A Happy Christmas Ending

by Christiane France

  “Charity?” I couldn’t have felt worse if he’d slapped me. “Is that what you think I’m offering? Or do you have a sudden yen to play a character in a Dickens’ novel or something equally ridiculous? Find out firsthand the true meaning of abject poverty, perhaps?”

  He looked away, appearing slightly embarrassed. “No, of course not, but...”

  “But what? You want me to imagine you and Marmalade huddled in a doorway with a tin cup, begging for handouts? The temperature is way down below zero and you have no place to go. I can see the pair of you now. You have your meager possessions tied up in a little bundle beside you and poor Marmalade’s tucked inside your threadbare coat for warmth while the snowflakes fall gently on your heads. Please, give me a break.”

  He managed a dry laugh. “You forgot the bit about us being starving.”

  “Right, so I did. I also forgot about the street sweeper finding your frozen bodies under a snowdrift next morning. Although, provided it’s all right with you, I’d really like to skip that part of the story.”

  Michael sat on the other side of Marmalade. The cat turned onto his back so Michael could rub his tummy. “And so would we. Marmie has had firsthand experience of almost being flash frozen. He doesn’t need a repeat. Anyway, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Good. So can we now discuss this sensibly, please?”

  “I have some savings that should tide me over until unemployment kicks in, but money goes fast, so I’d need to be careful. And I’d have to stay with my parents while I looked for another job.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if you stayed with me here in London?”

  “You mean share your hotel room? I’m sure the owners would love that.”

  “No. The only reason I’m still at Jasper’s is because you wouldn’t help me find somewhere for the three of us.”

  “I couldn’t because of what I’ve just told you.”

  I sighed. “So the sooner we start looking the better. I already did a little preliminary checking. I went into a real estate office and talked to one of the agents. He gave me details on a couple of places that sounded quite interesting. He also gave me his card. Tomorrow I’ll give him a call. Agreed?”

  “No.” The look on Michael’s face dared me to argue. “What you do is your business, Drew. What I do is mine. And mine doesn’t include freeloading off anyone, especially not you.”

  “Why not? We’re lovers, partners. What affects you, affects me as well.”

  He shrugged. “We both know when you’re emotionally involved with someone you feel obligated to help. Which is all very fine and good, but if the dependency goes on too long, then resentment creeps in. I’ve seen it happen with friends, people I know, so don’t tell me it wouldn’t be like that with us because I can almost guarantee it would. I won’t take the risk. Please, Drew, I want you to understand I’m not saying this to hurt you in any way. If, by the time everything is worked out and the worst happens, the only thing I expect to have left is my pride. I’d like to hang on to that if at all possible.”

  I knew where Michael was coming from. Pride can be a bitch. It can stand in the way of one’s best interests and any and every sensible course of action. I also knew about the resentment angle. I’d been there a couple of times myself over small things I felt were important, so I wasn’t about to argue. I’d be feeling the same in his shoes. When pride is all we have left it becomes doubly important, the one thing that stops us from giving up completely.

  I put an arm around his shoulders and, ignoring his initial resistance, pulled him close. “I understand what you’re saying, and while I don’t agree with your refusal to let me help, I have to respect your right to make your own choices. But whatever you decide it’s time for me to move out of Jasper’s. For sure hotel living means getting waited on hand and foot, but it’s also restrictive. I can’t wander around in my PJs or stay in bed all day without feeling guilty. So if I find something and you change your mind, the offer stands. I won’t push. All you’ll have to do is say the word.”

  Michael leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thanks for understanding, but that won’t be happening unless I manage to hang on to my job or until I’m self-supporting again. I’ll be okay though. I won’t starve or be reduced to living on the streets, so you don’t need to worry.”

  Marmalade was still tucked between the two of us and I gave his tummy another rub. He responded with a huge stretch, a clear indication he wanted me to keep up the petting. “What about the boss here. Doesn’t he get a say in all this?”

  “Of course he does.” Michael laughed and joined in the petting process. “How about this? If I’m jobless when you find a place, and I’m betting finding anything decent won’t be anywhere near as easy as you seem to think, if you want, Marmie can come stay with you.”

  “And once you land another job you’ll join us?”

  “If I land another job.”

  “You will.”

  He scooped Marmalade up and onto his lap. “We’ll see. What would you like to drink? Tea, coffee, wine?”

  “Whatever. Why don’t you surprise me?”

  Michael pushed himself off the sofa and headed for the kitchen, with Marmalade in hot pursuit. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  While I poured the wine, Michael put on some soft, dreamy music, turned on a table lamp and switched off the overhead light.

  “There, that’s much better,” he said as he lay down beside me with his head in my lap. He reached for his wineglass and, despite his awkward position, managed to take a few sips and return it to the table without spilling any over me or himself. “Cheers! Here’s to a pleasant evening and no more talk of things I can’t control and which may never happen. Agreed.”

