‘I don’t know what’s best for me, but I do know I’ll never forgive myself if I walk away.’
I’m still holding the fingers of his broken arm and his right hand is wrapped around my forearm from underneath now, his index finger trailing up and down from my inner wrist to inner elbow, and I’m trying not to think about it because every touch makes me shiver in a good way.
‘Which is your favourite nutcracker?’ Without lifting his head from the back of the sofa, he nods towards the nutcracker army on the living-room window ledge.
‘You could just ask if we can change the subject, you know.’
He smiles at me sleepily. ‘Sorry. It’s all I’ve thought about for the past year and being with you distracts me. And I’m enjoying being distracted.’
‘You can always talk to me. Even if you think I won’t get it because I love Christmas, I’d still listen.’ I look between him and the window ledge. ‘You know, I’ve got a soft spot for that little unpainted wooden one someone gave me this year. Although I’ve always wanted a life-size one like you see in Hallmark movie sets. I think that’d really complete my collection.’
‘That’d make you less lonely on winter nights.’
I don’t mention that I haven’t been lonely at all this December and I’m currently snuggling up with the reason. ‘Didn’t you ever have a proper Christmas?’ I blurt out.
‘Define proper?’
‘Tubs of Quality Street, arguments over the last strawberry cream, family squabbles, the annual Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble games while Grandpa’s snoring in the armchair and Grandma’s telling everyone to pipe down so she can hear the Queen at 3 p.m., all sitting around wearing silly paper hats and getting abnormally excited about cheeseboards.’
He lets out such a loud laugh that it’s a welcome sound after all the seriousness. ‘Well, I understand the getting abnormally excited about cheeseboards bit, but nothing else. I don’t have a big family, and Christmas has always been about work for my parents. When I was little, they’d hand me an Argos catalogue in November and tell me to circle everything I wanted, and it would all be under the tree on Christmas morning, but it was the people who worked for my dad who put it there. Christmas was delegated to his paid staff.
‘Yeah, it was great having all the toys I could’ve dreamed of, but what my parents didn’t understand was that I wanted them to play with me. I didn’t want the stuff – I wanted the happy family Christmases I saw on TV. And that’s never going to happen when you work until late on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day is a chance to catch up on admin and paperwork, and then it all starts up again on Boxing Day with trying to shift the excess stock that hasn’t sold this season. My parents sold the illusion of a perfect Christmas, but our own Christmases were just a box-ticking exercise. Another chore to tick off the list. An inconvenience.
‘I spent Christmases alone, waiting for my parents to be done with their paperwork so we could do something together. Other days were easier because I could go round to friends’ houses and stuff, but you can’t do that on Christmas Day when everyone’s with their families. To me it was a normal day where you couldn’t be normal. The world forces you to acknowledge it and criticises you if you don’t.’
His words conjure up an image of a little boy sitting in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by toys, but sad and alone in the middle of what should be a happy scene. It’s a good thing I’m still holding the fingers of his broken arm and I’m too afraid of hurting him to move a millimetre because it’s enough to make me want to leap on him, snog him senseless, and promise he’ll never be lonely at Christmas again.
One of his fingers twitches where they’re sandwiched between mine and I squeeze them minutely tighter. ‘You don’t have to look so upset. As soon as I was old enough, I worked through Christmas and appreciated the uninterrupted day to catch up on admin.’
‘That’s a terrible way to see Christmas.’
‘So yours were all about the family stuff then?’
‘Yeah. Mum’s house is a fifteen-minute walk away, so when I was little, me and my mum and dad used to come here to my grandma and grandpa’s cottage, and she’d invite loads of cousins and aunts and uncles who we never saw at any other time of the year, and then after my little brother was born, Mum didn’t want to drag a baby and all his stuff up the hill, so Grandma and Grandpa started coming to us and less and less extended family were invited.
‘Mum was always crazed with the cooking, so my favourite thing on Christmas morning was walking up here to meet Grandma and help her carry the plates of food she’d made back to the house, and after my dad and then my grandpa died, our family Christmases gradually got smaller and smaller, but they were always ours. Everyone’s Christmases are individual, and—’
‘And no one’s doing anything wrong if they choose to spend it working?’
‘I think you spend enough time working, Grinch.’ The name comes out as a murmur and my voice shakes with a rush of affection for him. I’m suddenly unable to stop myself touching him. I lift my hand carefully from his fingers and reach up to stroke his cheek where his face is still turned towards me, letting my nails trail lightly down his stubbled jaw. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting you’ve got three broken bones that were
