by K. A. Hobbs
“Well, I mean, I always like to give the impression people have a choice. Even if whatever they tell me will result in me doing exactly what I want anyway. Because, people so often don’t tell you what they really want—they tell you what they think you want to hear. What’s the good in that? If you want company, bloody ask for it. And don’t pretend you’re ‘fine’ on your own.” She huffs and bites a big chunk out of her pizza.
“Don’t hold back, will you, Immy? Say what you really think.” Laughter bubbles up in my chest as my legs swing beneath me, feeling a random moment of sheer wellbeing—unexpected in the circumstances.
“Well it irritates me. Like, those people you invite round for something to eat and they clear their plate and you can tell they clearly want more food. So you offer it and they act all polite and say, ‘oh no thank you,’ all the time eyeing it up. Like, I didn’t spend all that time cooking for you to be polite. EAT IT!” She actually raises her voice and flings her arms in the air.
Old Stick-Up-His-Arse glares at me again, and I want to tell him it’s not me shouting about politeness. Instead, I mumble an apology I’m not even sure he hears and nudge her under the table again.
“Behave. I can’t take you anywhere.”
“Fine. Can we get ice cream? I really need some ice cream. I feel like I’m PMSing or something ridiculous. Even when I don’t have to worry about all that stuff now.”
“You… don’t?” I ask, suddenly curious. She doesn’t look old enough to be past that stage quite yet.
“Implant.” She shrugs, looking around for the waiter.
“Yeah, because more sugar is what you need. That’ll calm you right down.”
“I’m perfectly calm. I just… I don’t know. I need ice cream. And chocolate. And sex. Oh, God, I miss sex,” she declares way too loudly in the packed restaurant.
Now, old stick man really glowers, his eyes narrowed on my companion as she rants. I wink at him and gesture towards Imogen in my best ‘hey, man, you’re in there’ gesture. He instantly looks horrified and averts his eyes to literally anywhere but our table, his lips pursing as Imogen and I both burst into reams of raucous laughter. The good kind of laughter that erupts right from the depths of your belly and flies out of you before you have any say in the matter—the kind of laughter I thought was gone from my life for good.
“Why don’t you get some then? It can’t exactly be hard looking like that.” I wave my hand in her direction to demonstrate… all of her. She’s one of the most naturally beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and if I didn’t love her so much, I’d probably hate her for it.
“You’d be surprised.” She rolls her eyes again. “There’s not exactly a queue forming. And it’s not like I want a queue, but one guy who would like to would be nice, you know?”
“Mmm,” I hum in agreement, my mind drifting back to all the intimate moments I shared with Ben: how my skin would sizzle to life at just a look from him, his touch drawing sensations from my body I hadn’t even known were possible before I met him. Until now, it’s never even occurred to me to miss that part of our lives together. I’ve been so busy focusing on missing everything else. And yet, there’s something about that one person who knows you so well they can make your body sing with the lightest of touches, knowing just the right way to even look at you to make your knees melt beneath you.
God, I miss him—I miss him so much my chest feels like it will never expand fully again, that my lungs will never be full and my heart will never beat the way it once did.
“Maybe, George?”
“I wish,” she grumbles quietly but loud enough for me to hear.
“What happened to ‘I like to give the impression people have a choice. Even if whatever they tell me will result in me doing exactly what I want anyway’? Surely you can charm the pants off him. Literally.”
“That rule doesn’t apply to sex, Molly. And no, I can’t. The man is… I can’t explain it. Old school, I guess. He’s not the kind of guy you try to charm the pants off. He’s the kind who would want to seduce the female they want.”
“I refuse to believe there’s a single person on this planet you can’t charm. You’re like… I dunno, some sort of human whisperer or something.” I chuckle, enjoying the discomfort of the man on the next table who is still clearly listening in, even though he’s pretending not to.
“It’s not the human I need to be able to whisper to in order to get some, though, is it? I need to be a whisperer of something… else.” She winks at me, and I know she’s doing it on purpose now.
I let out a loud snort, watching our table neighbour with amusement as he twitches in his seat. I half expect him to demand his bill early and walk out, but he stoically stays put. “Yeah, well, I can’t see that being a problem. Have you seen you?”
“Yes. Every day when I look in the mirror. I think… I just think he’s old fashioned and I have to wait. I mean, this is all ridiculous, Molly. I don’t even like him. I’m just trying to explain to you what he’s like.”
“Liar.” I smirk. She definitely likes him. And not getting him is driving her mad. I can see that much.
She takes a long gulp of her wine and looks around for the waiter again. “Where is that bloody waiter? I need ice cream.”
“When do I get to meet him?” I ask, ignoring her blatant avoidance of the subject.
“I have no idea. Why do you even want to?”
Snickering, I lean in conspiratorially and whisper to her, “Because anybody who can make you squirm in your seat like you are right now is definitely somebody I want to meet.”
I wake up on Christmas Eve with a cocktail of feelings running through my veins,
It’s Christmas.
My favourite time of the year.
And yet, this year is nothing like every other year.
