The Christmas Swap

by Sandy Barker

  If she was surprised at Archer’s confession about wanting to kiss her, she was even more so to find him waiting for her after the fair, casually perched on a low wall next to the now-empty field and holding a tall narrow gift bag.

  “Hello, you,” he said, smiling at her.

  “Hello to you, too,” she replied as she sat next to him.

  “This is for you.” He handed her the bag and she peeked inside.

  “Oooh, bubbles!” she exclaimed.

  “Sorry it’s, er, a bit, er, ordinary. I didn’t actually plan on meeting a gorgeous woman two days before Christmas.”

  Chloe grinned, both at his thoughtfulness and at being called “gorgeous”. “It’s lovely, thank you. You really didn’t need to get me anything. But to be honest, even though I’m only a few days in, I’ve drunk my fill of sherry. This will make a nice change for Christmas lunch tomorrow.”

  He chuckled. “I’m fairly certain it’s a village custom for women of a certain age.”

  “Oh, Cecily too?”

  “Yes, that’s why I nipped down to the off-licence in Watlington this afternoon to stock up on some wine—and to pick that up for you.” He seemed shy about the gift, endearing him to her even more.

  “Well, thank you again.” She absentmindedly twirled the gift tag attached to the bag, only then noticing that he’d written on it.

  To Chloe

  Happy Christmas

  From Archer x

  Her breath caught and an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, warmth wound its way through her as she stared at his words.

  “So, Chloe, I never asked. How long are you here for?”

  “Uh …” Chloe shook her head to clear it of her tumbling thoughts. “Oh, I fly home on the twenty-ninth.” Archer sucked his breath between his teeth and he grimaced. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that we shall have to make the very most of the next few days.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could think to say.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you back,” he said, standing and reaching for her hand. Yes, it was a two-minute walk, but it was the gesture that counted, and Chloe slipped her hand into his. Archer Tate was turning out to be one surprise after another. One lovely, wonderful, breathtaking, romantic surprise after another.

  *

  Chloe woke on Christmas Day feeling more refreshed than she could remember being in ages.

  Maybe it was sleeping in Lucy’s childhood bed, which was so snuggly it was like being enveloped in a giant hug. Or it could have been the long but satisfying day as Co-chair of the Christmas Fair; she usually slept soundly after a large and successful event.

  Most likely, though, it was because she’d drifted off to sleep with the thought of Archer’s kiss on replay. She stretched dreamily under the doona and luxuriated in the memory once more. Their rescue mission to retrieve Mrs Capel. The Capels’s romantic reunion when they returned to the village. How Archer had whispered in her ear and she’d turned to catch him watching her intently.

  How they’d practically leapt at each other, without saying a word.

  Then the kiss itself.

  Oh, my god, that man can kiss.

  Should she feel a certain way about the dozens of actresses Archer had kissed on screen? Or about the millions of women and men around the world who could only dream of kissing him—like she had until yesterday? Or that, until very recently, those lips were kissing a famous woman who Cecily had referred to as “that horrid girl”?

  Chloe brushed aside every thought, deciding that she needn’t feel one way or another about Archer’s kissing history. The most important fact was that he’d kissed her and would very likely do it again.

  Merry Christmas to me.

  Her thoughts landed on what he’d said while they were sitting on the wall, about wanting to make the most of the next few days. She would have to find a polite way to wangle some time with Archer without upsetting the Brownings. They’d been so lovely to her.

  The smell of toast wafted under the bedroom door and Chloe realised she was starving. She threw back the cosy covers and, shivering in the chilly air, stepped into her Uggs and wrapped herself in the fluffy robe she’d brought.

  Then she ran down the stairs steeped in anticipation, just like someone thirty years younger.

  As Lucy had promised, the Brownings were big on tradition and even though the traditions were different from her own family’s, Chloe had one of the best Christmas mornings she could remember.

