‘What kind of music do you like?’ she suddenly asks him.
‘Uh, Christmas carols?’
Violet’s eyes narrow, as if he’s taking the piss. Unfortunately, he’s really not. Bailey loves Christmas carols.
The other half of the screen flickers, and my foster parents’ faces appear.
‘Morning. We did say ten, didn’t we?’ I remark. Now it’s Bailey’s turn to elbow me.
The mother is fumbling in her handbag and doesn’t reply, but the father gives a gruff ‘Mornin’’ on their behalf.
The mother sits upright and lights a fag, drawing in deeply and blowing out a plume of smoke towards the webcam. For a moment, they’re both enveloped in nicotine fog.
‘I thought you gave those up!’ I say sharply.
‘I’m trying, ain’t I?’ she whines. ‘It’s difficult.’
Bailey clears his throat. ‘So what are your plans for Christmas?’
The father shrugs. ‘The usual. Drive up to stay with Vi and head out to the local pub for a feed—that’s if my leg holds out.’
‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ I ask, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. There’s always something wrong with him.
‘I’ve got a pain in it. I think it might be serious.’
‘Shouldn’t you go to the doctor?’ asks Bailey.
But he just cackles and gestures to the bottle of Jack Daniel’s beside him. ‘Got all the medicinal help I need right here, son.’
‘Time to go unfortunately,’ I say hurriedly to get off the subject of his drinking. ‘We’re heading up north to Ballindalloch, and we still have to pack.’
‘Lucky for some,’ grumbles Violet.
‘Already? We just got on,’ says the mother. ‘I was up early, specially to do my hair.’ Her hair looks like a bird’s nest that’s been pulled through a bramble bush, so I highly doubt it.
‘We might come and visit in the New Year,’ says Bailey before I can stop him.
The mother grins, baring her stained brown teeth. ‘Luvverly. I’ve got a bunch of DIY jobs that need doing, and you look like the handyman type.’
I see Bailey’s eyebrows raise slightly on the screen, and I wince, thinking,Not if I can help it.
‘I might not be around by New Year,’ says the father morosely.
‘Well, bye. And merry Christmas, everyone,’ I say, leaning over to end the call.
Violet’s already gone, and my foster parents wave half-heartedly through another plume of smoke emitted from the mother’s cigarette. I heave a sigh of relief. Thank God that’s over with. Nothing really changes with them, but we made an effort at least.
Bailey gives me a hug and rubs my back. He knows how much talking to them stresses me out. ‘That wasn’t so bad. I really think the mother likes me, and Violet was even quite friendly this time.’
‘As friendly as a bulldog,’ I mutter.
But I don’t have time to dwell on the family encounter. We’re too busy packing and wrapping last-minute Christmas presents. Before I zip the suitcase, I double-check to make sure our costumes are definitely in there. This is going to be fun!
Later that day
‘Are you OK with that one, or do you want another go?’ Kirk asks. He’s manning my iPhone, which has been set up on a tripod in Bailey’s bedroom.
Bailey and I are dressed as elves—the full shebang: shiny green satin elf costumes with black belts and gold buttons, matching felt hats, and long pointy shoes. We thought it would be funny if we recorded a silly elf dance for TikTok and showed it to the kids on the big screen later on. I’m not expecting much response from the general public, but it will be fun to hear Susie and Sasha screaming in excitement when they see us up there on the telly.
