What the Heart Desires

by Jaime Derelle

  This stark change of character, whether stereotypical or not, was poised to manifest in some way. Francis could not tell how or when. He only knew for certain that the status quo – something it had been his familial role to protect – was now under attack. He wanted a life more interesting; more fulfilling. He wanted the right to have his ambitions taken seriously and he wanted his capacity for love and passion to be invited, not quenched because it had served its purpose.

  Ironically it was Chloe herself who unwittingly instigated the first move of this new Francis. The build up to Christmas was shopping, shopping and more shopping. And then when everything had been bought, wrapped and organised, unfortunately there was even more shopping. Not only this but she had the temerity to hand him a list she had written, consisting of all the items she had forgotten or needed more of. This list was presented to Francis the evening before Christmas Eve with a request for him to go into Manhattan the next day – the busiest shopping day of the year – and gather the items.

  The remainder of the shopping voyage may have been voiced as a request. Francis knew it was really a demand. He had the ability to tell Chloe she should go herself, but knew as clear as day that this would mean a cold shoulder throughout Christmas Day and probably all the way into New Year – until he could complete a favour that redeemed him. Here was another anomaly that would previously have been interpreted in a kinder light. As the man of the house, why shouldn’t he undergo the stress of a Christmas Eve shopping trip? Even though he’d committed to ensuring the whole family would have that special day free by already undertaking multiple such trips with or without Chloe. Now he saw it as a liberty. His wife was a shopaholic and couldn’t bear the notion that she would run out of something. His trip into Manhattan was therefore merely a means of allowing her to exercise paranoia at another’s expense. Such had happened before and Francis knew that if he was able to produce every item on that list from the trunk of his car and say ‘It’s OK, I got that already’, then she would still find reason to send him out anyway.

  In the past this habit had been annoying, robbing him the enjoyment of relaxing with his children at Christmas – something he considered to be far more important. All Chloe did, he had begun to realise, was think of uses for him. On this occasion, however, this insensitive habit which took a husband’s love and affection for granted would also be her undoing.

  Considering his state of mind, Manhattan and its proximity to a certain individual was not the wisest place for Francis to be on Christmas Eve.

  Unlike what happened 2,015 years ago on that most magical of days, what happened next isn’t difficult to imagine. Francis didn’t plot; he didn’t scheme or deceive. At first he did exactly as he was told and headed into Manhattan, shopping list in hand. Glazed expression on his face at having to accomplish yet another chore, but this simplest of tasks would not prove so. Once again the instinct was there. He didn’t know what else to call it but it had been there when Sam had fallen into him that night outside her apartment, before he knew anything of its existence. It was still there as he headed towards Times Square on Christmas Eve. Still raw and untamed, but this time it had been allowed time to build up. Indeed, his entire being was now aware and had begun to yearn for such a moment again.

  Yearning for something can be contained, but less so if the mind knows it is achievable. So just as Sam’s feet had found themselves heading towards GW Bridge 23 days ago, led by a yearning that contradicted personal wisdom, so too did Francis’s on Christmas Eve. Only his yearning was not for the cold depths on the Atlantic Ocean, but for the love of a woman.

  As far as his list was concerned, he manage to enter one shopping mall. That was as far as he went. Instantly his mind knew this was too much. He didn’t want to be in another damn shop, but he knew where he did want to be and his feet were soon back on the sidewalk and making their way with renewed eagerness and purpose to 2nd Avenue.

  Sam had told him she loved him; had offered herself to him. Neither then or since had he addressed the question of what she actually had in mind. Did she want an affair, or was she suggesting he leave his wife? He had no idea, the truth was he just wanted to be with her and the purpose that powered his motion did not think on the consequences.

  Since he last saw her they’d exchanged only a couple of casual texts, so he had no idea what she had been doing with her days. He knew she wasn’t going to see her parents at Christmas, as fragile as her family links were. How could he even have contemplated letting her be on her own at such a vulnerable time? Numbness had come flooding back to him; there was no knowing what state of mind she might be in. Surely she would be pleased to see him.

  2nd Avenue came and, approaching Sam’s apartment with the intention of going through with something he’d never done before, Francis was held back by no second thought. No wisdom or common sense as to the underlying strength of his marriage had risen up to challenge the love that drove him on.

  When knocking on her door his heart began to beat faster. That uninteresting pane of wood before his eyes would soon fall back and reveal a Christmas angel. The moment was here. What would he do? Smile and talk? Hug or kiss her? He had no idea whatsoever and of everything going through his mind that uncertainty was the best. Numbness had fled once more, cowering in the hills waiting for reinforcements.

  Problem was he ended up just standing there. If fate had brought them together it was no longer paying attention. Sam was not in. There was plenty to do on Christmas Eve; perhaps he had come to credit fate with more power than it deserved.

  He didn’t give in there though. Immediately he phoned her. All he had to do was find out where she was and go to her, or else she could come to him. There was no answer though, or more accurately there wasn’t a signal at her end. Just a monotonous tone that refused to go ‘Bring! Bring!’

