Remember Why You Fear Me (28 page)

“I’m sure. This is fun. Look at me! I’m riding a bike!”

“Are we walking far?” Daddy asked Santa.

Santa shrugged. Maybe he was being unhelpful. Maybe he just didn’t know.

And off they set, crunching the snow down the path the trees had left them. The two men, and the little boy on his bike, sometimes racing ahead excitedly, sometimes ringing them. “Try to walk where I walk,” Santa told Daddy.

“Why, is the ground slippery?”

“No. But let’s not leave more footprints than we have to. Let’s not spoil the
beauty
of this.” And it was easy for Daddy to do that, Santa’s footprints were so big. Daddy looked behind from time to time, and soon he couldn’t see the house, only that single pair of footprints, and the thin grooves where Ben’s tires had cut into the snow. And as the snow fell more heavily, he soon couldn’t even see those. All around them was the snow, now a blinding white, Daddy and Ben had to shield their eyes from the glare. Santa put on a pair of sunglasses. “Here,” he said, and handed Daddy and Ben sunglasses too.

Neither Daddy nor Santa spoke for another hour. On they both trudged, faces grim—except once in a while Santa would catch Ben’s eye, and give him a friendly wink. As if to say, this is only a game! Don’t let on! And Ben would wink back, when he was sure his Daddy couldn’t see. The snow continued to fall, but there was no wind to disturb the silence. “Please,” said Daddy at last. He said it so softly, but it broke right through that silence—and Ben and Santa both stopped, turned to look at him.

“Please,” he said again.

“No,” said Santa. Not unkindly. But firm.

“But I’m all he’s got.”

“He’s got his mother.”

“His mother and I . . . it’s difficult . . . we might sort things out one day, I don’t . . .” Santa watched Daddy sympathetically. Ben looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I’ve tried so hard to hold on to him,” said Daddy.

“I know,” said Santa.

“How do you know?”

“I can tell.”

“Daddy, it’s okay,” said Ben.

“I’ve tried so hard,” said Daddy.

“I know, Daddy.”

“I know. I can tell. We can both tell, can’t we, Ben?”

“I’m not going a step further,” said Daddy.

“Now, come on,” said Santa. “None of that. Chop chop!”

“Daddy, don’t,” said Ben. Don’t what? Spoil the fun for the rest of us?

“Why the bloody hell did you write him a letter, Ben?” said Daddy. He wasn’t shouting, not really, but it still seemed awfully loud in the still of that forest. “He wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t written.”

“I didn’t write to him.”

From his pocket Santa took a letter. He handed it to Ben’s Daddy. Daddy recognized the handwriting, and it wasn’t Ben’s. And he slumped, it seemed he suddenly got very tired. He handed the letter back to Santa.

“Okay,” said Daddy.

“We can walk on?” asked Santa.

“Okay,” said Daddy.

And on they walked.

Soon Ben couldn’t ride his bike through the ever thickening snow, he had to push it. “Walk where I walk,” said Daddy. “Why?” “You know. What he said. The beauty of it all. Let’s keep the beauty of it all.” Ben tilted his head back at one point. “Look, Daddy!” he said, and caught the snowflakes on his tongue. “You do it too.”

Daddy stopped. Daddy caught snowflakes on his tongue too. Santa stopped too, but he didn’t try to force the pace, he looked indulgent, smiled at them both, he looked like Santa on a Christmas card.

“Delicious!” said Ben.

“What do you taste?”

“Chocolate cake,” said Ben.

“Marzipan,” said Daddy.

“Apple pie!”

“I can fix that for you,” said Santa. And he did, with just one snap of his fingers. “There,” he said. And the snow that melted in their mouths tasted of pies, of cakes, of hot fudge, all sweet and creamy. “No,” said Daddy, gently. “This is our moment. This is
ours
.” And Santa nodded, a little ashamed, and the snow went back to tasting of bland water. Daddy and Ben held hands and drank the snowflakes until they could drink no more. Then, with just a glance shared, they both agreed to walk on—Daddy’s feet dwarfed in Santa’s footprints, Ben’s dwarfed in his Daddy’s.

“Not much further now,” said Santa, kindly.

The sleigh was a bit rusted. It had seen better days. So too had the reindeer. They huddled together for warmth. On seeing their master return, the fitter of the pack tried to stand to attention. “No, no, at ease, boys,” and the reindeer relaxed into their harnesses gratefully.

“Well, then,” said Santa to Daddy, awkwardly.

“Well,” said Daddy.

There was quiet for a few seconds. “You needn’t look at me like that,” said Santa. “I gave you a good toy, didn’t I? I only ever give the best toys.”

“I don’t remember what it was.”

“It was probably a bike. I give a lot of bikes.”

