Christmas Kisses

by Black, Fabian

  Not bad, he smiled at his mirror reflection. It had shaved at least a year off his age. He felt thirty-nine again - perhaps even thirty-eight at a push. He gave himself the thumbs up and an experimental ‘yo, bro!’ Jesus, no, he shuddered, as the words belly flopped in the air. Definitely not. He’d never liked slang terms, not even when he was young. He’d have to wash his own mouth out now.

  Downstairs, the coffee lounge was dark and cold. James put the heating on, but left off the overhead lights in case any early commuters thought he was open for business and rapped on the door demanding coffee to go. Instead, he switched on all the soft white fairy lights he’d installed the night before. They looked pretty glowing in the dark interior.

  Going through to the work kitchen he put the kettle on to make coffee and then began setting up for the day ahead. The soup he’d gotten out the night before was defrosted and he stirred it ready to dish out and heat up on request. After setting the oven he got part cooked bread rolls out of the freezer and put them on baking trays ready to finish off in a hot oven. They would be served with the soup.

  The kettle boiled. He made a cafetiere of coffee. While it brewed he made up the float for the till and took it through to the lounge, slipping it into the till drawer. While he was there he wrote the soup and sandwiches of the day on the specials board and then returned to the kitchen.

  Sitting at the workbench he poured out a mug of black coffee and contemplated the day ahead. When Bea arrived he would nip out and take the Christmas Kisses photos to the local printers to be made into posters. It was high time they were in the window.

  Despite his best efforts his mind wandered to Josh again. He found himself thinking back to the day they first met. Was it really less than a year? It felt like he’d known him forever.

  Nine

  Flashback ~ When James Met Josh

  The days following the New Year celebrations were always slow business wise. People were in a slump following all the festivities, but even taking that into consideration, today had been exceptionally slow. James sighed while pressing his considerable nose to the coffee lounge window. It was the weather’s fault. It had taken an artic turn, producing a mini ice age. The Met Office had issued warnings about plunging temperatures. Ice hardened snow lay thick on the pavements, its beauty hiding a cruel heart. God knows how many broken bones it had been responsible for. No wonder people preferred to stay safe and warm at home.

  As he gazed out, a few flakes of fresh snow began falling from the leaden sky. A few turned to many and more, and more. Within moments there was a veritable blizzard raging.

  Turning away from the window he swept his eyes around the coffee lounge. There were three customers inside, a middle-aged couple enjoying afternoon tea while leafing through back copies of National Geographic, and someone in a grubby black hoodie who sat slumped over a mug of hot chocolate, a dirty backpack at his or her feet. It was hard to tell the gender with the hood shielding the face.

  Aside from the three customers there was Bea and Sharon. Both of them were standing by the till looking bored. Everything that could be done had been done. Even the Christmas decorations had been taken down and packed away. As the long slow day progressed they had practically battled to serve whatever weather hardy customers entered the shop, anything to stave off the boredom of inactivity. He went over to them.

  “The weather is getting worse. You two get off home. I’ll wait for the customers to finish and then I’ll lock up. There’s no point staying open any longer. Only a lunatic would venture out in this to sup coffee. We’ve had the lunchtime trade, let’s call it quits for today.”

  “Aw, thanks, Mr Silver.” Sharon needed no second bidding. “See you guys tomorrow, if we don’t get snowed in.” She headed back of shop to fetch her stuff, her ridiculously high heels clicking a happy note on the wooden floor. She was working out her notice and it showed. She had already left the waitressing life behind her and was looking forward to a different life in sunnier climes with her husband of ten months.

  “You sure, Jims?” Bea crinkled her forehead. “I don’t like leaving you to lock up on your own.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go home before it gets any worse out there.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Gina worries about you driving in bad weather.”

  “She worries about me driving in any weather.”

  “And who can blame her,” said James with a wink.

  “Cheeky.” Bea poked out her tongue at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, smart arse.”

