by K. A. Hobbs
Molly is on her knees beside the piano she’s steadfastly been ignoring the entire time I’ve known her, and the front panel of the instrument is completely missing. Gripping the door frame tightly with jelly fingers, I take in the sight of George about as un-put-together as I’ve ever seen him. His tie has been loosened around his neck, his top few buttons undone, and his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, revealing strong, masculine arms. I don’t even know the name of the tool he’s using to mess with the insides of Molly’s piano, but frankly, I don’t care. I just want to stand here and watch the show he’s putting on for me without passing out cold in the doorway. It’s not quite the awkward sight I was expecting.
“You two seem to be getting along alright,” I say into the companionable silence they’re working in.
Molly jumps at my voice and twists on her knees to smile at me a little nervously.
“You told me he was gorgeous. You didn’t tell me he was stubborn,” she accuses, holding out some random tool I’ve never seen before.
I roll my eyes at her. “I have never said he’s gorgeous. You assumed he was gorgeous.”
She snickers. “You definitely called him Gorgeous George. Might’ve been in your sleep… Not sure. But you failed to mention that once he has an idea he’s like a dog with a bone. Or a man with a toolkit. Whichever.”
“You have a sad little life, Molly, if you sit up and listen to me talking while I sleep,” I tease her.
She shoots me a knowing look with a wide grin that tells me she’s in the mood to embarrass me. “Oh, people spill allllll their secrets when they’re sleeping. Well worth suffering from insomnia for.”
I reach for my wine glass and hold it up to her in mock salute. “Or drunk.”
George tenses at my words and I think twice about teasing Molly about her one night of intoxicated honesty. “What are you two up to anyway?”
“He is tuning my piano, despite my reassurances that it’s not necessary. I’m… assisting. Badly.”
“Jack of all trades apparently. I always knew he’d be good with his hands.”
“Yes…” She smirks, making my stomach fall, knowing she’s up to no good. “You mentioned that in your sleep, too.”
“Oh, ha-ha. Want to know what you mentioned in your sleep?”
The minute the words are out and her face drops, I know I need to stop. I’m treading a very thin line and I’m going to tip her over the edge with me if I’m not careful. “I think we’ll be eating in half an hour. I can finish up while you two tune the piano,” I offer, putting down my wine glass.
Molly instantly picks it up and drains it, slapping it down on the table again and nodding. “Go nuts. I’m not sure how much help I am here, but apparently an assistant is essential.”
Dinner is as delicious as I knew it would be with our combined efforts. I keep the teasing to a minimum while we eat, and Molly follows suit. George is an old fashioned guy and there’s only so much teasing I think he can take before he’ll be seriously uncomfortable. We eat, pull crackers and tell even more ridiculous jokes than usual. I’m seriously impressed when Molly manages to get George into one of those silly crown hats out of his cracker, and I feel a warm glow in my chest at how easy they are with one another by the end of dinner.
We spend the rest of the evening groaning about how full we are while vegetating on the couch, watching two of my new DVDs and playing a few rounds of charades before the inevitable sleepiness kicks in during the obligatory viewing of The Wizard of Oz. I find myself filled with a warm sense of well-being that I didn’t expect today. I still have that constant tug in my chest, dragging me towards my family. Missing them is a permanent ache in my bones that won’t go away. As much as I love my new friends, I’d give anything to see my sister again, even just one more time, just to know that she’s okay, that she’s coping.
I sneak a peek at George and see he looks as tired as I feel. It’s been a long and emotional day, of different sorts for all of us, and I can’t hide the fact I’m ready to crawl into my own bed and sleep until a new day arrives.
“You look like you’re about to pass out.” I smile at Molly. “Shall we call this Christmas Day a success and we’ll leave to sleep off the turkey?”
“Hmmmm?” she replies groggily, already falling asleep.
“We’re going to leave. Stay there, you’re cosy.” I lean over and wrap my arms around her sleepy figure. “Have a wonderful day with your mum tomorrow. Thank you so much for my presents, and the laughs, and for making today as magical as it has been.”
She smiles and nods her head. “Thank you, too. You’re the best. And thanks to George for coming, and for tuning my piano. See you in a couple of days,” she manages a few seconds before she’s snoring.
George and I head into the hallway and put on our coats and boots before heading out into the dark night. When we arrive home, the lights are low and there are only a handful of people still around, the feast George said they always have in the evening having happened already.
“Thank you for coming today,” I say, removing my hat.
“It’s been a pleasure. You’re different with Molly. You’re comfortable around her. You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?”
I nod. “I know you told me eventually I’ll have to leave her, but when she lets you in, after battling so hard to keep you out, you can’t help but feel protective and loving towards her.”
“You will have to leave, but it’s not yet. Don’t think about it. Keep doing what you’re doing because you’re remarkable at it, Imogen. Like I knew you would be.”
I smile and lean closer to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, George. Merry Christmas.”
He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t make any attempt to kiss me back. But he does give me the most gorgeous smile. “Merry Christmas, Imogen.”
