by Hannah Howe
Alan was about to walk into the kitchen, to prepare dinner, when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” he said, turning right into the passageway.
I was relaxing in the armchair when I heard the chatter of friendly voices. Alan had a guest, so I sat up straight and tried to look presentable. A minute later, he returned to the living room accompanied by Dr Felicity Barr.
“Hi,” Dr Barr smiled at me. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I replied.
“I have something for you.” She reached into her large shoulder bag of black leather, criss-crossed with a diamond pattern, and removed a small bottle of dark fluid. “It’s a herbal remedy, a pick-me-up. My gran swears by it, and she’s ninety-two, so it must be good for something. Just add a few drops to your favourite drink at bedtime.” She offered the bottle to me. “Please accept it as a small Christmas gift.”
I received the bottle then expressed my gratitude. “Thank you. And thank you for everything you’ve done since my...mishap.”
“My pleasure.” Dr Barr turned her svelte figure away from me, her eyes focusing on Alan. She asked, “Are you doing anything special for Christmas?”
“We’re going to the cottage. And you?”
Dr Barr sighed. She adjusted her shoulder bag then gazed wistfully into the middle-distance. “Looks like another Christmas with Mum. We’ll probably visit Gran as well and listen to her stories of Christmas past.”
Alan nodded. He smiled, “Well, I wish you the compliments of the season.”
“You too, Alan.” Dr Barr stood on tiptoe and kissed Alan on his cheek. My mind went back to Bonfire Night when she’d done exactly the same thing. On that occasion, I remember feeling vulnerable, unsure of myself and my relationship with Alan. The red mist had descended and the green-eyed monster of jealousy had wandered out of that mist. Today, I felt more relaxed, more secure in my relationship with Alan. Nevertheless, the green-eyed monster did show his ugly head and I was tempted to call out, ‘leave him alone; he’s mine!’
Then, to add guilt to my portion of jealousy, Dr Barr turned to face me and said, “And, Sam, if you need me, just give me a call.”
“Thanks,” I replied humbly. “Merry Christmas to you.”
Dr Barr nodded. “Merry Christmas to one and all.”
As ever, Alan prepared a delicious dinner though, in truth, I was not hungry and I picked at my meal.
After dinner, I felt sleepy, so I made my excuses and retired to the bedroom.
I was sitting on the bed, struggling out of a baggy woollen jumper, when Alan entered the room. The jumper kept me warm and the wool felt soft on my injured shoulder. It’d been easy to slip into, but was a devil to get out of this evening.
“Are you up to travelling tomorrow?” Alan asked while hovering over me, eager to help.
“Of course I am,” I replied, still wrestling with the jumper. I tell you, it would’ve been easier to tangle with a sheep.
“The forecast suggests snow. I hope we can get away before the snow arrives.”
I paused for breath, and to rest my damaged shoulder.
“Do you want me to sleep with you, or in the spare room?” Alan asked solicitously.
“With me,” I replied firmly, patting the duvet with my good hand. “I want you with me.”
Alan nodded. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned towards me and took hold of my jumper. “Here, let me help you.”
I pushed him away, then frowned. “I can manage.”
“You’ll hurt your shoulder,” he warned.
“I can manage,” I repeated, gritting my teeth with determination. I know that pride comes before a fall and that I was behaving with crass stupidity, but my mind went back to my mother and the numerous occasions I’d helped her out of her clothes. Too drunk to undress herself, I recalled those scenes with sadness then evoked the promise I’d made to myself, that no matter what the situation, I would not replicate my mother.
With my jumper finally off and my skirt unzipped – I was not wearing a bra for obvious reasons – I wriggled out of my clothing and fell into bed.
As I sighed and grimaced, Alan said, “You’ve hurt your shoulder, haven’t you?”
I frowned, then lied, “Only a bit.”
He shook his head sadly, his censorious expression softened by the ghost of a smile. “I’ll get you some painkillers.” He fluffed up my pillows then pulled the duvet up to my chin. Then he kissed me on the forehead. “Asking for help is not a sign of weakness, you know.”
“If I need help, I will ask for it,” I promised. Then I thought of my nightclothes and baulked at the idea of struggling into them – any more pain and I’d be awake all night. With that in mind, I mumbled, “Do you mind if I sleep naked?”
Alan grinned. Then he laughed. “Do bees like making honey...?”
I poked out my tongue and wrinkled up my nose, admonishing myself for asking such a daft question. Then, with more decorum, I added, “Promise to behave yourself.”
“It’ll take a Herculean effort, but I’ll gird my loins.”
I arched an eyebrow then offered a knowing smile. “It’s your loins that I’m worried about.”
Alan’s laugher remained in the room long after he’d returned to Alis to help her with the Christmas cards. Meanwhile, I rolled over on to my left shoulder and made myself comfortable for the night. I was safe, warm, with the people I loved. And tomorrow was Christmas. It had been a rough period in my life, but the wheel was turning and, once again, I was happy.
