I started a new job last September, and, in the mornings, I had to walk through a cemetery to get to the station.  One thing I noticed was how idiosyncratic a lot of the gravestones were.  You had heart-shaped stones, pink and gold lettering, poems by members of the family, photos of the deceased embedded in the stone, kites, windmills, and balloons.  Loads of balloons.  All of which, in my opinion, beats the hell out of just leaving a cactus on the grave.

“Christmas tree!” Ben yelled, “Christmas tree!  Come on, Auntie Annie!”

I followed Ben into the living room, where Cherry was struggling to put up something large, bendy and green.  The plastic tree was hard to get in position, so I could see why she needed Joe to help her.

I still felt a sense of impending disaster when I thought about Joe.  His slimy act had been shaken by Jean’s death, but it had rallied well. 

This is the closest Anja will come to expressing her condolences to Joe.

Joe was once again the person who acted like everyone was about to walk into his traps.  I’d noticed, though, that he refused to go anywhere near the balconies in Wild Cherry House. 

Geez, I wonder why?

I knew that if he ever did anything he’d regret (though I doubted he’d regret anything), that was where I could hide.  If only I’d known that I wasn’t the one he’d go after.

See, Anja, there’s foreshadowing, and then there’s just spoiling the rest of the story.  The readers certainly aren’t going to stick around for your sparkling personality, I can tell you that.

It was a huge relief to get shot of Mr Daly, even if it had happened in such a terrifying way.  Joe had thanked me personally for getting rid of him, which I’d thought was bad taste. 

Said the girl who referred to one of the mourners at her funeral as “Super-Blob.”

Then again, I thought that practically everything Joe said around that time was bad taste.

I want to give fifteen-year-old me some credit for recognising that Anja’s sudden grudge against Joe is completely illogical, but that’s kind of tainted by the fact that I know Anja’s grudge is going to be spectacularly vindicated near the end.

He did, however, seem to be genuinely worried about Gary.

“Between you and me, Anja,” he’d said that morning, “Gary’s been looking all edgy since Mr Daly attacked you.  He looked as if he was going to throw up when you told him.  There’s something wrong with that kid, I can just tell.”

You mean besides the Oedipus Complex and the constant weeping?

I’d just put it down to Gary caring about me a lot.  I knew I’d want to throw up if someone attacked someone I loved.  But still, Joe was right about Gary being edgy.  He was acting as if something horrible had actually, rather than nearly, happened. 

“Bloody hell, Gary, I was only nearly strangled to death!  Why don’t you relax?”

In fact, he looked as if his life had turned sour right before his eyes.  And, considering all that business with Jordan, it had turned sour at least twice before.

“I should warn you, mate,” Cherry told me after she’d finally wrestled the tree into submission, “We aren’t going to get a white Christmas this year.  Not with the weather so far.  You’ll probably be able to get a suntan on Christmas Day.”

“Ah well,” I replied, “That’s global warming for you.”

Cherry laughed.  “Yep.  Rudolph and his pals might have to wear jet skis if the ice caps melt, and they don’t look good on hooves, believe me.”

Fifteen-year-old me practices her stand-up routine.

This reminded Ben of something.  “Carrot for Rudolph,” he said firmly.

Cherry nodded.  “OK, we’ll leave out a carrot for Rudolph.  Just as long as he doesn’t leave wet hoof-prints on the carpet, what with the jet-skiing and all,” she said before bursting into peals of laughter along with me.  Ben clearly didn’t approve.  “Gary,” he whinged, “Mummy and Auntie Annie are laughing at Rudolph!”

Cute Ben Moment number forty-five.

Gary smiled, closing his pad.  He was a bit awkward with little kids, but Ben liked him anyway.  He liked anyone who was prepared to give him chocolate.  “They aren’t laughing at Rudolph, Ben.  They’re just being silly.  They like Rudolph really.” 

This didn’t seem to satisfy Ben, since he turned back and glared at us.  “Santa won’t come if you laugh at Rudolph!” he warned.

“OK, OK,” Cherry spluttered, “We’ve stopped laughing now. 

They’re still laughing after that long?  I guess they have to make their own entertainment in these parts.

Come on, Anja, let’s get the tinsel on.”

I was saved from being attacked by the amazing tinsel worm when the phone rang.

I’d just like to point out that, at the same time as these heartwarming Christmassy antics are going on, Anja’s parents are contemplating their first Christmas without their beloved daughter.  How much do you think they’re enjoying the decorating?

“Hey, Anja!” the voice on the other end shrieked, “It’s Estelle.”

