‘Look what Aunty Ros gave me for Christmas!’ Josh said, tearing into his presents and throwing bits of wrapping paper over his parents and grandparents.
‘Pieces of eight,’ squawked the toy parrot.
‘Oh, wow!’ said Josh holding up the brightly coloured plastic bird.
‘Nice of your sister to buy another quiet toy,’ Sam said to her husband, Alex.
‘It’s payback for that farting Bagpuss you bought her kids,’ Alex replied, smirking.
‘Yawning Bagpuss. Bagpuss yawns, and it was ten years ago.’
‘At least she tried. You told her how much he was into pirates.’
Josh was wearing stripy trousers pulled up under his armpits and a pirate hat drooping over his eyes, bits of yesterday’s dinner were smeared down his oversized cream shirt.
‘Josh, can you change out of those? You’ve worn them four days straight.’ Sam said.
‘Oh, leave ‘im, Sam,’ her mother said. ‘It’s Christmas.’
Sam rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the side, signalling to Alex to help her in the kitchen. Josh trailed in behind.
A fog of steam filled the kitchen. Sam opened the window, grabbed a glass and went to the drinks’ cabinet.
‘Pieces of eight,’ echoed the parrot’s tinny voice.
‘Josh, doesn’t that parrot say anything else? Try the other buttons.’ Sam was sick of hearing it.
‘Ahoy, Me Hearties!’ said the parrot.
‘Oh cool.’ said Josh.
‘Go take this to your Granny, Josh.’ Sam held out a glass of sherry. ‘Might sweeten her up a bit.’
‘I don’t think she’s been too sour yet this year,’ said Alex.
Josh scampered into the lounge, handing his Granny the drink.
‘Oh, thank you, Sweetheart,’ Sam’s mother said. She frowned at her husband. ‘John, do you have to watch Die Hard? It’s Christmas Day.’
‘Christmas Day,’ repeated the parrot.
Josh darted between rooms, waving the parrot in one hand and a rubber cutlass in the other.
Sam peered into the oven to look at the turkey, a blast of hot air hit her face.
‘My mother is driving me mad,’ she complained to Alex.
‘…driving me mad,’ the parrot repeated as Josh trotted back into the lounge to his grandparents. Her mother took a sip of her sherry. ‘I hope she’s not making turkey again, John. Sam’s turkey’s always tough as ol’ boots.’
Josh ran back into the kitchen.
‘Sam’s turkey’s always tough as ol’ boots,’ the parrot mimicked. Sam scowled at Alex who was straining lumps from her gravy. ‘What did my mother just say?’ Did she insult my cooking? God my mother’s a sour-faced old bat.’
‘God my mother’s a sour-faced old bat,’ said the parrot as Josh skipped back into the lounge, nearly toppling the Christmas tree.
‘What was that?’ Sam’s mother snapped. ‘Get yer coat, John. We’re leaving. You can keep yer tough turkey.’ Her mother stormed out, sliding over the shiny paper scattered on the floor in her rush to leave. She slammed the front door knocking the wreath from its nail.
Sam dashed into the lounge still wearing her Christmas apron.
‘Mum? Dad?’ she said scanning the abandoned room where the TV was still playing the film. ‘What’s happened?’
She slumped down onto the sofa and Josh sat next to her offering his toy. Sam spotted the discarded cardboard box. “FakeBird repeat-what-you-say parrot.”
‘Yippee-ki-yay, Motherfucker!’ repeated the parrot.
Sam looked at Josh. His eyes and mouth were wide. She couldn’t help it - she covered her mouth and laughed.
Author: Louise is a beginner writer. She lives in Guildford with her three boys and has done three terms of at the adult education centre on writing. She has never written prior to lockdown, but is enjoying learning a new skill.
This story is part of our Christmas Countdown 2025 selection and Louise’s Christmas present is 3 months’ free membership.
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