  Breakfast back home in Australia was mimosas, a summer fruit platter—berries, melon, pineapple and mangoes—and more prawns than the average person ate all year. In a tiny village in Oxfordshire, it was the traditional English breakfast, most of which, Susan told her, was sourced from the same local farm as the dinner on her first night in England. No wonder it was the best bacon Chloe had ever had.

  After breakfast, and after Chloe convinced Susan to let her help clean up the kitchen, the three of them assembled in the front room, still clad in pyjamas and robes—something her own mother would never allow—to open presents.

  Max had lit a fire and tuned the radio to Radio Three for classical Christmas music. Chloe carried a tray laden with a teapot, teacups, a milk jug, and a plate teeming with sliced Christmas cake, and as she carefully placed it on the coffee table, she noticed that the red candles on the mantle had been lit. The glow from their flames, along with the crackling fire and the stockings hung from the mantle, formed such a perfect Christmassy tableau, that Chloe’s eyes prickled with tears. Even before they’d opened presents, she knew she’d remember this Christmas always.

  “I’ll pour, shall I?” asked Susan rhetorically, as she poured the steaming tea into three cups. “Now, Chloe love, we usually open our stocking presents first, then the proper presents from under the tree. How does that sound?”

  Chloe’s eyes settled on the stockings, three of them now plump with gifts and only Lucy’s hanging limply from its hook. Was she supposed to have brought stocking presents for the Brownings? Somehow, she hadn’t thought of it until then and she felt terrible.

  Susan must have picked up on that because she was quick to reassure her. “Oh, the stocking presents are just silly things, trinkets really, bits and bobs.”

  “Just a bit of fun. Things we find over the year and squirrel away ’til Christmastime. And chocolates!” added Max, being uncharacteristically effusive.

  “Oh, right,” said Chloe as Max pulled himself out of his chair and unhooked each of the stockings, then handed them out before settling back in his chair with an “oof”.

  The sound made Chloe smile, but she hid it by biting her lip. She didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him. Susan and Max had started delving into the depths of their stockings, so she did the same, more intrigued by what the Brownings had got for each other than what was in hers. At each little “oh” or other exclamation, Chloe lifted her head and watched as they shared a smile or a wink across the room.

  “Oh, love, how did you know?” Max held up a Terry’s chocolate orange, and Susan dissolved into a fit of giggles. It must have been an in-joke, Chloe decided.

  “Max! You went back for it, you dear man.” She held up a decorative teaspoon, which Chloe knew she’d add to the display board in the kitchen. “Look,” she held it up for Chloe, “it’s from our holiday to Cardiff, from the castle.”

  “It’s lovely,” said Chloe making Susan beam even more.

  “Was tricky, that was, with you nosing about the giftshop for so long,” teased Max before bestowing his wife with a loving smile.

  Chloe continued to open the individually wrapped gifts in her stocking, placing each one in turn on the side table next to her. When her stocking was empty, she’d acquired quite the collection of chocolates and trinkets, including a very cute fluffy sheep with a black face that stood about three inches high.

  “That there is an Oxford sheep,” said Max. “Been bred around here for nearly two hundred years.” />
  “It’s adorable. He shall have pride of place on my desk at work.” He seemed to like that and gave her an approving nod. Max had taken some time to warm up to her, but Chloe just adored Lucy’s dad, and she could see where Lucy got her quiet demeanour from.

  “Right, more tea?” asked Susan as she stood to pour herself a cup.

  “I’ll have one, love.” Max stood again and started foraging under the Christmas tree. “Here, Chloe, this one’s from Susan and me, and this one’s from Lucy.”

  “Oh, thank you!” This Christmas was full of surprises. She hadn’t expected Lucy to leave something for her but, with only a moment’s thought, she realised that of course Lucy would have done that. Chloe opened that present first.

  It was a photo of the three of them—Chloe, Lucy, and Jules—from their holiday to New York, the last one they’d taken together. They were in Central Park and had asked a stranger to take the shot. It had turned out beautifully with the city skyline in the background. Chloe had a digital copy, but seeing it framed in silver turned a simple photo into a treasured keepsake.