I won’t be spending it with my family. I won’t be overeating and falling into a food coma cradling my full tummy. There’ll be no overexcited game of charades, no late night chocolate eating with a glass of wine and my sister.
Everything is different this year, and I don’t want it to be.
Deciding to get up and speak to George about it, I swing my feet out of bed into my fluffy slipper boots, and wrap my robe around my body. The house is quiet as I walk down the corridors and hallways separating me and my mentor, and I can’t help but feel sad that there are no decorations to be seen.
Except for the big tree in the dining room, and the one in the lounge, you wouldn’t even know it’s Christmas. You’ll find no strings of fairy lights, nor any tinsel here.
Considering angels play such a big part in the story of Christmas, they really don’t seem to embrace the festive cheer around here.
When I reach George’s quarters, I wait at the door, pressing my ear against it to see if there is any sound from within. I know he wakes up early and often starts the day way before I do, but I don’t want to assume he’s awake.
I listen for a minute but don’t hear anything. I’m just about to knock when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and nearly stumble backwards.
Coming towards me, dressed in grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt and running shoes, is George. His cheeks are pink and his skin glows with a slight sheen of sweat. He’s clearly just back from a run.
“Imogen,” he says, a little surprised and breathless, removing his earbuds. “Everything okay? You’re up early.”
“Uh.”
You need to say something other than, uh, Imogen.
“Do you want to come in? I just need to shower. I’ll be ten minutes.” He smiles, walking past me to open his door and standing back to hold it open for me, always the gentleman.
I walk past him and inadvertently inhale. You’d think after going for a run he’d smell, but he’s still as clean smelling as always, maybe a little more musky, but still nice.
“Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like a coffee?”
“I’d love one, but I can wait.”
Until
after you’ve got all wet and soapy and naked and… Snap out of it, Imogen.
He smiles and nods. “I really will be ten minutes.”
I don’t even hide the fact that, as I settle into the comfy sofa and he walks away, I admire his delicious butt. I mean, who’s really going to see me?
I lay my head back and try to get my buzzing thoughts into some kind of order while the sound of the shower has horrifying thoughts and visions flooding my already chaotic brain.
“Coffee?”
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear George come back and his sudden appearance makes me jump.
“Please,” I croak, sitting up.
“Are you okay? Did you want to talk about something?”
I watch as he goes about grinding the beans and making us what I know will be a delicious coffee.
“I just… I don’t know how to process this time of year yet.”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Christmas?”
“Yes. I’ve always loved Christmas. It was Olivia’s favourite time of year, too. But this year, nothing is the same. None of the people I want to be around me are here. No offence.”
He walks over with two cups filled with deliciously hot coffee and sits down in his favourite armchair. “None taken.” He doesn’t say anything else. He just sits there, composed and regal, waiting for me to talk again like he always does. George is very good at this, making me talk. There are times when it’s the last thing I want to do and yet, I find myself unable to stop.
“I don’t know what it’s like here. Do we have turkey? Do we exchange presents. It’s Christmas Eve and no one has spoken much about it. So far it just feels like any other day of the year.”
He sits forward and pushes his glasses a little further up his nose. “It’s a difficult time of year for everyone, even those who have been here a long time. We all, and I do mean all, miss people, especially at Christmas. Would it help if I told you a little of what to expect?”
“Yes please. I just feel so out of place and alone, and I know I shouldn’t.”
His face drops a little and he looks genuinely sorry. “I apologise for that, Imogen. I should not have assumed that because you’ve not spoken to me about it, you’re not struggling. It’s just that you’re usually so vocal about how you feel, so I assumed incorrectly that you were coping. I am truly sorry I didn’t ask you.”
“It’s not a big deal. I’d just like to understand.”
“Well, for the most part, we celebrate Christmas like everyone else: gifts, turkey, copious amounts of alcohol and frivolity. Most of us will spend at least part of the day with our charges, especially if we’ve only recently been paired with them, but it’s ultimately your choice how you spend it. I do suggest you don’t spend it alone.”
“If we celebrate it like everyone else, why is the house so bare of anything cheerful? I’ve seen funeral parlours more festive than here.”
He chuckles a little. “We’re not big on decorations. It doesn’t mean we don’t feel full of cheer.”
I roll my eyes. “Want to remind Franklin of that fact? Are you sure he’s not Ebenezer?”
“Quite.” He smiles.
“He told me off for running down the hall yesterday.”
“He’s old fashioned. He lived i—”
“In very different times. I know.”
“So tell me, how would you like to spend your day tomorrow?
I pick up my coffee cup and cradle it in my hands then kick off my slipper boots and slide my feet onto the sofa. Resting my cup on my knees, I close my eyes and picture how I want tomorrow to be.
“I want to wake up and have hot chocolate and presents by the fire. Then I want to eat bacon sandwiches in my pyjamas until I can be bothered to go get dressed. I’ll put on a pretty dress and do my hair and makeup, and then I’ll join everyone else and have a giant lunch. I’ll eat so much that I’ll barely be able to walk.”