Chapter Nine
Christmas Eve. We travelled west, to Alan’s cottage on the Gower Peninsular, through a light flurry of snow. By the time we arrived at the cottage the snow was falling in large, soft flakes, covering the ground. The snow would offer a thick, white blanket by Christmas Day and there was every chance that we would be snowbound. Somehow, that thought pleased me, the idea of being cocooned with Alan and Alis, just the three of us for a few blissful days.
At the cottage, I watched as Alan and Alis prepared the Christmas tree. Alan set up the tree while Alis decorated the branches in red and gold. I thought back to my mother and our pitiful little tree, artificial, of course. I was in charge of the tree and would cover its branches in a multitude of baubles and tinsel. Usually, our Christmases were chaotic and ended in tears. Most years I had to wrap my own presents. I was five when I walked into school and announced that Father Christmas did not exist. My proclamation did not go down well with my classmates and I was ostracised for weeks on end.
As I watched Alan and Alis decorate the tree, I thought of my father. I wondered if he was still alive. I wondered why he’d never acknowledged my existence. Memories of my mother and thoughts of my father induced a lassitude, a sense of melancholy but, I reminded myself, I was sharing Christmas with my new family now and tomorrow would be a joyous occasion, of that I had no doubt.
The decorations sparkled, the fairy looked on with anticipation, and Alis beamed at me with pride. Feeling guilty at my inactivity, I nodded my approval and after our evening meal, which I have to confess I only picked at, it was time for bed.
I woke up to that strange white light snow brings. After struggling into my dressing gown, I looked out of the bedroom window. Snow covered the rose garden, with drifts over a metre deep. A robin hopped on a twig, then pecked at the ground, searching for a morsel of food. Ice covered the small garden pond. A cat’s paws had tiptoed across the snow and, feeling guilty, I thought of Marlowe, alone on Christmas Day. After Christmas dinner, I would confiscate the leftovers and present them to Marlowe, when I returned to my office.
With the excitement of a four-year-old, I ran into the living room where I found Alan and Alis drinking mulled wine. They toasted me, as one, with, “Merry Christmas!”
I hugged Alan, then Alis. They offered me a beaker of mulled wine and after a swig I cried, “Merry Christmas!”
Then Alis reached under the tree and produced a beautifully wrapped parcel, resplendent in gold ribbons and bows. �
��For you,” she said, somewhat shyly.
“But...” I hesitated, flummoxed by her kindness. “I haven’t bought you anything.”
Alan nodded towards the sling on my right shoulder. “I think you have a good excuse.”
Eager to open the parcel, which was small and enticing, I set my beaker down on a nest of tables. Then I sat in a leather chair and tugged at the ribbons with my left hand. I was all fingers and thumbs as I glanced towards Alis. “I feel so guilty,” I admitted.
“Open the parcel,” Alan chided. “I’m keen to see what’s inside.”
I struggled for another minute, making little progress. This drove Alan to distraction and he leaned over to help.
“Let me do that,” he insisted.
I shooed him away with my left hand. “Leave me alone; I can do it.”
Alan retreated with a sigh. He glanced at Alis, a glance that said, ‘what am I going to do with her?’ and Alis smiled.
Eventually, after trying everyone’s patience, not least my own, I removed the wrapping paper and exposed a small jewellery box. Inside the box, I found a gold watch on a leather strap.
“Dad said your watch broke when you fell, so I thought...”
“It’s beautiful, Alis. Thank you so much.”
“Are you going to put it on, yourself,” Alan asked, teasing me, “or dare I offer to help?”
“You can help,” I said, holding up my left wrist, the watch in my left hand, “but only because it’s Christmas Day and I have to make an exception to every rule.”
Alan murmured something under his breath, which I failed to hear. Then, with gentle fingers, he strapped the slim gold watch to my left wrist.
I was admiring the watch when Alis reached under the Christmas tree and produced another parcel. “This one’s from dad.”
“Merry Christmas, Sam,” Alan smiled, toasting me with his beaker. He sipped his mulled wine while I went through my cack-handed ritual of removing the wrapping paper.
Eventually, my fingers revealed a box and an instruction manual. “It’s a reading gizmo,” Alan explained, erasing the frown from my forehead. “I know you love books and you can store hundreds on there. Alis has downloaded a few classics, A Christmas Carol, Middlemarch, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde...you can read them during stakeouts.”
I blew Alan a kiss, then hugged my present. “You’re too kind.”
Alan shrugged then, after a quick sip of wine, he reached under the tree and produced a present for Alis. “Merry Christmas, Ali,” he said, his handsome features radiant with love.
Alis took hold of the present. She sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire. With an extravagant rip, she removed the paper and revealed another jewellery box. Inside the box, she found a gold chain attached to a gold heart pendant. “That’s lovely, dad,” Alis smiled.
“You can open the locket and place a picture inside. Any thoughts...”
Without hesitation, Alis replied, “Mum. I’ll find a picture of mum.”
