‘Can I just have two sugars this time?’ He calls after me. ‘Not sixty-two like last time?’
‘You’re hilarious,’ I call back as I get two Christmas mugs out of the cupboard and throw a teabag into each. ‘The remote’s on the table in front of you. Choose something to watch. You’ve got a choice between Christmas music or Christmas movies. We may as well start your un-Grinching straightaway.’
‘Don’t I get tortured enough with Christmas music twenty-four hours a day at the lane?’
‘Movies it is, then,’ I call out. ‘I recorded Elf last night. You’ll like that one.’
‘There has never been and never will be a Christmas movie that I’ll enjoy.’
‘You’ll love How the Grinch Stole Christmas!’
Even he laughs at that, and I have to admit I’m impressed when the sound of the TV comes on and it sounds like he’s following instructions. I make the two cups of tea and set out two china bowls with a pattern of holly heaves and red berries weaved across them.
‘Are you actually going to watch all these?’ he asks, muffled around another chocolate. ‘I’m going through your DVR box and I’ve lost count of how many Christmas movies you’ve got recorded. I’m not a mathematician but I’m pretty sure there aren’t this many hours in the day between now and next August and that’s not taking into account things like working and sleeping.’
‘I don’t like to miss any,’ I say, half-annoyed because surely commenting on the contents of someone else’s TV box isn’t good etiquette and on the other hand, half-impressed that he’s comfortable enough to do so. ‘In January, I’ll delete any that I don’t get around to.’
‘At least you’re optimistic.’
I turn off the cooker and dole out two bowlfuls of the veggie hotpot and position chunky cheesy dumplings around the edge, and finish off the teas with a splash of milk. By the time I carry his into the living room, he’s got Elf ready to play and he hands me the remote, and I put the snowy robin tray holding the bowl and mug onto his lap.
‘Christmas mugs and Christmas bowls and a Christmas tray. I’m not even horrified anymore, I’m intrigued by what other Christmassy things you’re going to bring out, like a never-ending Generation Game conveyor belt.’
I put the remote on the arm of one of the chairs and go to fetch my own food.
‘Nia, thank you,’ he says when I come back in. ‘Seriously. Tonight is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I couldn’t have chosen a better person to nearly pass out on in the storeroom.’
It makes me laugh again. ‘You’re welcome. Next time you need to keel over on a random stranger, you know where I am.’
He smiles and doesn’t drop his gaze from mine as I sit down in the armchair opposite him and fold my legs up underneath me. His teeth pull his lower lip into his mouth and I get the feeling he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. ‘This looks amazing.’
I blush, even though he has no idea how it tastes yet. Looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to my cooking. This could be the epitome of that glossy turkey in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation when Chevy Chase cuts into it and it bursts apart with a puff of air and shrivels to gristle.
‘I can’t believe you’re making me watch a Christmas movie,’ he says as I press play and the credits fill the blue screen. ‘I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie. It’s not going to make me laugh, is it?’
Oops. I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Er, no. Elf is absolutely the unfunniest Christmas movie ever. No laughter guaranteed.’
By the time we get to the scene of Will Ferrell trying to go up an escalator, James has realised I was being sarcastic. There are tears of laughter running down his cheeks – or possibly tears of pain – and he’s got a cushion held against his side by his elbow to give his ribs some padding.
‘I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this,’ he croaks out. ‘If I hadn’t taken enough painkillers to bring down a donkey, I’d hate you for this. If it was possible to hate someone who had just cooked me the best thing I’ve ever eaten.’
I go to brush the compliment off, but he stops me. ‘Seriously, Nia. This is so good. When I remember it tomorrow, I’m going to think I hallucinated it.’
He seems to know exactly what to say. I don’t cook for many people and it’s nice to hear that, in the same way I don’t have many people over to the house apart from Stacey, Lily when I babysit, and Mum occasionally, and there’s something about seeing him so at home here. Since Brad, keeping relationships at arm’s length has meant I’ve not invited anyone into my heart, let alone my house or let anyone try my cooking, and seeing him enjoy it has done a better job of warming me up than the log fire has.
I also love that he’s clearly enjoying Elf. I’ve seen it enough times to be able to quote it word for word but I concentrate intently on it as a way of stopping myself watching him and the way crow’s feet crinkle around his eyes as they dance with laughter when Buddy and Jovie sing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, and the way I can feel his eyes on me too, and every time I look over, he smiles and it makes something unclench in my stomach and warmth fill my chest.
He even looks disappointed when I pause the film to go and cut a slice of Yule Log each for afters, and he’s so much of a gentleman that he offers to do the washing up afterwards, which I refuse