  After seeing Bea off, James secured the back door and returned to the coffee lounge, which now contained only two customers. The scruffy hoodie had gone. Good. Ten minutes later he bade a smiling goodbye to the middle-aged couple, wishing them a safe journey home. He turned the open sign to closed and locked and bolted the coffee lounge door.

  He cleared the tables, put the National Geographics back on the shelves and had a quick scout around. He then set the alarm, switched off the lights and headed through the door marked private, ascending a set of carpeted stairs to the apartment above the coffee shop. He had a hot shower, changed into his bathrobe and snuggled down on the sofa in his living room to watch television.

  Later, after a light supper of soup and sandwiches he poured a generous glass of the fine whiskey gifted to him by Bea and Gina at Christmas and retired to bed to read, leaving the blinds open so he could admire the snowflakes still tumbling down. Snow was pretty stuff, as long as you weren’t out in it.

  Downstairs in the coffee lounge loo, scruffy hoodie waited, crouched on the toilet seat so his feet didn’t show beneath the cubicle door. He tensed as the main door to the customer toilets was pushed open and then relaxed slightly as he heard it close again. Cold and cramped though he was he held his position, wanting to make sure the shop really was empty before risking his hiding place.

  He shivered, hoping against hope he wouldn’t be discovered. A night under a roof was all he wanted, nothing else. He wasn’t the only one. The intensity of the weather had driven even the toughest of street sleepers towards the hostels. They could only take so many and Josh, for that was scruffy hoodie’s name, had missed out on a bed at his usual haunts. The man in charge of the last one he visited had directed him to a Sally Army hostel near Old Thursk, but by the time Josh had walked there, it was the same old story - no room at the inn. Now he knew how Mary and Joseph had felt after hitchhiking to Bethlehem on the donkey express - proper pissed.

  In desperation, he had taken refuge from the worsening elements in Silver’s coffee lounge, spending a clutch of begged for coins on a mug of hot chocolate in the hope it would warm his bones enough to survive a night outside in the ice and snow.

  The plan to sneak a sleep inside the cafe had flashed into his mind the moment he heard the owner, manager, whatever, tell the two women standing at the till that he was shutting up shop. Josh took his chance and slipped into the loo when the bloke went out the back leaving the shop unmanned for a few moments.

  As soon as he deemed it safe, Josh sneaked from his lavatory hideout, moving slow and careful, fearful of making any kind of noise and triggering an alarm. He had a goal, and he aimed for it - a long leather couch behind a low coffee table towards the back of the shop. Slipping his backpack from stiff shoulders he put it on the table and opened it, withdrawing a torn and tatty old sleeping bag. The zip had long since broken, but it still served as a cover of sorts.

  Taking off his specs he plonked them on the table next to his bag. Lying down on the leather sofa he tucked the bag blanket around himself, giving a small blissful sigh. It wasn’t exactly warm in the shop, not with the heating tuned off, but it was sheer heavenly luxury compared to the phone box he had earmarked to doss down in that night. His tatty sleeping bag would have been worse than useless in there, but here it at least offered a vestige of warmth.

  Closing his eyes, Josh reminded himself to wake up early and reverse his action, sneaking back into the loo to hide until an opportune moment presen
ted itself and he could be on his way with no harm done and the owner, manager, whatever, none the wiser.

  Next morning, James arose at his usual time and made himself a leisurely breakfast of tea and toast before showering and getting dressed. He descended the stairs to the coffee lounge, humming the Blur song he had heard on the radio as he breakfasted. He turned on the spotlights behind the serving counter and made his way towards the kitchen.

  He had his hand on the kitchen door ready to push it open when something registered as irregular in his brain. Stepping back he looked towards the seating area at the rear of the lounge. There was something on one of the sofas. He could just make it out in the subdued light. He soft-stepped forwards. It looked like a pile of old rags. Indignation flooded his body. Where the hell had they come from? They hadn’t been there last night, he was sure of it.

