‘You do know it’s not magical, right?’
‘No, I had no idea. I also think flying reindeer are a good choice of transport and that Santa pops down the chimney of every house in the world on Christmas Eve and eats eight billion mince pies without putting on a single pound in weight.’ I roll my eyes and lift my head from his to rest it back against the wall. What is it with people who hate Christmas being so keen to decry others for their love of it? ‘Look, we’re both adults. We both know that the nutcracker doesn’t really grant wishes and that when wishes were granted on Nutcracker Lane, it was by a team of wish-granters who were paid to listen in and go above and beyond to make them come true, but don’t you think it’s nice for people to believe there’s a little bit of magic in the world?’
‘Not really, because there isn’t.’
‘Well, anyone who thinks that will never find it, will they?’ I snap. ‘How can you not believe in magic?’
‘Because I’m a sane, adult human?’
‘That’s not being an adult – that’s just sad. What’s the harm in a Christmas wish? Where’s the harm in allowing people to believe in the possibility of magic? In letting children grow up believing in Santa and the idea that Christmas wishes can come true?’
‘The real world? Life? Disappointment? You can make wishes until you’re blue in the face, and they won’t come true. I learnt that very early on in my life.’
‘But making a wish gives us something to dream about. Something to work towards. Something to look forward to – the possibility of it happening one day. It’s not all about magical nutcrackers and witches stirring cauldrons and wizards waving wands. Magic is all around us. Don’t you ever look up at the stars twinkling on a cold winter’s night, or watch an autumn sun set across a blazing pink sky, or blow away the seeds of a dandelion clock, or make a wish when you see the time turn to 11.11, or salute a full moon, or stand outside when it snows, or get so completely lost in a good book that you emerge feeling like you’ve time-travelled and lived a different life for a few hours? That’s real magic.’ I sound like I’m about to burst into a rousing rendition of “Colours of the Wind” and stop myself quickly.
‘I don’t have time for that. And I’ve got into enough trouble lately for not looking where I’m going, so I won’t be looking up at the stars anytime soon. The stars will still be there without me looking at them.’
I sigh, but it hits me right in the gut. ‘No wonder you’re such a Grinch.’
He laughs and does what is probably meant to be a shrug without moving his torso.
‘One of the best things about Christmastime is believing that anything can happen. Magic always feels just a little bit closer to the surface at this time of year.’ I wonder if I’m going a bit far. Usually when I meet a new person, I make an effort to hold back my weird side for a while, but here I am talking about Christmas magic to a guy who acts like he’s due to have three ghosts turn up in his bedroom anytime now.
His hand flops down from holding his ribs and lands on his thigh right next to mine. My brain sputters to a halt and all I can think about is the weight of it resting against my leg. ‘What would your wish be?’
He laughs again. ‘I don’t have one.’
‘Seriously.’ I prod his thigh gently. ‘Everyone should have a Christmas wish. Imagine for just one moment that you were a person who believed in magic and you went to crack a nut in the magical nutcracker’s mouth … What would you wish for?’
‘Someone to love me,’ he says instantly and then hesitates. He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s going to leave it there and not elaborate. ‘Last week I sat in the A&E department of the hospital for five hours, in pain, a good deal of the way into shock, scared, and completely alone. I couldn’t stop shaking, and all I wanted was someone to hold my hand and tell me it was going to be okay. Sorry if that makes me sound unmanly and unmacho, but that’s the truth. How alone I was hit me harder than the car had. I wanted someone to care about me. I wanted someone to worry about me. To notice I hadn’t come home. More than anything, I wanted someone to love me.’
‘Your parents?’
‘They’ve got their own problems.’
‘Friends?’
‘My friends are lads, y’know? Great to go out for a beer with, not so much for handholding through emotional trauma. And I’ve … kind of pulled back this year. I’ve been busy with work and there’s stuff I don’t want to share with them and when they’ve invited me out, I’ve refused because I’ve been crap company for the past few months … There’s no one I could phone out of the blue and ask to come and sit with me.’
His voice has gone quiet and shaky, and it’s clear that he’s nowhere near as blasé about the accident as he seemed earlier. Something like that shakes a person up, no matter how determined he is to appear unaffected, and I’m surprised he’s shared this with me because I get the feeling he isn’t someone who admits vulnerability easily. His hand is open on his thigh, palm up, and I don’t know what makes me do it, but I reach over and slip my fingers between his and squeeze tightly. ‘Next time you can call me.’
‘I’m going to endeavour not to get hit by any more cars, but I’ll keep that in mind.’ I expect him to recoil in horror at me holding his hand, but his fingers curl around mine and he squeezes back
