A Heartbeat Away. Eleanor Jones

hair, which I liked so much.

      “We’ll plan a trip,” he said. “A trip to the…to the circus. I’ll be a lion tamer and you can—”

      “I’ll ride the horses,” I cut in, excitement buzzing through me.

      Daniel was always contriving crazy things to do. We spent hours making plans that amounted to nothing, but we both understood that it was just a matter of time. One day, once we were grown up, we would fulfill all our dreams.

      When we went back into the cozy warmth of the house, the living room seemed taken up by the tree. The gaudy baubles sparkled in the light from the fire, and its golden glow turned the silver tinsel to flickering orange. The bowl on our small scratched coffee table was filled with fruit and two brightly colored presents now lay beneath the canopy of green branches. One had no name on it, and Mrs. Brown said that she had bought it for me to give to my mom, so I filled in the card she handed me, meticulously writing my name in big letters and putting lots of kisses at the bottom, before arranging it carefully underneath the tree, next to the one from my mom to me. In that moment my world seemed complete and I turned to look at Mrs. Brown with tears of happiness in my eyes.

      “It really is Christmas, isn’t it!” I exclaimed.

      She laughed. “It certainly is,” she agreed. “And we’ll expect you and your mother for lunch tomorrow at twelve-thirty prompt.”

      “At Homewood?” I cried, clapping my chubby hands.

      “At Homewood,” she said. “Now, come on, Daniel. There are all the chores waiting for us at home.”

      I stood in the front door and watched Mrs. Brown and Daniel drive away in their blue car. I watched until the car disappeared around a corner in the lane, and when I went back inside, hugging my warm glow of happiness, I realized that my mom’s lucid period had slipped again. She was sitting very quietly in her chair, just staring, I didn’t mind, though, because tomorrow we were going to have Christmas lunch at Homewood Farm.

      

      It was after dark when a knock sounded on the door. My mom had fallen asleep in her chair, the fire had died to a red glow in the grate and I was curled up on the floor in front of it, dreaming about tomorrow and imagining Father Christmas hurtling through the sky in his sleigh. The knock made me jump, and for just a moment I thought that he was here already, before I had even gone to bed, so I ran and hid behind my mom’s chair. When the knock sounded again, more urgently, I shook her shoulder hard, calling her name. To my relief, she opened her eyes, but she stared at me vacantly, holding her hand against her forehead as if she had a headache. The knocking came yet again, and she pushed me toward the door.

      “Go and see who it is, Lucy,” she groaned.

      I was terrified in case it was Father Christmas and he wouldn’t leave me any presents because I was still awake, but the knocking was so loud that in the end I wriggled at the bolt until it slid back and the door burst open.

      The man on the step was thinner than I recalled. His cheekbones seemed to push against his skin and his dark hair curled down over his collar, but there was no mistaking those twinkling blue eyes.

      “Hello, princess,” he cried with a flourish. “I thought I’d find you here when I saw Mrs. Brown leave. Now, give your dad a kiss, since he’s come home for Christmas.”

      I gawked at him for a moment, caught between fear and joy, and then I remembered his horse.

      “Have you brought the horse?” I asked him.

      He stepped inside and leaned down to look into my eyes.

      “Now, what horse would that be?” he inquired in a serious voice.

      “The one that all your money went on,” I replied, clenching my hands to help contain my excitement.

      For a moment he eyed me curiously. His forehead puckered into lines and his eyes narrowed as he tapped his chin with one long forefinger. Then suddenly he raised his hands in the air and let out a great guffaw.

      “I’m afraid that particular horse galloped off a long time ago, princess,” he told me. “And it wasn’t to the winning post.”

      I felt tears well in my eyes, and my bottom lip started to tremble. I was so sure that one day my dad would bring the horse home, and now I would never be able to show it to Daniel. It wasn’t fair—

      “Who is it?”

      My mother’s voice floated through from the living room, thin and reedy as it always was nowadays. My dad took hold of my hand and led me through the door with determined strides.

      “Hello, Mary,” he said. “Your old man’s here to see you on Christmas Eve.”

      My mom lifted herself slowly from her chair. She was trembling all over, and there was more emotion on her face than I had seen her show since before she went away, as if she had all of a sudden managed to shed her protective coat of apathy.

      “Get out!” she yelled. “Get out of my house.”

      My dad just grinned, unconcerned by her ferocity, and turned to me.

      “Not wearing your red shoes, princess?” he asked. I gazed up at him, confusion flooding my brain.

      “They don’t fit,” I mumbled.

      He grabbed me beneath the armpits and swung me around and around, so that the blood rushed to my head. When he put me down, I felt sick and faint.

      “Well, in that case we’ll have to buy you others, won’t we,” he exclaimed.

      He was like that, my dad. First he made you sad and then he made you smile. But my mom wasn’t smiling. Her face was all white and her eyes were open very wide.

      “Get out!” she yelled again.

      My dad looked at her for a minute, then he turned to me.

      “Lucy,” he said, pointing to the door. “Time for bed.”

      I stood my ground, setting my legs ready for a fight.

      “I’m hungry,” I cried, clutching my stomach.

      A dark shadow passed across his handsome features and he glanced around the room. Then his eyes brightened and he reached across to where a mound of multicolored fruits spilled from the bowl that Mrs. Brown had put together for us. His fingers paused above a yellow banana, plucked a purple grape and popped it into his mouth, then settled over a large red apple.

      “Here,” he said, handing the apple to me. “This’ll fill you up. Now, go to your bed.”

      I made a parting shot, anything that would keep me there for just a bit longer.

      “We’re going to Homewood Farm for Christmas lunch tomorrow,” I announced, and when he scowled and turned back toward my mother, unimpressed by the information, I scuttled up the stairs, clutching my apple.

      I had been waiting forever for my dad to come home, but now that he was here, it didn’t feel right. I lay in my bed, trying to keep warm, nibbling on the apple and listening to the voices downstairs. At first I heard my mom shouting again, but then she went quiet and I thought I heard her cry. Then there was silence, and the next thing I knew it was pitch-dark. I sat up, fear coursing through me as a shadow rippled across the ceiling. When I remembered my dad had returned, I lay back down again, listening to the silence and wondering if I dared to go and find my mom.

      A clock ticked in the hallway, and I blinked in time with the sound until I heard an owl hooting in the darkness. Too wit, too woo, too wit, too woo, too wit, too woo, it called. I mouthed its cries, curious what it would be like to be an owl. When it fell silent, I became aware of another sound. It came from my mom’s room next door, and it was a kind of thumping, an urgent rhythmic banging, followed by a moaning gasping cry. So I pulled the covers over my head, and when I woke up again, daylight was streaming though my window and hunger pains were clawing at my stomach.

      

      My