“You can put a picture of the baby in it,” Suze is explaining. “But for now, I’ve drawn a picture of you in front of your new house.”
I look at the picture more closely and can’t help bursting into laughter. The cartoon house has been divided up into rooms and each one given a label. “Pram Room.” “Nappy Room.” “Lipstick Room.” “Visa Bill Room” (in the cellar). “Antiques of the Future Room.”
An Antiques of the Future Room! That’s actually a brilliant idea.
As I open my other presents I’m totally overwhelmed. Kelly’s is a tiny patchwork quilt, with patches contributed by all the lovely friends I made in Scully. Janice’s is a tiny red hand-knitted jumper with Baby’s First Christmas embroidered on the front. Mum’s is the matching Father Christmas hat and booties. Danny’s is the coolest designer distressed romper suit ever.
“Now mine,” says Jess, placing the largest present of the lot in front of me. It’s wrapped in a patchwork of old, crumpled wrapping papers, one of which is printed with the words Happy 2000!
“Be careful taking the paper off!” says Jess as I start to unwrap it. “I can use it again.”
“Er…OK!” Gently I peel the paper away and fold it up. There’s a layer of tissue paper underneath, and I pull it away to see a box about two feet high, made of pale, polished wood. Puzzled, I turn it around to face me — and it’s not a box after all. It’s a little cupboard with double doors and tiny porcelain handles. And Baby’s Shoes carved into the front.
“What—” I look up.
“Open it up.” Jess’s face is shining. “Go on!”
I tug it open, and there are little shelves, sloped and lined with white suede. On one of them is resting the smallest pair of red baseball boots I’ve ever seen.
It’s a little tiny Shoe Room.
“Jess…” I can feel tears welling up. “You made this?”
“Tom helped.” She gives a self-deprecating shrug. “We did it together.”
“But it was Jess’s idea,” chips in Suze. “Isn’t it brilliant? I wish I’d thought of it….”
“It’s perfect.” I’m totally bowled over. “Look at the way the doors fit…and the way the shelves are carved….”
“Tom always was good with his hands.” Janice clamps a hanky to her eyes. “This can be his memorial. We’ll probably never have a tombstone.”
I exchange looks with Mum, who pulls a familiar Janice-has-lost-it expression.
“Janice, I’m sure he’s not dead—” Jess begins.
“We can engrave his dates on the back,” Janice continues. “If you don’t mind, Becky, love.”
“Er…well no,” I say uncertainly. “Of course not.”
“He’s not dead, Janice!” Jess almost yells. “I know he’s not!”
“Well, where is he?” Janice pulls her hanky from her eyes, which are smudgy with mauve eye shadow. “You broke that boy’s heart!”
“Wait!” I suddenly remember. “Jess, I got a package for you this morning. Maybe it’s from him.”
I hurry to the hall and bring back the parcel. Jess rips it open and a CD falls out. On it is written simply “From Tom.”
We all stare at it for a moment.
“It’s a DVD,” says Danny, picking it up. “Put it on.”
“It’s his last will and testament!” cries Janice hysterically. “It’s a message from beyond the grave!”
“It’s not from beyond the grave,” Jess snaps, but as she heads to the DVD player I can see that she’s gone pale.
She presses Play and crouches down on the floor. We all wait in silence as the screen flickers. Then suddenly there’s Tom, facing the camera, against a blue sky. He’s wearing an old green polo shirt and looks pretty disheveled.
“Hi, Jess,” he says momentously. “By the time you see this, I’ll be in Chile. Because…that’s where I am now.”
Jess stiffens. “Chile?”
“Chile?” Janice shrieks. “What’s he doing in Chile?”
“I love you,” Tom’s saying. “And I’ll move to the other side of the world if that’s what it takes. Or farther.”
“Oh, that’s so romantic,” sighs Kelly.
“He’s such a stupid prat,” Jess says, knocking a fist against her forehead. “I’m not going out there for three months!”
But her eyes are glistening, I notice.
“Look what I’ve found you.” Tom is holding a chunk of some black shiny rock up to the camera. “You’ll love this country, Jess.”
“He’ll get cholera!” Janice is saying in agitation. “Or malaria! Tom’s always had a weak system—”
“I can get work as a carpenter,” Tom is saying. “I can write my book. We’ll be happy here. And if Mum gives you any grief, just remember what I told you about her.”
“Told you?” Janice looks up sharply. “What did he tell you?”
“Er…nothing.” Jess hastily presses Stop and whips the DVD out of the machine. “I’ll watch the rest later.”
“So!” says Mum cheerily. “He’s alive, Janice love. That’s good news!”
“Alive?” Janice is still in a state of hysteria. “What’s the use of being alive in Chile?”