“No, it wasn’t a bike.”

“Let’s just say it was a bike,” said Santa.

Daddy thought about that. “Okay,” he said.

“I remember your little face lighting up when you got it,” said Santa. “That’s always the best bit. Watching the faces light up.” And Ben was surprised to see that Santa was crying.

Daddy gave Ben a hug. “I tried very hard,” he said. “I tried my hardest.”

And Ben now knew he should have been pleading for his father. But he’d been too busy riding his bike, spinning about, cutting those grooves into the snow. He’d been too busy for
months
, going to school, eating his fish fingers, pretending it was all okay, that it was all going to be okay. And it was now too late for him to plead. “Will I see my Daddy again?” Ben asked Santa.

Santa looked genuinely surprised that he’d asked. “Oh,” he said. “Maybe. But never like this. Never again like this.”

One more hug. “That’s nice,” said Santa Claus. “Strip.”

Daddy had put on all his warmest clothes—two layers!—so it took him a while. He made a pile on the ground, sweaters, shirt, vest, then shoes, then trousers, underpants. He remembered the sunglasses, actually snorted in amusement he’d done so, put them on the pile, squinting at the bright white. The last clothes he took off were his socks; he could now delay it no longer, and Daddy winced as his bare feet now sank deep into the snow.

Ben wasn’t sure he’d seen his father naked before. He looked so fragile. Daddy clapped his arms around his sides to keep warm, but soon stopped, there wasn’t any point. He stood there, shivering, his balls fluffed up with hairs standing on end, his willy shrunk to a cork. He looked so
young
. Ben had never thought of his Daddy being young before.

“It won’t take long, I promise,” said Santa.

And sure enough, the feet were already hooves, better protection against the cold, and Ben could see Daddy sigh gratefully for that. The hide stole over his body, thick and strong, not strong enough, maybe, not in this weather, it could freeze your blood—but warmer than his man skin, that was a comfort at any rate. He pitched forwards when his hands became hooves as well; his head bowed down beneath antler weight.

“That’s it,” said Santa. “There you are. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He smiled at Ben. “Isn’t he beautiful?” And Ben couldn’t deny it.

Santa turned to the other reindeer. “This is your new brother!” he said. They were too weary to do much more than shrug their heads, non-committal. “You all try so hard for me,” he said. “For me, you fly the skies. You’re the best.” He stroked their heads, one by one. He reached one near the back. “And you, you’re so very tired, aren’t you? Such a long journey. So many long journeys. But you’ve always tried so hard.” The reindeer turned its human eyes to Santa, and nuzzled his hand. Santa laughed. “Thank you. Thank you. I love you.” And so tenderly, he caressed its head. And broke its neck.

In that silence the snap of bone sounded louder than it probably was. It had been such a gentle twist, really, and so quick, the reindeer wouldn’t have felt a thing. But it couldn’t have been that gentle—one of the bones had ripped through the skin (“rip it open, rip it apart!”), Ben could see it jutting out, sharp and white. The harness kept the reindeer in place, slumped in death as it was; when Santa released it, the body fell to the ground. The snow that caught it was so soft.

Santa harnessed his new reindeer into place.

“I’ll give you the bike back,” said Ben.

Santa stopped.

“I want my Daddy,” said Ben.

He hoped he sounded bold and defiant. He hoped he wasn’t crying.

Santa stroked his beard.

“So, what’s the deal here?” he said. “You give me the bike back, I give you back your father? And we’re quits? Fair exchange, no robbery?”

“Yes,” said Ben.

“And what, I give the bike to some other kid instead?”

“Yes,” said Ben.

“Interesting,” said Santa.

He went to the bicycle. Looked it over thoughtfully. Ran his finger critically over the frame.

“But see, here’s the problem,” said Santa. “It’s been
used
. Hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Ben.

“You’ve been riding it in the snow. Your choice. Remember, your choice.”

“Yes,” Ben breathed.

“I only give the best toys. Nothing second hand.”

“I know,” said Ben.

“Well then,” said Santa Claus. And gave him a grin that was meant to be reassuring. Ben saw that the teeth were somehow still stained green with pea and ham soup.

Santa got into his sleigh. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “Your mother loves you very much. It moved me, how much. And I’ll be seeing you again. Whenever there’s a white Christmas.” He gave the reins a single flick. “Yee-hah, git!” he said. “On, Donner and Blitzen! Come on, chop chop!” And off he flew into the night sky, so fast that Ben’s eyes couldn’t follow him.

And this is how the story could end. With a little boy lost. By his side a used bicycle, and a dead reindeer whose blood was now staining the white snow red. But things are rarely that simple.

