Home For Christmas (2 page)

A single email was sitting in her inbox and her heart skipped a beat as she read the title.

Thanks from Afghanistan
.

Warmth flooded through her body. Her Operation Slipper Care Package, posted all those months ago, had made it. A small gesture, but she needed to know someone else’s father or brother serving overseas would be remembered on Christmas Day.

Dear Layla
,

Thank you for the care package you sent. Your very thoughtful Cricket Christmas presents really cheered me up, especially seeing those collector cards after all these years. The tree is great as well — I’m going to put it on my bunk. I don’t know if you know but in Afghanistan, trees are pretty few and far between, and your tree is the only one within cooee of the base. It’s one of the things I miss most about not being in Aus
.

Can’t wait for the weather to warm up so I can get out and use the ball. We’re not expecting to see a lot of the Boxing Day Test, but we get the highlights, which is better than nothing
.

Wishing you and your family a happy Christmas
.

Yours sincerely
,

Sergeant Tate McAuliffe
,

Afghanistan
.

Layla took a long sip of her juice and scrolled back up the message. A picture flashed into her mind of a soldier, strong and lean in cammo and a helmet, his face streaked with war grease. His gun rested across muscled thighs as he took a break from patrol, reading the cricket annual she’d sent. Her mouth went dry as she pictured him standing tall, ready to defend his territory.

Whoa. Where did that come from?

She wasn’t into soldiers or sailors or pilots. No defence men for her. Not after what happened to Ben. She read the email again.

Should she reply? It seemed bad manners not to. After all, this was the first thank you she’d ever received in the ten years she’d been sending the packages. She moved the mouse and hit reply.

Hi Tate
,

Merry Christmas. Great to hear the parcel arrived and you liked it
.

Dad was ex-army. He always talked about what it was like serving overseas at Christmas. I’m from an army family
—
my brother Ben was in the army as well. The cards were part of my dad’s collection
—
he was cricket mad. He’s gone now and I’ve been going through his things. I knew if I trusted the universe and sent the cards out there, I’d find the right home for them
.

Take care. Stay safe. Have a happy new year
.

Layla
.

She re-read what she’d written and, without warning, a tear snaked its way down her cheek. Whisky shuffled closer and his full weight pressed against her leg. She gave his ears a quick rub then, before she could overthink it any further, hit send and watched her message leave on its journey across cyberspace.

She swiped at her cheek. ‘It’s all messed up this Christmas, Whisk. They’re all gone.’ And with them, all of the traditions and routines that made it such a great family celebration. Like taking the day after Christmas off and watching the Boxing Day Test together. After they’d started Bonsai Christmas, it had been her family’s reward for making it through the silly season in one piece. Now, that family tradition was gone.

Layla parked the ute under her cousin Carise’s big old poinsettia tree, scooped up her bag and farewelled the air-conditioned cab with a twinge of regret. They were in for another scorcher. ‘Ready?’ She untethered Whisky then dropped the tailgate. His days of jumping over the side and haring off to chase rabbits the minute she stopped the car were over. Instead, he endured the indignity of being picked up and lowered to the ground, and ambled off to find a tree to mark.

‘Layla.’ Carise appeared from around the side of the house. ‘Merry Christmas.’ She engulfed Layla in a huge hug. ‘Come through, we’re having drinks.’

‘Merry Christmas, Carise.’ She whistled for Whisky, shouldered her sack full of presents and picked up her Esky.

‘Here, let me take those.’ Carise gestured to her huge shoulder bag.

‘Ta.’ Layla put the Esky down and handed the tote over. ‘You know me, I always go overboard at Christmas. I want everyone to feel more than special.’ She hefted the Esky and followed her cousin through the house paddock gate. ‘How was Toby’s first visit from Santa?’

‘I don’t know who was more excited, me or Pete. We were up at six with the camera on stand-by, waiting for him to wake up. He slept till nearly eight. Typical.’

‘Well, I’d take the sleep-ins for as long as they last.’

‘We let him play with the wrapped boxes for a while. He had as much fun with those as he’s had since we opened everything. Thanks for the blocks. I can’t wait to build something with him. At the moment he thinks they’re for sucking.’

‘You’re welcome. I want photos of everything your budding architect designs. That’s Toby, by the way, not Pete.’

Carise laughed out loud. ‘You know my husband too well.’

