the room and I was so happy. It was the man, Michael. He came in and closed the door behind him and I was in the dark again. He sat down on the bed, telling me to shush.’