  Manhattan was hardly in the sticks, in fact probably as far from in the sticks as you could get. Phone signal was rarely an issue unless there was a storm about. The bright blue sky above didn’t offer any kind of explanation.

  Of course there can be many explanations for technology failing and Francis tried to put his faith in some such reason. Her absence played on his mind, however. Initially he had no choice but to return to Times Square and actually undertake some of those shopping chores. Between each one he tried Sam’s phone again, but still no signal. Surely it was absurd to think her phone might be at the bottom of the river bed. She seemed so much better since their friendship had formed. Life couldn’t change to a pretty picture overnight, but she had begun to think of her future and had found good humour in his company. Then again, they hadn’t seen each other for a week and a half and their last meeting had involved him turning down her love for her – albeit in a way that seemed amicable and empathetic at the time.

  For sure this was a paranoia of his own – there was plenty of that going around – but he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Whether daft or not he needed to see Sam and know she was well. The world would be an ugly place without her and Christmas could be sent back to the Old World along with syphilis.

  After completing his chores he returned to 2nd Avenue again, but he knew by then she would not be there or else some kind of phone signal would have materialised. Any text he thought to send might not get there either, but he’d thought of another sentiment along the way.

  From one of the tourist shops he’d brought her a Christmas present. Absurd really to have turned up earlier without one at such a time of year, expecting all manner of welcoming responses without even a bouquet of flowers or box of chocolates in hand. This present was nothing so romantic though, but was instead a souvenir of their friendship. A fridge magnet with the ultimate symbol of hope upon it: the Statue of Liberty.

  Returning home once his purchase had been posted through Sam’s letterbox, Francis cut a pretty glum sight. Making no effort to look like Christmas cheer was upon him, he simply said ‘Took me a while,’ when Chloe asked what had taken him so long. While the
tradition of waiting for midnight before drinking the glass of brandy left out for Santa went completely out of the window. The bottle was opened less than five minutes after he got through the door and would be utterly finished by midnight.

  For his children he painted on a warm face, but only got involved as much as he had to. Still he kept trying the phone, always the monotonous drone that gave no impression as to whether the keeper of the other number was alive or dead.

  Before the children went to bed the family’s last ritual was to stand in the garden and make a wish upon a star.

  You know what he wished for.

  Chapter 6

  Christmas morning in a household with three children comes early.

  This is the one day of the year when a child’s anticipation overcomes any prolonged desire for sleep, at an age when excitement is a drug that would make the world an eternally happy place if it could be bottled.

  None of the children had any clocks in their bedrooms. Maybe this was a mistake too late to rectify, but as early as 7am he’d heard a familiar tip-toing of feet upon the landing. The children were gathering for a most serious conference in order to assess whether it was actually morning or not. If so and the parents were having one of their lie-ins then they were OK to go downstairs and see if Santa had been in the night. They knew not to open the presents until the parents were up but holding them and shaking them to guess what they were was an important part of the fun. If it was not morning then they would be in trouble, especially if they woke their parents in the process. Parents didn’t like to be woken.

  Francis was familiar with this Rise of the Toddlers on Christmas morning and he and Chloe had always agreed it would be resisted until 8am. No giving in until then.

  The kids were therefore told to return to bed. It was not Christmas yet but still night-time. They would then sit through what was probably the longest hour of their young lives; his daughter lying in bed wide awake, looking up at the ceiling and counting the patterns on the wallpaper; his two boys probably sitting up debating with each other how long it actually was until daytime was official. And would they have to approach the parents again for confirmation? What if waking them up a second time proved necessary and they were wrong again?

  The consequences didn’t bear thinking about, but it was Christmas and excitement is taken very seriously when you’ve yet to reach ten years of age.

  When it came to it, they caved. Tired as they were, the sound of whispering rebellions from neighbouring rooms roused their tired bodies with dreams of heartbroken children. Francis made it to 7:45, at which point he put in an appearance on the landing and agreed it was time to see what Santa had brought.

  ‘Are you excited, daddy?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Is mommy excited?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘Then why’s she still in bed?’

  ‘She’s probably just nervous. She’ll follow us down if one of you can take her a present to show her Santa’s been.’

  Send the children to do some of the dirty work. Maybe he’d employ this tactic a bit more in future to combat Chloe’s habit of thinking up uses for him.

  By 10am all the presents had been opened and the excitement of wondering what presents Santa had brought gave way to the excitement of making the most of them. The parents had done well if this giddy feeling carried the children through to the New Year; then they had to make do with looking forward to their birthdays.

  Typically, the Christmases that had taken place in their household had been strictly for the immediate family. They didn’t go out, accept to walk the dog and they didn’t have larger family gatherings or visitors. Visiting was for Boxing Day and any other day until New Year, while on Christmas itself the family shared their own company. The parents relaxed to whatever was on TV, when they weren’t preparing meals, while allowing the children to have maximum fun with their Santa haul.

