Don't Even Think About It by Roisin Meaney Page A

when lunch finished after about a hundred years, we all went our separate ways.
    I bought Mam a book of dessert recipes and posted it off in a padded envelope, along with the card I wrote last night, that just said ‘Happy Christmas from Liz’ on the inside.
    I bought Dad a bottle of aftershave. Well, he’s almost out of it, and if I don’t buy it for him, he’ll buy it himself. He might as well smell nice for Marjorie on Christmas Day.
    I’m beginning to think that Scrooge had the right idea about Christmas. I mean, what’s the big deal?

Eight o’clock, Sunday, the day after Christmas.
    OK, I have to say that Christmas Day in Marjorie Maloney’s house went a lot better than I’d been expecting.
    The day started off well. Dad and I made smoothies for breakfast, with bananas and honey and yoghurt. I added a teaspoon of Nutella to mine, which made it a weird muddy colour, but it tasted pretty good. Then after breakfast I gave Dad his aftershave and he gave me the new mobile phone I’d been begging him for forever. He said he only got it so he’d have a bit of peace. I said he’ll have plenty of peace as long as he keeps me in credit, and he groaned and asked how many more years before I could leave school and get a job.
    He’s good fun sometimes.
    I tried not to think too much about Mam not being there, and he probably did too. When she was aroundwe always had omelettes for breakfast on Christmas morning.
    I think that’s why we did smoothies this time instead.
    Mam phoned around two, earlier than usual, because I’d told her that Dad and I were going out for Christmas dinner. She probably thought I meant to a restaurant, and I didn’t mention Marjorie. It’s got nothing to do with Mam who Dad and I celebrate Christmas with any more. I listened to her wishing me Happy Christmas and telling me how much she missed me, and after a while, I told her that Dad was waiting, and hung up.
    I told her about my new mobile, and she took the number. Big deal.
    At about half two, Dad and I went across the road to Marjorie’s, and I must say the dinner was excellent. This was the menu:
    ***
    Turkey with absolutely no burnt bits Roast potatoes scattered with rosemary Carrot fingers, all buttery Roast parsnips with a yummy parmesan coating Little balls of really good stuffing made with chestnuts Gravy that made me want to lick my plate at the end
    For dessert, which I barely had room for, we didn’t have plum pudding, which was a big relief because it’s my least favourite dessert ever. We had a kind of rolled-up chocolate cake, which Marjorie said is called a roulade, filled with whipped cream and topped with some kind of roasted nuts. I’m not sure, but I think it might just be the best dessert I ever tasted.
    One thing about Marjorie Maloney, she sure can cook. No wonder her bum is quite big.
    Her brother Kevin was great fun, organising loads of games and stuff. And her dad was a bit drunk, I think, because he kept falling asleep in an armchair, and even during dinner he nodded off for a few minutes. Nobody noticed until all the talking stopped for a second, and then we heard him snoring. I don’t know how he didn’t fall off his chair – I’m sure I would have.
    I must practise sleeping in a chair and not falling off. You never know when it might come in handy.
    The two kids were OK too, a five-year-old girl called Sarah and a three-year-old boy called Luke. I painted Sarah’s nails and dressed her up in an old evening dress and high heels that Marjorie gave us, and then Luke began to cry because he wanted to be dressed up too, so I put his grandad’s hat on him, and an old green raincoat I found in Marjorie’s utility room.
    Their mother said I’d make a good big sister, and for some reason Marjorie went scarlet.
    I found out a lot about Marjorie over dinner, actually. It turns out she was an au pair in France for two years, and now she works