I feel a tear escape my closed eyes but I don’t bother to wipe it away. George sees everything. I know he’ll have seen it, and I know from experience he won’t mind.
“Then we’ll watch Harry Potter because no matter what anyone says, it is Christmassy. Then when it’s dark, I want… I want to snuggle with someone by the fire, because, out of everything in this whole world, I miss being close to someone. I miss the warmth and the peace you only find in the arms of someone you trust.”
I open my eyes and he’s gazing at me, sadness etched on his face. In a rare moment of unguarded honesty, I’ve disclosed exactly what I miss. I’ve told him what I wish for more than anything and I feel exposed for it.
“You can have that day if you wish. No one will stop you.”
I wipe at my eyes and huff. “Can I? Do you know someone who wants what I do then? Are Franklin or Leo going to hug me?”
“Maybe not, but I will.”
He leaves the comment hanging between us. I don’t know what to say, and George prefers to leave things open to interpretation, rather than telling you the meaning behind what he says all the time.
“I want to see Molly.”
“I’d hoped you would.”
“She keeps badgering me about you. She knows I have someone… important. I’ve told her it’s complicated. I mean, how can I explain who you are without telling her what—”
“Is this your roundabout way of asking me to go with you?”
“Maybe… It totally depends what your answer is.”
“My answer would be yes.”
“So, she could see you?”
“Yes, she will be able to see me as much as she can see you. I’m a senior, and that comes with perks. For example, I can choose who can see me and who can’t. So if you’d like me to come with you, I’d be honoured to meet Molly.”
“Being a Senior takes…”
“A long time.” He laughs.
“Right.”
“I’ll inform the others we most likely won’t be around until the evening.”
“I don’t think I’ll be back until late. I can’t face leaving her alone on Christmas night.” A shudder runs up my spine just imagining how sad and alone she would feel.
“We’d usually have our Christmas feast in the evening, what with everyone being out during the day. If we’re here, we can dine with them. If we’re not, we can catch up with them the day after.”
“I’ll tell Molly later. We’re having a movie night.”
“White Christmas?” he asks, looking hopeful.
“Sorry to squash your idealistic dreams, but no. Santa Claus the Movie. Her choice, I might add.”
He frowns and pouts. And damn if it isn’t sexy. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Neither have I. I’m much more of a The Holiday kinda girl, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for her right now.”
“I haven’t seen that either,” he admits.
“We’ll fix that this year. Don’t you worry about that.”
We go quiet for a few minutes while we drink our coffee, and I’d pay anything to know what George is thinking during our silence because his face softens and gets an excited look all at once.
I stand and stretch a little, pushing my feet into my slippers. “Thank you for the chat. It’s so good to know you understand.”
He stands, too, unfolding his tall frame and walking towards me. “I will always try to understand.”
“I’m going to go get ready for the day. I still have some shopping to do.”
“Oh?”
I tap the side of my nose and grin. “I can’t tell you. I’ve been sworn to secrecy by Santa.”
I inhale deeply and grin.
Snow.
It never snows, yet this year, the sleepy little village where Molly lives and the surrounding area is covered in it. Children are running around throwing snowballs at one another, parents are whisper-growling threats of Santa not visiting them tonight, and shop keepers can’t wait to close up for the day and go home to their loved ones.
I can’t help
but wonder what Olivia is doing. I wonder if she’s adapting to being a wife and mother well, if she’s found comfort in her husband and the new life that needs her and not drowning in grief like Molly.
I wonder if I have a niece or a nephew? Are they well behaved or naughty like their auntie.
Shaking my head to clear those thoughts before they consume me, I head into the small menswear shop and shake the snow off my hat.
“It’s really started coming down out there.” The cheery young girl behind the counter smiles at me.
“It has. I didn’t even know English weather knew how to do snow anymore. What’s gotten into it?”
“The weathermen are all saying the same thing: the first white Christmas since, well, longer than I’ve been alive.”
“Me, too.” I smile.
“Can I help you today?”
“Yes actually, I’m looking for something for a friend.”
“Okay,” she says, coming closer. “What does your friend like?”
“He’s an old soul, very stylish and devilishly handsome.”
“A jumper? Cufflinks?”
“Maybe both? He’s always in a shirt.” I think back to this morning and grin mischievously. “Unless he’s out running.”
“Is your friend really a boyfriend?” she teases.
“No, he really is a friend. A really good looking friend.”
“Does your friend have a favourite colour?”
“Blue. He has insanely blue eyes and every time he wears blue they just sparkle more brightly.”
Containing a laugh at my obvious attraction to George, she walks over to a rack of crisp shirts and soft cashmere jumpers. Carefully, she begins to pull a blue jumper from the pile. It’s the perfect shade and I know George will look dashing in it.
“Perfect. Cufflinks?”
“Over here.” She nods in the direction of a big wooden stand that houses ties, cufflinks and socks.
She takes her time showing me different styles but nothing seems to be right. I’ve almost given up and decide to just give him the jumper when a pair in a display cabinet to my right catches my eye. I walk over and lean closer to examine them. “Can I see those?”