  “Agreed.” I took a sip from my own glass and put in back on the end table. “Are we still going down to your parents’ place for Christmas?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss that for anything. I thought my sister and her family might try to make it this year, but she says not. Between caring for her in-laws, who are not in the best of health, and worrying about frost that could kill their wretched grapevines and wipe out next year’s crop, she is, in a word, stuck. In any event, it’s a long journey from where they live near Avignon and they have two small children. Even without all their other concerns, I wouldn’t have blamed them if they’d decided it was just too much hassle for a couple of days. Of course our parents are disappointed.”

  “So, I’ll be driving us down to Henley on Christmas Eve afternoon?”

  “We can take the train if you’d rather.”

  “No, too many changes and Marmalade would hate it. Anyway, it’s faster by car. But I’d like to leave early and take the scenic route rather than the motorway, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Fine with me. You’re the driver.”

  When I knew I’d be living in England for a while, the idea of driving on what I thought of as the wrong side of the road had scared the pants off me. However, a vehicle was a necessity for my new job and I’d gotten used to the differences quicker than I’d expected. I’d even mastered getting on and off the traffic circles or roundabouts as smoothly as if I’d been driving over here for years instead of a couple of months, and that was quite an accomplishment. I knew roundabouts had been designed to slow the flow of traffic on major highways back before the introduction of motorways, but whether or not they worked I had no idea. I just knew they could be a pain in the ass for a first-timer.

  “What will we be doing in the way of gifts?”

  “Nothing big or outrageous and I try to avoid anything that might need to be exchanged. When we were kids our parents showered us with sacksful of toys. These days we simply pamper one another with a few treats. I always get a bottle of single malt and a wedge of Stilton for my father. And for my mother, it’s her favorite bath products. She also loves anything that comes in a basket or a fancy box from Harrods Food Court or Fortnums.”

  “Wh
at about books?”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage to find something they’ll like.”

  I liked the sound of that we. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling I’d never grow tired of. It also stopped my imagination going haywire about the possibility of there being someone else in Michael’s life and made me glad I’d convinced him to talk. But it didn’t make me feel any better about the way he was insisting on handling his problems. In fact, it made me wonder if he didn’t trust me and was using his problems as an excuse to avoid committing to me one hundred per cent.

  He sat up and reached for his wine. “Now, can we please forget Christmas and this other depressing shit I do not want to talk about, and concentrate on us for a bit?”

  “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  * * *

  Michael smiled, put his glass down without drinking a drop, then got to his feet and pulled me to mine. “How’s this for starters?” He drew me close and ran his tongue along my lips as if seeking entry. “I’ve missed you.”

  “So you’ve said. It could easily have been remedied if you’d returned my calls.”

  “I know, but I didn’t want to bother you with my troubles. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “There might be if you let me.”

  “No. Subject closed.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Michael narrowed his eyes. “Because if you don’t...”

  “What will you do? Take away my toys?”

  “No idea.” He frowned. “You’ve got me so damned turned on I can’t think straight. Why don’t you just shut up and kiss me.”

  I loved the way he smelled, even better, how he tasted—a weird mixture of food, wine, soap and something that was uniquely Michael—it wrapped around me like invisible bonds. It was moments like this I could never get enough of. I opened my mouth, loving the hard thrust of his tongue against mine and the speed with which my body reacted. The sudden rise in my temperature, the urgency in our movements, the sensation I was melting, and then the tightening of every nerve in my body. I slid my hands through his hair, holding his mouth in place. He moved his down my back and began squeezing my butt cheeks.

  My heart was racing and I knew Michael’s was as well. He undid my belt, then had to fumble with my zipper before he got my pants down. My task was easier as he was only wearing jogging pants with nothing underneath.

  We hadn’t made love in more than a week, and to say we were desperate for release was an understatement. The instant our clothes were out of the way, Michael grasped my hard, aching shaft and began pumping, and I did the same for him. There were times when we liked to take it slow and easy and drag out the enjoyment. This was not one of them.

  I loved the way it was with us. The race for the top, the sudden hesitation when we reached it, then the explosion and the deliciously slow ride down the other side back to reality. I doubt it took us more than a couple of minutes from start to finish, if that, but what happened in that short time was totally mind-boggling wonderful.

  “Wow! That was fast.” Michael grinned as we grabbed tissues to wipe up the evidence and straighten our clothes.

  “Too fast?”

  “No, it was good. Just what the doctor ordered.”

  He stretched, then returned to the sofa and topped up our wineglasses, looking a thousand times more relaxed than when I’d arrived. “Can you stay the night?”

  “Sorry, I can’t. I’m meeting with the owners of the hotel we’re renovating first thing in the A.M. It’s almost a two hour drive from here, and that means me getting up at the crack of dawn.”

  “How’s the job going?”

  “It’s going. We’ve encountered a few problems I need to discuss with the owners, hence the meeting tomorrow.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “Not really. It has to do with the availability of some of the new materials. Things like wallpaper and tiles they chose that are either out of stock or we can’t get so I need their input on substitutes. I can’t do it by email or over the phone. It has to be in person.”

  Marmalade trotted into the room, jumped into Michael’s lap and began kneading his belly while Michael petted him. “What time will you be back?”