  Indignation gave way to shock, as James drew closer and realised the pile of rags was actually a kid huddled beneath a grubby cover. James eyed the dirty backpack sitting on the coffee table. Recognition dawned. It was the person who had been in the shop the day before, and it was a boy, in his teens from the look of him. The hood had slipped back from his face revealing his gender. His hair was dirty and dishevelled. His face was pinched and pale and he had sores clustered around his nose and lips. Indignation and shock gave way to sympathy. The poor little bugger was obviously having a hard time. Maybe he’d run away from home?

  Leaning down, James laid a gentle hand on the kid’s shoulder, and regretted it as all hell immediately let loose.

  The kid rocketed to his feet, shedding his mucky cover, clearly confused as to where he was and what was happening. He swiped a fist at James, shrieking.

  “Leave me alone. Fuck off! I haven’t got any money. Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

  “Hey. Whoa. It’s all right, it’s all right.” James tried to soothe the kid. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just…oof.” He gave a gasp as the kid landed a painful blow to his chest. “Calm down.” He held up his hands by way of defence. “I’m not your enemy.”

  Words of assurance were useless. The kid was locked in a state of hysteria, his eyes wild and unfocussed. He lunged for James again and again, like a whirling dervish, swinging punches and kicks along with a shower of unpleasant invective.

  James danced like a boxer avoiding an opponent, but then an eye watering kick to the shin spurred him to drastic action. He met force with force, but not of the kick and punch variety. Intercepting another incoming punch he gripped the kid’s wrist, sat down on the sofa and yanked him down over his knees, landing a mild slap to his skinny bottom. “Enough! Do you hear me, young man? Calm down or I’ll spank you properly.”

  “Leave me the fuck alone you freak!”

  The kid struggled and twisted like a conger eel, managing to slide from James’s lap and tumble to the floor. James’s eyes widened with shock and pain, as teeth clamped his ankle. The kid had bitten him. He had actually bitten him! He could hardly believe it.

  “Right!” He let out a roar. “That does it. I’ve had enough of this shit!”

  Hauling the kid off the floor, James dragged him back over his lap and this time didn’t hold back. He brought his hand down hard on the seat of the kid’s shabby jeans, spanking his bottom good and hard in an effort to bring him to his senses.

  The kid’s yells and verbal abuse gave way to inarticulate gasps and grunts as the heat built in his backside. He gave in, bursting into heart wrenching sobs, going limp across James’s knees.

  James stopped spanking at once. Easing the kid from his lap he stood up. Folding his arms he waited for the kid to compose himself.

  Josh crouched on the floor, tears dripping from his chin, his heart hammering in his chest. He was shaken to the core by what had just happened. He shouldn’t have gone for the man, but for fuck’s sake, he had woken him from a deep sleep. What was he supposed to do? Sleeping rough made you fearful. It made you fight first and ask questions later. It was survival.

  Wiping the sleeve of his hoodie across his wet face he looked up, mumbling, “that hurt, what you just did.”

  “So did that, and that, and especially that,” said James sternly, pointing to his chest, shin and ankle in turn. “Did you expect me to just stand there while you beat the shit out of me? You seem to forget this is my property and you’re trespassing.”

  “You startled me. I didn’t know what was going on. I thought I was being mugged or molested. It happens you know.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “Maybe you should apologise for hitting me.”

  “I didn’t hit you. I spanked you, to bring you to your senses. I could easily have knocked you out, but I didn’t. You’ll survive a smacked backside with no harm done. I’ll have bruises for days, you won’t. And as for startled, how do you think I felt finding you sleeping on my sofa without so much as an invite?” He held out his hand. “Get up. Let me see you properly.”

  Ignoring the outstretched hand, Josh plucked his glasses from the table and pushed them onto his face with trembling hands. He lurched to his feet, resisting an urge to rub his sore bottom. His threadbare jeans had offered scant protection from the onslaught. His buttocks were stinging on fire. He felt his face redden as if from the heat. He had just been smacked as if he was a naughty child. It was too embarrassing.

