The Naughty List

Buy hammer [claw, not lump]

Check car boot [crowbar, towel, wellies, petrol can]

Fill petrol can

Need new gloves. [Fisting ones are best. Thick and single use.]

Check chemical bottle, how much left?

Santa sack for presents. [Forgot that last time]

Get Santa costume out of wardrobe and lay out ready

Set alarm for 2.30am [Need to be there for 3am]

Check out 22 Winchester Road at least two more times before Christmas Eve

Make sure they are dead before you set fire to the house

DON’T MAKE ANY MISTAKES THIS TIME!

Trent didn’t give a shit about being on the naughty list, and he didn’t give a shit about being on the outside. Let the herd do their thing. He’d wait and he’d watch and he’d pick off one of them at just the right moment. There was no way his kids were going without presents. Not this year, and not any year.

*

“What’s wrong with your eye, Daddy?”

Chloe observed her dad with impossibly big blue eyes, her concern etched over her moonlike face.

Trent looked down at his daughter and instead of answering in that instant, he grabbed her under the arms and lifted her to his level. He stifled a groan as he did so. She was growing up and not as small and wee as she once had been, besides which, he ached like a bastard. Last night hadn’t been a smooth ride and his body was reminding him of that.

His eye. He didn’t want to lie, not to his little girl. And now Little Joe was watching him too. He had noticed his dad’s eye, but maybe knew better than to ask about it. Just that little bit older, he had an idea about The Code and maintaining a respectful silence over certain matters. Avoid trouble. Side-step confrontation. Pick the fights that counted and don’t waste your time on the bullshit.

“It’s a funny story,” he began and inside he sank. Those words were a pathetic admission. He may as well have told them he was going to lie to the both of them and have done with it. He drew in a deep breath, “you know the pocket park?”

They both looked at him blankly.

“You do!” he protested, “the one with the green and red rocket I push you on and you tell me to stop before I’ve even gotten started.”

Their faces creased up in thought, but the light of comprehension stayed firmly switched off.

“The roundabout with the big bars and only two seats?” he ventured.

“Oh!” said Little Joe, “with the big tyre swing that has a rope ladder seat on!”

“That’s the one!” enthused Trent, hoping that enthusiasm would in some way make up for the forthcoming lie.

“Well, I was walking through the pocket park yesterday when I heard a rustle in the branches above my head,” he looked from Chloe to Little Joe and back to Chloe again, “and do you know what I saw?”

“A squirrel?” asked Chloe solemnly.

The solemnity of her voice and the seriousness of her expression crushed Trent a little. It wasn’t just the lie. It was all of it. It was him. He wasn’t a good man and whenever he was with his children, he felt it the most. He felt it like a rope that had lassoed around his heart and on the other end of that rope were all his sins. They weighed so heavy and they were dragging him down and down. Down and away from the only two things that had ever counted in his life.

Right there and then, he wanted to cry. He wanted to let go and say sorry. He envisioned his two children wrapping their arms around him and making it all OK. The fact that he would never allow himself to be in that moment damned him. It tore at him with acid coated talons and whispered over and over with a dread breath that stank of corruption, you’re no good! You’re no good!

He drew in a ragged breath and managed some semblance of a smile, “how did you know!?”

“Squirrels live in trees,” Chloe told him.

Trent nodded, “it was two squirrels and they were fighting each other,” he told them.

“Were they fighting over nuts?” asked Little Joe.

Trent grinned, “a hoard of nuts!”

“But what happened to your eye, Daddy?” asked Chloe. 

She’d make a good investigative reporter, Trent thought to himself as they returned to the matter in hand. Had it been anyone else, Trent might have lost it with them, a heady cocktail laced with guilt making him react defensively. Attack being the best form of defence.

“So, there I was, looking up at the two fighting squirrels, when one lost his footing and the other pushed him hard,” again he looked from Chloe to Little Joe and back to Chloe.

“He fell on your face?” asked Little Joe.

Trent nodded slowly and theatrically, “and he was still in fight mode.”

“He tried to fight you?!” gasped Chloe.

“He did fight me,” corrected Trent, “and he fought for all he was worth. Surprised me he did. Got the shock of my life and I had trouble getting him off me.”

“Ouch!” said Chloe.

Trent nodded as he remembered the claws sinking into him when the old woman fell upon him. He’d not expected that. She’d come up on his blind side and there was a strength to her that was superhuman. He’d been shocked at her frenzied attack. Underestimated her. But then, she was fighting for her life.

“Shall we open the presents?” he asked his two young children.

He did not have to ask twice.

He watched on as they tore away at the wrappings on this year’s bounty…

Slippers [fur lined and too big for either child]

Dressing gown [floral pattern, also far too big]

Packet of big pants [amusingly embarrassing for Little Joe to unwrap]

Giant packet of toffees [No chocolate]

Hand blender [intended to make soup]

A litre bottle of sherry

A box of fudge with a stylised picture postcard front – Shire horse outside a quaint pub.

This last hit the spot for both children. Chloe wanted the postcard. Little Joe loved fudge. 

Always good to end on a high.

“Why do our presents always smell of smoke, Daddy?” asked Chloe, the budding investigative journalist.

Trent shrugged, he was wondering how he was going to explain the vegetarian Christmas Dinner he’d pilfered last night.

Best to change the subject, “Merry Christmas!” he tried to bellow it, but the words caught in his throat.

Chloe threw her arms around him and hugged him for all she was worth, the way only children can, when they still have everything to give and give it freely, “love you Daddy!”

Trent returned the hug, but felt Little Joe’s eyes on him. Little Joe who was just a little older and getting wise to the world. Wise enough not to join the scrum and let his dad off the hook. Trent exchanged a look with his son and he knew in that moment that he was on yet another Naughty List.