  “Mid-afternoon, I imagine. It depends on the traffic. Why? You have something in mind?”

  “We haven’t been to Lisetta’s in a while,” he said, naming the Italian restaurant in Soho where he’d taken me for dinner the day we first met. “I’m thinking we should go there for dinner. Unless you’d rather go someplace else.”

  “No. Lisetta’s it is. And after dinner we can visit a couple of the clubs if you want. We haven’t done that in ages.”

  As Marmalade jumped down, Michael repositioned himself with his head in my lap and closed his eyes. I stroked his hair, loving the sensation of the silky strands against my fingers. It felt good to be together again like this and, not for the first time, I wondered what would happen when the two renovations Falton had undertaken were complete.

  The total time projection for both jobs was a minimum of a year to around a year and a half, provided everything proceeded according to plan. Would Michael and I still be together when the work was finished and, if so, then what? Would I want to cut my ties with Falton and stay here? Would Michael consider living in Canada? Or would Falton save me the trouble of making a decision by taking on more jobs in Europe?

  Michael opened his eyes. “What’s the problem? I can virtually hear your mind grinding away on something. Is it what I said earlier about my need to deal with my problems by myself?”

  “Nope. I was just wondering what will happen to me when these two reno contracts are finished. I know it won’t be for at least a year or more, but it’s something I have to keep in mind.”

  “You’ll still have a job though, right?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. It might mean me going back to Canada.”

  “And maybe it won’t?”

  “It’s a possibility. That’s if I’m lucky.”

  Michael reached up and touched my cheek. “And if you’re not, you think it will be the end of us?”

  “Distance can be hell on a relationship.”

  He pulled my head down until our faces were almost touching. “No way. Not on ours it wouldn’t. I’d make damn sure of it.”

  “Really? So why are you planning to distance yourself from me if you lose your job?”

  “Because... I’ve already told you why.” He sighed. “I know you don’t agree with how I plan to deal with my problems, but it’s the way I’ve always done it. I can’t toss them on the table and ask for suggestions, or call all my friends the way some people can. I have to figure things out for myself and by myself. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you or your opinions or that I’m not truly committed to you one hundred and one per cent. It’s just the way I am. Please, Drew, just try to understand, okay?”

  I still didn’t like it, but...

  “Look at it this way, if I am out of work, hopefully it won’t be for long and I won’t be far away. I’ll be at my parents’ place in Henley. Thirty miles between us if that and it won’t affect our relationship unless we allow it to. We can have sleepovers. If and when your job here in London ends, then the same applies.”

  “How could it be the same? If I went back to Toronto, forget the sleepovers. We’d be thousands of miles apart?”

  “Then we’d figure something out, Drew. No matter what happens, if we truly want to stay together we’ll find a way. Right?”

  “I suppose.” Rather than argue, I tried to close the gap and kiss him, but he held back.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “What then? You think I’m playing you? Leading you on? I can assure you I’m not.”

  “It’s umm...” I didn’t want to say I thought he was being unrealistic, so I compromised by saying, “It’s just I always worry something could go wrong.”

  “It won’t. You have my word.”
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  With Michael’s assurance I had nothing to worry about, even though I knew the best of intentions can sometimes go astray, we arranged to meet outside Lisetta’s at seven the following evening. I then said goodnight to him and Marmalade and headed back to my hotel. The temperature had dropped several degrees while I was with Michael. Snowflakes now danced in the wind, settling on windowsills and doorsteps, covering the streets with a thin film of white, and turning everything into a winter wonderland.

  If this kept up the entire night, I knew come morning the roads outside London would be in bad shape and I’d have a miserable drive to the coast. It would be stop and go traffic all the way. It was no problem for the clients who lived within walking distance of their outdated hotel. I, on the other hand, was a hundred plus miles away. I could leave an hour earlier than planned and hope I made it on time; or I could call and ask to postpone the meeting until the weather improved.

  By the time I got back to Jasper’s and upstairs to my room it was too late to call the clients, so I decided to go with my first option. It was major roads all the way from London to the coast, and this was England not Canada. In any case, it wasn’t snowing that hard, so how bad could it be?

  After I’d set the bedside clock alarm and pulled up the covers it occurred to me there was a third, perhaps even better, option. If the weather did worsen overnight, I’d take a taxi to Victoria Station, the train down to Brighton, and pick up another taxi or a rental car to get me to the job site. It would take more than a few snowflakes to stop a train and the journey by rail would be something like an hour, tops.

  As a result of worrying about the possibly hazardous driving conditions, I didn’t sleep well. The first thing I did when the alarm woke me a few hours later was to get out of bed, open the drapes and check on the weather. The streets looked damp, but the snow from last night had gone. I turned on the TV, not overly surprised to discover the temperature had risen way above freezing and the forecast for the rest of the day was supposed to be dry but overcast.

  * * *

  There had been no mention of snow in other parts of southern England, so I headed for the garage where I parked the car. The drive down to Brighton was smooth all the way and I arrived in plenty of time to make certain the job was progressing on schedule before the clients arrived.