  “That’s a lovely frame, isn’t it?” asked Susan.

  “Beautiful.” Chloe’s eyes roamed over the faces of her two best friends and she missed them intensely. She promised herself that they would plan the next May Ladies holiday as soon as they were all back home in the New Year.

  Chloe levered open the stand on the frame so she could set it on the table. The gift from the Brownings was a beautiful tartan scarf that, Susan explained, they’d got in Edinburgh when they’d been there last summer with Lucy.

  For such a quiet, unassuming couple, the Brownings certainly travel a lot, she thought. She had known this about them—she’d met them when they were half a world away in Hawaii and Lucy had inherited her travel bug from them—but voracious travelling seemed a little incongruous with their life in the sleepy hamlet of Penham.

  “Now my gift to you!” exclaimed Chloe as she jumped up from her chair and retrieved it from under the tree. “It’s actually two, but I wrapped them together. Who wants to open them?”

  “You go ahead, love,” offered Max.

  Chloe watched excitedly as Susan carefully peeled open the wrapping to reveal a bubble-wrapped blob. Taking even more care, Susan undid the wrap, then held aloft two Christmas ornaments, one made from porcelain—a spray of gum leaves with a delicate red gum blossom—and the other, a blown-glass banksia. “Oh, Max, will you look at these.”

  Max popped his reading glasses on and crossed the room to inspect the ornaments. He took the banksia in his hand and turned it slowly. “That’s magnificent, that is, Chloe. It will have pride of place on the tree, I think. And that one, too. Thank you, love.”

  He gave Chloe a warm smile and a wave of happiness shot through her.

  Just then, there was a loud knock at the door.

  The three of them looked at each other, bewildered. “I wonder who that could be,” said Max, rising and crossing the room. He opened the door to the entry and Chloe and Susan exchanged a look as they heard the front door open, then the murmur of male voices. Max appeared in the doorway. “Uh, Chloe love, it’s for you. It’s Alan—from across the road,” he added unnecessarily.

  Chloe, who hadn’t planned on seeing Archer that morning, smoothed her hair, then stood and tightened the belt on her robe. Max crossed the room, throwing a shrug of confusion Chloe’s way, as Archer’s large frame filled the doorway.

  “Good morning, everyone. Uh, Happy Christmas.”

  “And to you, too, Alan,” said Susan. “Would you like a cup of tea, love? Or some Christmas cake?”

  “Oh, thank you, no. I just … might I have a word with you, Chloe?”

  She’d been dumbstruck until that moment, then snapped out of her reverie. “Uh, yeah, of course.” She gawped at Susan, who threw her a lifeline.

  “How about you two talk privately, and Max and I will go and get a start on Christmas lunch?” Susan jerked her head unsubtly at Max, who harrumphed a little as he got out of his chair again. He gave a tight smile in Archer’s direction and closed the door to the room quietly behind him.

  “Hello,” said Archer. He seemed nervous, anxious even.

  “Hi.” Chloe licked her lips, also a little nervous. She hoped she looked okay. She hadn’t given her appearance any thought that morning, and she felt almost naked standing in front of Archer barefaced and in her PJs.

  “Sorry, I would have called, but stupidly I didn’t get your telephone number yesterday.”

  “Right.” They stared at each other awkwardly, like they were in a Jane Austen novel, or something. Any moment now, Archer would ask if she wanted to take a turn around the drawing room. The thought made her snigger softly, breaking the tension of the moment—for her, anyway—but Archer’s expression remained fixed and Chloe realised he must have come with bad news. She stopped sniggering.

  “What is it?” she asked. She barely knew the man, but there was obviously something going on. Oh, god, maybe he got back together with Madison. She couldn’t stand it any longer. “Please, what?”

  Archer shook his head quickly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Chloe, I …” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “I’m so very, very sorry, but it appears that we’ve been papped.”

  “What?” She’d heard him, but her mind struggled to comprehend the word.