Ben wheeled his bike home. It didn’t take long. The forest was gone; there was the underground station, though. There were no youths outside it now, the trains didn’t run on Christmas Day. He had to cross the road, and looked left, then right, then left again, just as his Daddy had taught him. He took the bicycle indoors. He went to bed.

The next morning Ben went down to the kitchen. His Daddy was sitting there, eating a bowl of cornflakes. Ben yelped, gave him a hug. “Not now, Ben, I’m having breakfast. Pull up a chair, you have your breakfast too.” Ben poured himself some cornflakes. They ate together. “After breakfast, we can open our presents,” said Daddy. “Yeah!” said Ben, “happy Christmas!” “Happy Christmas,” said Daddy.

In the hallway Daddy saw Ben’s new bike, propped up against the front door. It had dripped melted snow on to the carpet. Daddy looked at Ben, then tutted, just the once. Then without a word he picked up the bicycle and carried it to the back door, put it out into the garden.

Christmas Day was fine. Really, fine. The presents were fine. Ben opened his presents, taking them from beneath the lopsided tree with the ears. He’d got lots of toys, and a book about boats. (“You like boats, don’t you?” said Daddy. “Yes,” said Ben.) Daddy liked his present from Ben, a range of male toiletries from the Body Shop. “Thanks.” Ben wanted to tell him that Mum had bought it for him mostly, it was Mum he should thank, but he knew somehow it wouldn’t be the right thing to say. “I’ll go and make dinner,” said Daddy at last. “Can I help?” “No,” said Daddy, “play with your toys, read about boats.” The dinner was fine. The gravy was more solid than liquid, and the turkey was too dry. But the stuffing and the chipolata sausages were great. “They’re the best bits anyway,” said Daddy, and Ben readily agreed. After dinner, they watched television, they watched
Doctor Who
and then
Eastenders
. Ben cuddled up to his father. “Not too close, Ben, you’re being too clingy,” said Daddy. So Ben got off the sofa, and played with his toys a bit more, read a bit more of his boat book. “Time for bed,” said Daddy.

Daddy tucked Ben in to bed. “I promised you the best Christmas ever,” he said.

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t it.”

“No.”

“But it was okay, wasn’t it?”

“It was okay.”

On Boxing Day Mum came to pick up Ben bright and early. “Merry Christmas!” she said when Ben opened the front door to her, and gave him a huge hug. “Dave, I know we’d agreed I’d bring him back tomorrow morning, but would the afternoon . . .” “That’s fine,” Dave interrupted.

Richard didn’t come to the front door, he was waiting in the car. He never came to the door. “Merry Christmas!” he said to Ben. He was wearing a Santa hat, he looked like a cretin. Ben opened lots of presents, he got lots of toys. Richard had bought him a present too. “I hope you like this, sport,” he’d said, and looked really rather nervous as Ben unwrapped it. Ben had already decided not to like it, but it was actually pretty good—it wasn’t his
best
toy, but it was definitely in the top five, it was good. They all had Christmas dinner, and that was lovely—”Delicious!” said Ben—and they all pulled crackers—Daddy had forgotten the crackers!—and they all put on paper hats, even Richard put on a paper hat, he put it over the top of his Santa hat, and he looked even more like a cretin than before, but it still made Ben laugh. They all played some board games. Ben won the first two, Richard won one—”I’m catching up with you now!” he joked, and picked up the dice, “fancy another?” “I’m rubbish at games,” said Mum, “I just don’t have the right sort of brain! I never win
anything
!” And Richard kissed her, and Ben didn’t mind much.

On New Year’s Eve, Richard was wearing the Santa hat again. Ben wondered if he’d ever taken it off. Mum let Ben stay up ’til midnight, and have a sip of champagne. “But don’t tell your father,” she said, “your father will kill me,” and Ben promised. They sang Auld Lang Syne, and did the arm crossing thing, even though Richard got it wrong, Ben thought he got it wrong deliberately, but it was a bit funny. “Happy New Year, darling,” said Richard to Lisa. “Can’t be worse than the old one,” Lisa replied.

The snow stopped falling. The snow melted.

Ben had bad dreams. And one night in February, as he lay in bed, he suddenly got it into his head that he was all alone in the house. His Daddy wasn’t there anymore. Anybody could come into his bedroom and get him, and Daddy wouldn’t be there to stop them. He got up. He listened at his father’s door for any reassuring sounds of snoring. He couldn’t hear anything. He began to cry, but as quietly as he could—and then he went downstairs, walking only at the sides to avoid the creaks. All so that he wouldn’t wake Daddy, he mustn’t wake Daddy, and it was ridiculous, because Daddy wasn’t there to be woken, was he? He wanted to scream out his name. But he was terrified to hear his own voice that loud in the dark, he was terrified that his Daddy wouldn’t answer. The door to Daddy’s study was shut. Ben pushed it open.