“Hi!  Haven’t heard from you in a while!”  Since October, in fact.  I was beginning to think she and Mark had abandoned us.

Actually, they just snuck out of the story while nobody was looking.  And good luck to them, that’s what I say.

“Well, Joe’s been phoning me every week or so, so I know all the news.  I heard about Cherry inheriting Jean’s old place, for instance.”

“I didn’t bother to come down for my mother’s best friend’s funeral, though.  That would have been far too much effort.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been too polite of her to move without telling you.  But… um… listen…”

I love how that’s the big news that Joe needed to tell Estelle.  Not about Jean’s mysterious death, or anything.  That’s incidental.  What Estelle really cares about is that Cherry got to move to a bigger house.

“Yeah?”

“About Joe… Did you ever hear about something bad happening between him and Leah?”

“No,” Estelle replied, sounding confused, “Joe always told me he liked Leah.  Why, what’s been going on?”

“Nothing…  But did Joe ever mention someone called Violet?”

“Oh, Violet!” Estelle whined, “No, Joe didn’t, but James sure did.  I kept telling him it wasn’t polite to go on about old girlfriends in front of his wife, but did he ever listen? No way!  Every time I told him he said I was too young to understand!”

“She was an old girlfriend?”

“Why else would he go on about her like that? 

SPOILERS- Violet is actually Joe’s other, long-deceased sister, and Estelle is a conclusion-jumping numpty.

It was so embarrassing for Joe, having to listen to stories about how great Violet was.  It was always awkward, just after my mother left for America.  Obviously I was staying with Jean…

“Obviously.  You can tell how close we were from my tearful speech at her funeral.  OH WAIT.”

…but James seemed to think that I needed a dad as well, which I didn’t.  I never even thought much of the dad I had, before he left.  Anyway, there’s James acting as though I’m some poor little waif he has to take care of, so I get exposed to their family arguments, which was embarrassing.

I love how even James’ nicer actions get spun into symptoms of pure eeevil.  “He felt protective towards an abandoned child?  HOW EMBARRASSING!  He gave the eulogy at his own aunt’s funeral?  STRING HIM UP!”

Me and Joe were the heirs to Blaze, because if you remember this was a couple of years ago and Cherry wasn’t on the scene yet…

And, once again, this story would be much more interesting if it turned out that Joe and Estelle were trying to bump Cherry off for the inheritance.  But it won’t.

…so we had to work together, kind of against his family, and of course when I met Mark…”

“So,” I asked, “Do you know what ended up happening to Violet?”

“That’s enough character development for you, missy.”

“No, but I’ll tell you this- James was crazy about her.  I swear, every time his dad mentioned her name Joe would cringe.  James was just so damn tactless.  Don’t tell Joe I said this, but the Fosters are one mixed-up family.”

“You’re telling me,” I snarled, watching Joe flirt with Cherry, “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something wrong with all of them.”

I can see her point.  Flirting with any relative of Anja’s is a sure sign of a sick mind.

Unfortunately for me, Estelle worked out what I was implying.  “Anja!” she retorted, “I don’t know what you’ve got against Joe all of a sudden, but despite being the son of a psycho, he’s turned out fine!”

Fifteen-year-old me didn’t know what Anja had against Joe all of a sudden, either.  But she needed conflict, and for some reason she didn’t want to get it from the serial killer.

I was caught off-balance.  Estelle had never been angry at me before, but I could tell from experience that I’d better change her mood quickly, or I wouldn’t like the consequences.  “Sorry!  It’s just something James said about Leah…”

“Oh, him,” Estelle replied, pronouncing the second word as if it was some evil curse, “Come on, Anja, you know about James!  He’ll say anything to turn people against Joe!”

Hee.  I’m sorry I called you a numpty, Estelle.  You speak words of wisdom.

“I know,” I replied, “OK, sorry.  But it does make you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“Why would someone just turn against one of their kids like that, especially when they treat their other kids normally?  It doesn’t make sense.”

Anja Cleary, champion of abused children everywhere.

Also, please note that Gary’s stepbrother turned against him, and he seemed to treat the rest of his family normally.  But, of course, Gary is the love interest, so he can’t be evil.

Estelle was clearly fed up with me. 

SO AM I.

“Anja, it might seem strange, but it happens all the time.  Trust me.  You don’t have to worry about Joe.”

Estelle was wrong.  Something had happened, I was sure.  Joe might have been able to charm Cherry and Estelle with his slimy act, but he wasn’t fooling me. 

Anja is much smarter than people who’ve known Joe for years!

I knew I was right.  Joe was just as mixed-up as James was.