  “Papped. You see, there are photographs of us on the internet, um … kissing.”

  “Ohhh,” she breathed out. A thousand thoughts flew about her head in an instant. The one that landed was, Well, this definitely is a Christmas to remember.

  Chapter 16

  Jules

  “Where’s the turnaround point?” asked Jules. She and Ash were running along the Yarra River the morning of Christmas Eve. Ash had set a decent pace, and Jules loved the feeling of the fresh morning air in her lungs, the sunshine on her face, and the rhythmic movement of her muscles. God, she missed running outside, but in her part of the world, she had been relegated to a treadmill for a couple of months now. It was either run inside or risk hypothermia.

  “Depends. We can either chuck a uey up at Flinders Bridge”—Ash pointed to the bridge up ahead that was busy with morning traffic—“or keep going and cross over near the tennis centre.” Jules knew she was talking about the huge complex where they held the Australian Open. She’d always wanted to go to a Grand Slam tournament, but so far, she’d only seen them on TV.

  “And how much further is the tennis centre?”

  “Adds a couple of Ks onto the run, I reckon.”

  Jules thought of all the Christmas indulgences that were coming up. “Let’s do the whole thing.”

  “Okay.”

  They ran in silence for a moment. “Hey, what’s that yellow building with the clock tower?”

  “Flinders Station. Come on, we can take a little detour.” They approached Flinders Bridge and jogged up a steep set of stairs. At street level, a bustling crowd of people milled about outside the train station. There was a tram stop in the middle of the street—a busy one—with at least a hundred people standing on the platforms waiting for trams into and out of the city.

  “I can’t believe how busy it is on Christmas Eve,” said Jules, jogging on the spot next to Ash as they waited for the light at the pedestrian crossing.

  “Yeah, it’s not a public holiday or anything, so some of these people will be heading to work. The others are probably doing last-minute Christmas shopping.”

  There was a mix of people—families, couples, groups of friends, people in business attire and uniforms—but most were casually dressed, so Ash must have been right about the Christmas shopping.

  The light finally turned green and Ash took off. Jules followed closely behind, once again in awe of how the petite Aussie negotiated the crowd with ease. She figured that you probably got used to it if you lived here.

  Ash shot off to the left, then rounded a corner just past a large building with signs saying, “Taxi Kitchen”. The
y emerged into a large open space and the sight was so unlike anything she’d ever seen before that Jules stopped short. It took a moment before Ash realised she was running alone and came back for her.

  “Impressive, huh?” she asked. “It’s Fed Square—Federation Square. Don’t you love it?”

  Jules’s eye scanned the open space, which was shaped less like a square and more like a giant amoeba, clocking the mottled brickwork as it undulated up and away from them to the right and formed a set of wide steps to the left. There was a stage with a huge screen above it on their right, and the buildings surrounding the square looked like something out of a science fiction film. Panels, which could have been lifted straight from a space station, met with glass panels at irregular angles. She could have sworn there was a location like this in one of the episodes of Picard. Maybe they had filmed it here.

  “It’s awesome,” she said, finally finding her voice.

  They were on the move again, this time at a brisk walk, as Ash pointed out the various buildings, the most intriguing of which was named ACMI—the Australian Centre for Moving Images. “Hey, that’s on Chloe’s list,” she said, eliciting a grin from Ash.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I’ll come with you if you like. Their latest exhibit is supposed to be incredible; it’s all about film noir.”

  “Oh, cool,” Jules replied.

  “You ready?” Ash motioned towards a set of stairs that led back to the riverside path they’d been running.

  “Yeah, let’s do it.” They jogged down the stairs, then turned left and headed down a mild incline onto an open area of packed, sandy-coloured earth that was surrounded by tall eucalypts. An enormous abstract sculpture that looked like a three-legged dog covered in decoupage dominated the space.

  “They hold festivals here,” said Ash. “Food festivals, music … There was a Banksy exhibit here a few years back. It was awesome.”