  James studied the kid. He looked older than he’d first thought. Maybe it was the black-framed glasses. They didn’t exactly enhance his appearance, but at least they gave his brown eyes a more focussed look.

  “Is there anyone I can call, your parents? They’ll be worried about you.”

  “I’m no runaway, mister.” The kid gave a snort of bitter laughter. “How old do you think I am, twelve? Is that why you spanked me?”

  “I’d have spanked you anyway. You were out of control and you needed reining in. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Well I am.”

  “Proves the point that you’re never too old for a spanking. How did you get in here?”

  “I didn’t break in. I hid in the loo last evening when you shut up shop.”

  “I checked the toilets. They were empty.”

  “You didn’t check well enough. I was in a cubicle crouched on a toilet seat.”

  “Ah,” said James, reminding himself to do a proper check of the customer facilities in future. Pushing the door open and having a quick peek around it was not sufficient. The kid could easily have been a robber.

  “I just wanted some shelter for the night. The hostels are all full because of the weather. There’s no need to call the cops. I haven’t taken anything. I’m no thief.” Josh snatched his bag blanket up from the floor. “I’ll go now. You won’t see me again.”

  “You could have asked me for help, yesterday when you were in here.”

  “And you’d have given it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re a rarity, or a liar. Most folk think people like me are worthless scum.” Josh savagely shoved the blanket into his backpack, blinking rapidly in an effort to stave off another bout of tears. He pulled up the hood of his top, shielding his face, depersonalising himself again.

  “I’m no liar and you’re not scum,” said James quietly. “Bad luck can happen to anyone. You didn’t give me the opportunity to help you yesterday, so I’ll do it now, no arguments. I’m not offering, I’m telling. You look half starved. I’m making you a hot breakfast, and forgive me for saying so, but you smell like an overripe Camembert, so a hot shower won’t go amiss either. When I’m satisfied you’re clean and well fed then you can go on your way. I’ll even give you the bus fare. Where are you headed?”

  “Nowhere. Have you heard of it? It’s a place for losers.”

  A lump the size of a golf ball lodged itself in James’s throat as the kid, he had no other name for him, began crying again. There was something so sad and desperate about the tears that James was hard pressed not to
cry himself. He covered his emotion with a gruff question. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Josh, Josh Robertson.”

  “I’m James Arthur Silver.” He held out his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m not sure I’m pleased to meet you.” Josh sniffed, forcing his emotions back under wraps. “You’re weird.” He gazed at the large hand for a moment and then shook it. Better to shake it than to risk it contacting his bottom again. The thought made his skin burn hot all over.

  “You get used to me. I’m not so bad really. I just don’t like being bitten by strangers I find stealing a kip in my coffee shop.”

  “Noted,” said Josh and gave a sudden shaky smile, showing a small gap between his front teeth.

  “So, of all the coffee shops in this town, what made you come into mine?”

  “You’ve got a gay pride sticker on the door window. It’s not something you see very often. It made me feel less unwanted, like I might even be welcome.”

  “Come on, kid.” James reached for Josh’s backpack. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

  Josh never did go on his way. There were no buses to nowhere, not from Old Thursk anyway.

  He ate breakfast with James and told the story of how he came to be on the road. He hadn’t had it easy in a long time, not since his mother and second stepfather had thrown him out when he was five months short of eighteen. He had managed all right for a while. He had a job in a component factory and found a flat share, but then a run of bad luck started with the factory closing and ended up with him sleeping rough. Now he had no job, no home and no one to care about him.

  The kid was in dire need of a break. James just happened to have one to offer – the lovely Sharon’s job. He’d need a new assistant when she moved to the antipodes. The job was Josh’s, if he wanted it, training given. He wanted it.

  The rest was history, if you considered a time span of less than a year history.