‘Yeah, I’m surprised he isn’t busy building a train set. I was sure Toby would have one by now.’

‘I found him looking online in October. I made him promise to wait till next year.’

Layla smothered a snort of laughter. ‘That’s too funny.’ Layla put the Esky down and patted her pocket. ‘Hang on, forgot my phone.’ She headed back to the car.

‘Anyone who doesn’t have a tree by now doesn’t deserve one. You do know you can take Christmas Day off?’ Carise called after her.

Layla unlocked the car. ‘You know the drill. No family will be without a tree at Christmas. Anything before lunchtime we fill. Then we relax at the infamous Preston family Christmas lunch.’

‘Which might be interesting, given it’s my first year as hostess. I didn’t tell the boys but I’ve made some changes. I kept Mum’s pudding and brandy custard but I’ve canned the cricket on the lawn.’

‘You serve custard-spiked brandy and no one’s going to care if we have cricket or not.’ Layla laughed as she came back through the gate. ‘Although we probably better keep the serving size down, given what happened last year.’

‘Yes. Let’s try for zero arrests for DUI this year.’

‘I won’t bring it up if you don’t.’

‘I wasn’t planning to,’ Carise agreed. ‘Andrew’s still cranky about it. He hasn’t even said he’s definitely coming today.’

‘No, he can’t do that. It won’t be the same without him.’ An angry flush crept into Layla’s cheeks. ‘Last year wasn’t great, but that was last year. We’ve all got to move on from it. It wouldn’t be Christmas if we’re not all here.’

‘It’s not only what happened last year at Christmas. He’s still sulking about Mum and Dad.’

Layla nodded. ‘All the sulking in the world won’t get your mum and dad back together again. He can still spend time with his family, just not all at once.’

‘I know.’ Carise sighed. ‘It’s the taking sides thing I hate. Both Mum and Dad acted badly at the end, and if anything, Dad was worse than Mum. Andrew’s not seeing it.’

‘He’s lucky he still has both his parents. And his siblings. If I have too much pudding I might remind him of that.’

‘Oh Layla, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It’s been a big year for you too.’

Crap, Layla knew that tone. A self-pity party was about to kick off. She picked up the Esky and steered the conversation onto safer ground. ‘I know — your first Christmas as a mum and as the host. Which salads did you end up choosing?’

‘Pear and walnut, char-grilled vegetable salad and the old standby potato and egg.’

They rounded the corner onto the lawn and Layla stopped momentarily. Carise now lived in what had once been her parents’ house, before their split. It was farther up in the hinterland than her farm, a lowset brick that sat along the top of the ridge. The eastern side was all veranda and no matter how many times she visited, the view out over the town to the ocean took her breath away.

‘Look who’s here,’ Carise announced with a flourish.

A chorus of ‘hello’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ greeted her and warmth flooded through her. This was what Christmas was all about. Great times with family and friends.

Scott, Carise’s older brother, gave her a forced smile and a wave as she threaded her way between the groups of guests. She spied Pete with Toby amongst the usual collection of ‘Christmas orphans’ Carise and her mother had invited. Aunty May was holding court over near the picnic table. ‘Merry Christmas,’ Layla called as she made a beeline for the kitchen. ‘I’ll get some of these things into the fridge. I’ll be right back.’ She disappeared into the relative cool of the house with the Esky.

She was trying to squeeze her dessert platter into an already overloaded fridge when Carise, with Toby on her hip, followed her into the kitchen. ‘I left the presents out next to the tree. We’ve done the kids’ Santa sacks early. I was going to do the rest of the presents before lunch.’

‘Sounds good.’ Layla smiled. ‘Hey, my big boy. Look at you. You’ve grown.’ She planted a noisy kiss on Toby’s plump cheek and he giggled.

‘Hasn’t he just? I can’t keep up with him anymore.’

‘Gee, and he hasn’t even started walking yet.’ Layla fished around in the ice-filled Esky. ‘Mineral water?’

‘Yeah, that’d be great.’

Layla snagged a second can and handed it to Carise. She picked up her drink and her dip platter. ‘Right, let the magic begin.’