After an emotionally draining Christmas day, I wake up at four in the morning on Boxing Day feeling a ittle delicate.
I don’t know what I expected from Christmas with Molly. I knew it would be challenging but I didn’t fully anticipate just how heart-wrenching it would be to see her struggle to cope and find some sort of happiness without Ben.
I can’t shift this feeling of utter heartbreak for her, and I can’t help but feel my loss of the life I wanted is nothing compared to the loss she is living with every single day.
I tap my bedside light on and jump when a gentle knock sounds at my door. Swinging my legs out of bed, I pad to the door and pull it open. George is standing there, still in his dark blue checked pyjama pants and a navy t-shirt. His face looks soft with sleep, his hair delightfully ruffled and his glasses slightly askew on his face.
He has never looked so attractive.
“Hi,” I whisper, my voice croaky with sleep.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Come in.”
I leave the door open and he follows me in. I settle myself on my sofa and draw my legs up to my chest. He surprises me by first going to the fire and lighting it. When the flames are to his liking, throwing shadows across the still dark room, he comes to sit next to me.
“Did you sleep?” he asks softly.
“A little. You?”
“It wasn’t the most restful of slumbers. Are you okay?”
“I’m… I don’t know really. I think I went into yesterday thinking I could turn it around for her, that my presence would help her find a small amount of joy. I’m not convinced I helped her at all.”
“I’m positive you did. She’s going through an awful time right now, and after turning down the offer to go to her mother’s house for Christmas Day, she would have been alone if we hadn’t gone over to spend the day with her. The first few years were never going to be easy, but she’s getting through them. I hope that now she will feel stronger to face the next year.”
“I’m not sure I do,” I admit honestly.
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “You are. You may not realise it now, but the experience has made you stronge
r, too.”
I just smile. I can’t say anything. I can’t find the words to tell him I hope with all my heart that he’s right.
“With us spending the day with Molly, I didn’t have a chance to give you my gift.”
“You gave me presents,” I argue, remembering the silvery spinning light in the shape of a snowflake Christmas tree he gave me along with a brown leather journal and the smartest, poshest fountain pen to use with it.
“They were the gifts I could give you in company. I have one we need to be alone for.”
I feel heat creeping up my cheeks and I look away. His intense gaze warms every part of my body.
“May I?” he asks, holding his hands up to me.
I swallow deeply and nod, preparing myself, though for what, I’m not sure.
I’m taken by surprise when he brings his hands up to hold either side of my head. My skin prickles to life under his touch, every nerve ending firing off and sending my head spinning. “Close your eyes,” he whispers.
I do as he asks.
And then, I jolt.
“H-h-how?” I sob.
“Just let me show you.”
Right before my eyes, like I’m right there with them, are my family.
They’re sitting together around the dinner table, big bowls of roast potatoes and vegetables covering the vast space.
My mum is bustling around serving everyone stuffing and homemade Yorkshire puddings while Olivia and Jacob are sitting close together looking into a blanket nestled in Jacob’s arms.
“Can I see?” I whisper.
Immediately, we move closer to them, so close I can smell my sister’s perfume. I reach out a hand and make contact with her shoulder, but she doesn’t react, completely unable to feel my touch. It kills me that she can’t feel me, can’t sense that I’m there by her side. All I want to do is reach out and hug her, just one more time. I want to say all the things we never got to say, to hold her to me and tell her that I’m okay. That I miss her but that I’m okay, and that it’s alright for her to be happy.
“She looks like her, you know?” Olivia whispers, stroking the perfect pink cheek of the baby sleeping between her and her husband. “She has the same hair and little nose.”
“She does, and when the lazy little mite opens her eyes, I see Imogen there, too,” Jacob whispers, keeping the moment between the two of them.
“I miss her,” she cries softly, tears falling down her cheeks. “I miss her so much.”
Jacob brings a hand up to wipe away the tears and kisses his wife’s cheek. “I know. So do I.”
“This year has been a little easier, though. When little Imogen arrived, I felt like a tiny part of me healed a little. She lives on in her.” She leans closer to the baby and kisses her cheek. “I just wish she could have met her.”
I realise I’m crying, too, and lean forward to kiss the forehead of my beautiful baby niece who shares my name. I don’t know whether George can see my tears or even feel my anguish. I hardly have it in me to care. My arms ache to hold my niece, and for the children I know now I’ll never have. My heart shatters with all the things I’ll never get to experience. I’ve spent so long thinking about the pain of being torn away from my sister, worrying about how she’s coping and whether my parents are okay. I haven’t thought about all the things I’m going to miss since my final moments. I had a whole life ahead of me, and that bastard just ripped it away like it was worth nothing. Like his sick pleasure was more valuable than a human life and all the potential it carried with it. I’m torn between agony at seeing my family, anger at not being there with them, and gratitude to George for at least allowing me to see this.