Never mind what he’d done to Leah.  Every time Cherry made a teasing remark to Gary, I saw a look on Joe’s face that could have curdled milk.

*

“I seriously don’t see your problem with Joe,” Gary told me as he sat on a shelf in the wardrobe, drawing.  Yes, I really do mean a shelf.  I looked at him.  “I just don’t like him, OK?” I replied.

“Why?”

“Well, there’s the whole Leah thing, and I think he’s a bit jealous of you.” 

“Well, that’s me convinced!” said Gary, getting out a pitchfork, “Let’s have a good old-fashioned witch-burning!”

“Jealous?”  Gary smirked.  “Why would he be jealous?”

“Because…” I wasn’t sure how to put this.  I couldn’t exactly say, “Because he’s got a crush on Cherry the size of Mount Everest, and she has a thing for you, much to my annoyance I might well add,” so I changed the subject. 

…Why?  Why can’t you say that?  It’s the only part of your anti-Joe campaign that makes any sense!

“Actually, is there room for two people on that shelf?  It looks more comfortable than this chair.”  Said chair looked as if it had been dragged through a hedge backwards twenty years ago, and hadn’t been upholstered since.

Gary moved up, and I sat down beside him.  “I’ve always liked enclosed spaces,” he told me, “I’d always hide in my wardrobe when I felt upset.  Childish or what?”

(to the tune of “The Lollipop Song”)  Oedipus, Oedipus, oh, Oedi-Oedipus…

“Yeah, but I’ve felt like that.  Like when I was being picked on at school, or when my dog died, or when…  Oh, Gary!”  I pulled him towards me with such force that our heads nearly collided.  Gary, needless to say, looked very frightened.  “What?” he squeaked.

Anja will now hug him and squeeze him and call him George.

“Well, I feel like such a cry-baby next to you.  Here I am, whinging about my dog, when you’ve been through things that…”

“Anja!” he said sharply, “You’re not allowed to feel sorry for me, remember?”  

“I’ve developed a new character trait now!  I can be impressively meta!”

“Oh.  Sorry, I forgot.”  We’d agreed that whatever had happened to Gary before was in the past, and his life was, according to him, perfect now, so there was no point in dwelling on the time when it hadn’t been. 

I’m sure every psychiatrist in the country would agree.

Personally, I wasn’t a hundred per cent happy with this arrangement, but it kept Gary from going off into bouts of misery and fear, so it was OK.  Well, that’s what I thought.

The idea was, if we brought up the Things Of Which We Didn’t Speak, we had to change the subject as soon as we realised our mistake.  After looking out of the window for a second, I thought of something.  “We haven’t done anything about James Foster for a while, have you noticed?”

“Anyone would think we were incompetent protagonists.”

“What’s the point?” Gary asked, “We haven’t seen him since Jean’s funeral.  He hasn’t been bothering us.  The only reason for tracking him down would be revenge, and what would that achieve?”

…Putting a known murderer behind bars?

For some reason, that was a real weight off my shoulders. 

Once again, everyone’s encouraging Anja’s baser instincts.  Imagine if she got bitten by a radioactive spider- every time she tried to go out and fight a supervillain, her friends would tell her that she’d do much more good by staying on the sofa and watching Eastenders.

In the past month, underneath everything had been a tiny worry that one day I would have to confront James and probably get myself killed. 

“Tiny.”  “Tiny.”

And now, Gary had explained that worry away in about five seconds.  And I wasn’t about to dismiss it as part of his great desire not to cause trouble. 

“You know what?” I said, “You’re right.  And it’s not like he can still get anything he wants.  Estelle’s still with Mark and Cherry’s got Jean’s cash.”

“Now that he’s unsatisfied and frustrated, I’m sure his urge to kill will just go away!”

Gary laughed as he kissed me on the forehead.  “Stop worrying, Anja.  He isn’t coming back.”

Part of me wishes that the story just stopped there, and that was the happy ending.  Not only would it be hilariously terrible and completely in character, but it would also mean that I didn’t have to put up with these characters for another seven chapters.  Ah well.

Christmas is supposed to be the one day of the year when you can focus on all the nice bits of the world without being called short-sighted, isn’t it? 

Well, that’s what Mr Hankey the Christmas Poo says.  And if he’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

Well, that’s the theory.  And the Christmas of that year was going so well, too.  But I would soon find out that, calm, peaceful and reasonable though my Gary was, he could still be horribly, horribly wrong.

Join us again for Chapter Fourteen, in which we finally get a full-length scene with our villain.  I know, I was surprised too.