***

Several hours later, her stomach full to exploding, Layla was back in the kitchen helping with the dishes. She didn’t mind, it gave her time to reflect. Watching Aunty May and her Christmas orphans opening presents that Layla had spent hours deciding on, and seeing the joy they brought, had been the highlight. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. By small measure it compensated for the emptiness that ate her up every time she looked at the gaping hole where her father had once sat, or listened to her cousins’ snippy exchanges. Aunty May had become increasingly fragile over the afternoon; a combination of too much pudding and the need to constantly referee the verbal sparring between her two sons. Scrubbing out the roasting dish relieved Layla’s frustration with her extended family.

It was only one day of the year.

Why
couldn’t
they get along?

Carise wiped over the counter top. ‘Want a coffee?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ She had the start of a headache behind her eyes.

Her cousin filled the kettle and put it on to boil. ‘Be right back.’ She disappeared out onto the veranda and Layla heard her asking the guests. Most declined. The two of them had just sat down together in the family room for a quiet chat when she heard Pete’s booming voice. ‘Well, I never. Ian Creswick, what brings you by?’

Layla’s mug hit the table and sloshed coffee all over the coaster.

Not Ian.

Not today.

Carise sat straighter. ‘Is that…?’

‘Yep.’ Layla pushed to her feet. ‘It never even occurred to me he might turn up. I know Dad always included him in the family celebrations, but I most certainly didn’t invite him. Any chance you can cover for me? Please?’

Carise nodded.

‘Tell him I’ve got a migraine and I needed to lie down. And that you don’t want to disturb me.’ She turned and hurried down the hall.

***

Faint rumblings out over the ocean were the only remnants of the fast and furious storm that pummelled Gibbs Bay just before sunset. The looming clouds had given Layla extra incentive to escape the Preston family Christmas before the leftovers came out. Everyone knew, at her place, the trees always came first. Now she had the chance to relax a bit. Whisky’s snoring echoed through the silent house as Layla closed it for the evening.

The kitchen table was covered with her Christmas bounty — some beautiful hand creams, a novel, some organic teas, a new necklace and a packet of Whisky’s favourite long-lasting chews.

She pulled the designer teas closer and selected a fruity herbal mix designed to relax and refresh. Secret Santa had done an exceptional job this year. Something else to thank Carise for. Who else knew her well enough to be that on the money with her gift?

She grabbed her mug and wandered out into the lounge, then back to the kitchen. Was another line of storms coming through? She checked the kitchen window, but couldn’t see anything out to the west. Maybe she should log onto the weather site, to be sure?

Layla sipped her tea while she waited for her laptop to boot. Without warning, the image of her fantasy soldier — what was his name? — drifted into her consciousness. He wouldn’t spend two hours of his family’s celebration hiding out in a spare room. He’d attack the issue head on, not slink away in an undignified, cowardly retreat. Layla’s gut churned. She’d let Ian ruin her Christmas.

The weather site didn’t show any more storms but the prickling of her scalp didn’t abate. She checked the government warnings as well. Summer storms she could handle. It was the hailstorms that brewed quickly and cut a swathe of devastation that were a risk for the business.

Layla clicked into the business email. Nothing new, but she hadn’t really expected there to be, it was Christmas Day after all. She opened the Defence Afghanistan email and re-read it. Before she could stop herself, she hit reply and started typing.

Hi Tate
,

Touching base again
—
I thought about you today. My cousin Carise hosted the Preston Family Celebration for the first time. She lives in this crazy house perched on the top of the ridge. When we were kids, we used to play cricket after lunch and heaven help anyone who hit a six, because they’d be heading down the ridge to get the ball
.

One of our family traditions is an absolutely wicked brandy-soaked pudding and custard, so the catches always became few and far between as the afternoon wore on
—
especially after my dad and Uncle Roger had seconds (and sometimes thirds)
.

We didn’t play this year. First time I can remember that happening. The old traditions are dying. Carise has two brothers who both came for the day
—
Scott doesn’t celebrate any religious holidays and Andrew is such a negative person
—
he hates everything to do with Christmas
—
probably why he has so much brandy-soaked custard. He got booked for a DUI Christmas night last year, lost his licence AND his job. This year, Christmas was a bit of a minefield. Andrew’s attitude killed the atmosphere today. Carise and Pete have a baby
—
Toby
—
I wouldn’t want either of those two around him if he were my baby. I don’t understand it. I’d give anything to have my family together again. I tried to lift the mood, but I’m not sure if I succeeded
.