My dad stands at the end of the table and raises his glass. “I’d just like to say how proud I am of all of you for making this year one Imogen would be proud of. We all know how difficult it’s been, but with the safe arrival of baby Imogen, we’ve found light and hope.”
Mum wipes her eyes and so does Olivia.
“Wherever you are, beautiful girl, I hope you’re happy and at peace. We wish you could be here, and love you always.”
He wipes at his eyes and sits back down. I watch Mum reach for his hand and I gaze at the moment that the two of them share afterwards.
Looking into each other’s eyes, they share the sadness of losing their youngest daughter—the grief of parents that will never, ever get easier to bear.
I look out at my family and realise that although I miss them, although I grieve for their loss, I’ve been given a second chance. I’ve been granted the gift of being able to help others who need me, while they’ve had to live through it and find a way to survive losing me. I just hope that somebody is there for them, just like I’m trying to be for Molly, to help them to heal and to allow them to live—to truly live.
“Are you ready to leave?” George whispers.
I take one last look at all my loved ones, give them all a kiss on the cheek they cannot feel, and then nod. “Yes,” I whisper.
And when I open my eyes, I’m back sitting in my lounge with George next to me. “Thank you,” I manage.
Right before I break down in his arms.
Sobs rip from my chest one after the other, depriving me of oxygen until I’m gasping and unable to catch a breath. George’s hands move gently over my back, rubbing as he makes soft reassuring sounds. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush me or appear to expect anything of me but what I need to let out. He’s just there, a quiet anchor holding me tight while I fall apart, holding all the pieces until I’m ready for him to put them back together again. Over a year’s worth of pain comes flying out in these moments, tearing its way down my cheeks as my throat rattles with endless sobs I have no control over.
Gradually, everything slows, my breathing starting to return as I finally bleed myself dry emotionally. George stays with me through it all, not pitying or judging—just supporting until I finally collapse against his chest, exhausted. I can hear his heart against my ear, thrumming slowly like a lullaby, calming my frantic body until the room is silent but for our combined breaths and the slight rustle of his hand against my back where it never stops its slow, soothing reassurance.
Gulping in a few deep breaths, I allow my fingers to meander up to his chest to fiddle with the material of his soft t-shirt. Now that I’m human again, I allow myself a moment of embarrassment. Falling apart like that on the man you’re crushing on isn’t exactly a great way of flirting.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes focused on my fingers where they’re tangled in his t-shirt.
“Shh,” he murmurs softly. “You did it. Everything will get easier from now on, I promise you, and I’ll always, always be here.”
Much later, George and I are bundled up against the cold, walking around the gardens.
George, much to my delight, is sporting his new scarf, which goes perfectly with his black winter coat. We’ve been walking for a good ten minutes when I decide to ask him how he was able to let me see my family earlier.
“When you’ve been here a long time, your… rank, shall we say, gets greater. You’re given more responsibilities and perks. We’re able to look in on whoever we like, and not just our charges. Of course, usually, by the time we’re able to do this, any loved ones we may wish to visit are long gone, but it does enable us to bring comfort to newcomers who have people they wish to see.”
“Thank you. It was… There aren’t words to describe how it felt to see them again. Even though they’re struggling, baby Imogen is helping them all find something good to focus on. I never fully appreciated how difficult it must be for them. I’ve had to start a whole new life, and in some ways I think that was easier than being left behind. I just wish there was some way of letting them know I’m okay.”
“We all wish that. The burden of grief weighs heavily on all those we leave behind. But eventually they do all find a way to cope. Sometimes, it takes a long time, but they do get there. We keep an eye on everyone who has lost someone. There are t
housands of us keeping track, and when someone truly needs help, needs saving, that’s when we get involved. The fact no one has been called to them means they’re doing okay, Imogen.”
“It’s so good to know that they are. I hate to think of them so sad and unable to move on, like Molly.”
“We’ll help Molly. I promise,” he tells me, taking me by surprise and reaching for my gloved hand to link our fingers together.
“Today is about us, right?” I sniff, trying to clear the emotion from my voice.
“It is. What would you like to do?”
“I want an indoor picnic while we watch cheesy Christmas movies.”
“An indoor picnic?” he asks, like he’s never heard of such a thing before in his life.
And come to think of it, he probably hasn’t.
“We get a load of food, lay it out on a rug and snuggle while watching movies.”
“It sounds delightful. What will we watch?”
“The Holiday, obviously. What’s your favourite Christmas movie?”
“A Christmas Carol, of course.”
“Of course. A classic, much like yourself.”
“Am I classic? I thought I did well to transition into a modern day gentleman,” he says, a little dejected.
“You have. You wear the clothes so you look the part, but you can’t ignore that you’re an old soul, a refined gentleman, the kind we just don’t get nowadays.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.” He chuckles.
“It was meant to be.”
We keep walking, the fresh untouched snow crunching beneath our feet. After another half an hour, it begins to snow again so we turn around and walk back the way we came. As we get closer to the house, it begins to really come down and I shiver, really feeling the cold for the first time in ages.
