Daisy Darker(37)

‘Stick out your tongue!’ says Rose from behind the camera, and when I do, it is stained red from slush puppie syrup.

The camera turns a little further and I see Conor. He’s sitting at Nana’s ramshackle old garden table, wearing two jumpers, a paper cracker hat and a frown. He appears to be deep in concentration while writing something.

‘Hey, Conor! What are you doing? Working on another article for the school newspaper?’ asks Rose.

‘No,’ says the lanky but handsome boy.

‘What is it then?’

‘It’s the Darker family tree. I’m making it for your nana, to say thank you for having me.’

I don’t remember him being with us that Christmas, but I suppose he often was at Seaglass whenever his dad wasn’t well enough to look after him. I do remember the family tree, though. It inspired Nana to paint her own version of it on the wall next to the staircase, with all our hand-painted faces and dates of birth. The shot seems to linger on Conor’s face for a long time.

‘Who is that?’ Lily says, skating past the camera again, which turns 180 degrees to reveal the sandy causeway.

The tide was out, and Nancy came to stand beside us. We all stopped and stared at the silhouette of a Dad-shaped figure in the distance. I looked up at Nancy’s face, and the strained smile stretched across it confirmed that it was him. I dropped my slush puppie, Lily pulled off her roller skates, and I think Nancy must have taken the camera from Rose, because the next thing I see is the three of us running towards our father who we hadn’t seen for six months. He was dressed as Father Christmas, but barefoot, with his red trousers rolled up to his knees to avoid getting the costume covered in seawater and sand.

We ran across the causeway to greet him as though he were a brave knight returning from battle, which I know must have hurt my mother at the time. She was the one who stuck around to take care of us when he took off – sort of, when my sisters weren’t at school, or we weren’t all dumped on Nana – but we were just children, and didn’t understand the politics of parenthood when people got divorced. Nancy waited where she was on the stone steps that lead up to the house, filming the moment. When my dad went to kiss her on the lips, she turned her head so that he kissed her cheek instead.

One of the best things about Dad coming back from touring around the world with his orchestra were the guilt-induced gifts he brought with him. Don’t get me wrong, we were very happy to see the man, but we were also eager to see what he had bought us. My sisters and I followed him inside and stood in the doorway of the music room, watching Dad as he opened his giant suitcase, instead of unpacking in the bedroom he used to share with our mother.

Lily was never backward in coming forward, and blurted out the question we were all wondering about the most.

‘Did you bring us presents?’

‘Maybe,’ Dad said and we cheered. When my mother said ‘maybe’ it meant no, but when my father said ‘maybe’ it meant yes. One word, two meanings. We might have only been children, but we were more aware than anyone that our parents spoke different languages.

Lily’s smile slid right off her face when she opened her gift, tearing the wrapping paper without even bothering to read the neatly written tag.

‘I’ve already got a Walkman! I unwrapped one this morning!’ she whined.

Our father looked genuinely sad. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Mummy said that was what you wanted this year . . .’

‘The real Father Christmas bought it for her,’ said seven-year-old me.

‘There is no real Father Christmas. Why are you such a baby?’ snapped my sister, glaring at me as though it were my fault that she received the same gift twice. I knew she was telling the truth about Santa, and suddenly my whole world – not just Christmas – felt like a lie. I started to cry.

‘Lily, that’s enough. I mentioned the Walkman to your father a few weeks ago, but he forgot to tell me and Father Christmas that he was going to get you one. Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure we can change it for something else. Why don’t we do this properly? Conor, can you take the camera for me? We don’t all need to be huddled in the doorway. Girls, give your dad some space and we’ll open the rest in the lounge.’

Lily folded her arms and went into full sulk mode as my dad gathered up all of the presents.

‘I got you another gift, Lily. Just a small one,’ he said, trying to redeem himself. We shuffled into the other room, all with one eye on the gifts my father was carrying, while my mother wrestled us out of our hats and coats.

‘For god’s sake, Frank. We said one present each.’ Nancy’s words sounded like they got stuck behind her teeth. Her gifts were like her love for us and always came with a sense of economy. We sat impatiently in our familiar seats in the lounge. I sat closest to the Christmas tree and the fireplace, and instantly went from being too cold to too hot, so I took off my jumper. I was wearing a red woollen V-neck dress underneath, covered in white lace snowflakes. It was a gift from Nana, and I wanted to wear it every day.

‘I know we said one present each, but I couldn’t resist. I found this in a little shop in Vienna and thought of you,’ Dad said, giving Lily a small pink parcel.

‘Good to know they weren’t all last-minute duty-free purchases from the airport,’ mumbled my mother beneath her breath. She tutted for good measure.