  All of this got underway with Sam still on Francis’s mind, of course. Concerned as he was, he couldn’t picture doing anything about it until the morrow. There was no clue as to where she might be, but he regretted not having thought ahead as to her potential loneliness on Christmas Day. Now it was here it felt cruel to imagine she might not be surrounded by joy, as he was. He regretted not making that invitation to join his family for Christmas dinner, even though it would have set a new precedent and been problematic in multiple respects.

  Trying his best to resist gloomy thoughts was made even more difficult by one of their favourite films, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, being on TV. Brilliant as it is, a storyline that involved James Stewart’s character George Bailey deciding to end his life on Christmas Eve, then being shown by his guardian angel all the lives he will have negatively affected as a result, could hardly be described as escapism on this occasion.

  Just as he had reflected on Sam’s behalf in the last few weeks, misery at Christmas is difficult to take. It wasn’t until 2pm that relief descended. A buzzing from his pocket and another ‘Happy Christmas!’ but this time the sender was not one of their family or an older friend, at last Sam’s fingers had been on the other end. The glorious text read: ‘Hey you! Happy Christmas! And thanx for the magnet. Will always make me think of love, hope and friendship’.

  A weight fell off his shoulders and his eyes closed in a secret prayer of gratitude. When he opened them it felt like he was in completely different surroundings entirely. Since returning home yesterday he had been staring into the distance, far away and failing to appreciate the warm show of festive spirit their interior had been transformed into. For the first time he considered the tree that Chloe and the children had decorated yesterday. His compliments might have sounded sincere when he congratulated them on it, but he realised now he had not even looked at it properly. They’d done a wonderful job; it was a fine tree that embodied the spirit of this time of year. The kind of tree his children deserved to open their presents around and use as an example when it came to bringing up their own families some day.

  Just then something caused the three of them to burst into laughter. They had done so many times that day, but again it felt like his senses had not been tuned into enjoying that most wonderful of sounds. They looked blissfully happy, playing on the living room carpet in front of him and Chloe. Maybe all the stress and rushing around had been worth it. Christmas is largely in the preparation and that was now done. It would be against habit, but there had been too much of that in his life and it was time to do something different. An important family day as it was, he’d played his role and now he desired to see someone else. He wanted to see the woman he loved and wish her a Merry Christmas and so he disappeared upstairs to make a phone call.

  This time the familiar Bring! Bring! a phone call is designed to achieve sounded in a delightfully poetic manner, he thought. Even though it was the same sound he’d always heard down the phone. Even more delightful was the voice that followed, however; the spirit of Christmas itself.

  ‘Hello, friend!’ she greeted his call brightly, though he could tell she hadn’t expected to be talking to him on this day.

  ‘Hi! It’s great to hear your voice.’

  ‘You too, thanks for my gift. Were you in the area yesterday?’

  ‘I was, I came looking for you.’

  ‘Oh, sorry! If I had known…’

  ‘It was spontaneous. I guess you were somewhere without a signal, huh?’ He assumed his attempts to contact her did not even register as missed calls as a result.

  ‘I was, I went to visit my brother and decided to extend it to Christmas morning. I haven’t shared Christmas with him for seven years and thought that was too long.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased for you.’

  ‘Oh, I hope I didn’t give you a scare.’

  ‘No, that’s OK. I thought you were probably recruited by Santa’s elves or something.’

  ‘Erm… I’ll take that as a compliment I think.’

  ‘Sam, are you with anyone right no
w?’

  ‘No, I’m back at my apartment though I’m heading to the park in a little while.’

  ‘Can I see you?’

  ‘Now? But, what about your family?’

  ‘They’re fine, I just want to see you. The park’s fine, I can take the dog for a walk. Can you make it there?’

  ‘Sure, for you anything.’

  ‘Great, see you soon,’ he finished and hung up.

  There had been urgency in his voice that he knew would have made her curious, but he wanted to say what he had to say to her face. Seeing her on Christmas Day had become very important to him and he didn’t care if it looked awkward with his family that daddy was gone for a strangely long time. He wasn’t having an affair yet.

  It was time to take the dog for a walk and who knows what merry folk one might bump into to share the Christmas cheer during such a task? Francis had never been devious, but the escape hardly required a mastermind.

  ‘I’m taking Skip for a walk,’ he told Chloe. ‘I think I fancy the park so I’ll go in the car.’

  ‘OK.’

  And with that he was out of the door, though his wife had to remind him to take Skip with him – and then the lead. That the park was his destination he had been honest about; he just hadn’t told Chloe he meant Central Park.

  So, taking advantage of the clear Christmas roads, Francis advanced with all sensible speed towards Upper Manhattan. Beside him Skip sat upright, panting and studying every street corner with utter exhilaration as he always did. Had anyone paid great attention to them it would have been difficult to assess who was the most excited to be there.

  As was typical of Central Park, people were finding plenty to do there on Christmas Day even though everything was closed. There were runners, there were lovers walking arm-in-arm at a slow pace and there were roller-skaters that occasionally caused Skip to yelp in alarm. Of all the things that charismatic but peculiar human species did, wearing wheels on one’s feet was the habit that caused the hound most unease.