Words were superfluous as Alan gazed at his daughter with pride. Lost in their own world for a moment, they stared at each other no doubt recalling Christmases past and happy days spent with Elin, Alis’ mum. Content to sit back and allow them to share the moment, I admired my watch and reading gizmo, reflecting on chance and moments of fate. Fate had snatched Elin from Alan and Alis, fate had brought Alan and yours truly together. Fate had determined that I’d received a shoulder wound and not a bullet through the heart.
“I hope you like my present,” Alis said, dipping her long fingers under the tree, removing a large package wrapped in colourful paper. Alis handed the package to Alan and he opened it with some care.
“Dragging your old dad into the twenty-first century,” he grinned, holding up a portable computer. “That’s great, Ali. Thank you very much.”
Alan took time out to sip his wine, and so did Alis. It was early morning and at this rate, I’d be sloshed by midnight, but what the hell...I craned my neck back and quaffed my wine.
“And one more for the guest of honour,” Alan announced as I licked the residue of fruit and spices from my lips.
I hesitated, glancing first at Alan, then at Alis. “What’s this?” I frowned.
“Open it,” Alan smiled.
If I was all fingers and thumbs before, now I was overcome with nerves and anticipation. I couldn’t get into the small package fast enough, to see what was inside.
“Alis, help Sam.”
“I can do it!” Aware that my tone had been brusque, I turned to Alis and apologised. “Sorry, I guess I’m overexcited.”
Alis grinned, “Wait till you see what’s inside.”
In my own determined way, I got into the parcel, which contained yet another jewellery box. I opened the box to reveal a gold ring, set with a large diamond.
“Alan!” I gasped while staring at the ring. “What...why...?”
“Do you like it?”
“I...love it. But...why?”
“Just a little something to remind you of me when we’re apart.”
“But I always think of you when we’re apart.” I stood up, walked across to Alan and gave him a big, smoochy kiss. Without doubt, this was the most expensive present that I’d ever received. Furthermore, and more important, the affection behind the present was unrivalled in my thirty-two years of existence. Alan slipped the ring on to the ring finger of my left hand and I flashed the diamond at his daughter. “Alis...”
“I know,” she grinned. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Alis helped me choose the ring,” Alan explained.
“I’m speechless.” Truly gobsmacked, I fell into the armchair, my eyes glazing over as they stared at my left hand.
“Here,” Alan suggested, “have some more wine and relax.”
Suddenly, I felt the need to exercise caution and abandon my carefree attitude towards the wine. “Should I mix wine with my medication?” I asked.
Alan shrugged. He took hold of a jug then scooped up a measure of wine from a punchbowl. As he topped up my beaker, he explained, “Not mixing alcohol with prescription drugs is largely a myth; a glass or two won’t do you any harm.”
I sipped my wine. We chatted. We laughed and joked. After lunch, we wandered into the rose garden where Alan and Alis built a snowman, complete with twigs for his arms, a carrot for his nose and two pieces of coal for his eyes. As I stared into the snowman’s eyes, I reflected: where had I seen black holes like that before? The memory wouldn’t come to me – the concussion had scrambled my mental files and my subconscious was still busy tidying them.
With the portly snowman looking on, Alan and Alis engaged in a playful snowball fight while I took some wonky photographs with my left hand.
Then it was time for Christmas dinner. Alan provided a full spread with all the trimmings. The wine had whetted my appetite and I tucked in with gusto. By the time we’d reached the flaming Christmas pudding and brandy sauce, I have to confess, I’d loosened the button on my skirt. I was moving from a size ten to a size twelve in one sitting, yet I felt no guilt whatsoever; indeed, I enjoyed every mouthful of food.
After the meal, we pulled crackers and told jokes.
Alis: “A boat carrying red paint and a boat carrying blue paint collided with each other. Apparently, the crews were marooned.”
Alan: “Who works for MI5 as an undercover shepherd? A shepherd’s spy.”
Yours truly: “I bought a bureau the other day. I opened it and twelve people fell out. It was a missing persons’ bureau.”
And how we groaned.
In the evening we became familiar with our presents then watched It’s a Wonderful Life on DVD. The day had to end sometime, though I wished it could go on forever.
In bed, I snuggled up to Alan and asked, “How did you know my finger size?”
“Elementary, my dear Samantha, I measured your finger with a piece of wool while you were asleep.”
I gazed at my left hand and the diamond as the precious stone s
parkled in the moonlight. I kissed Alan. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t you like it?” he frowned.
“I love it.” I wanted to hug him, but horizontal hugs were awkward with only one good arm. I sighed, “I don’t deserve you.”
Alan rolled on to his back. He placed his hands behind his head, then gazed up at the ceiling. “Funny, I was thinking exactly the same thing.”
“Hey, buster...” I propped myself up on to my left elbow, “...that’s the wrong line. You should have said, ‘Samantha, you are the air that I breathe and I cannot live without you’.”
He grinned then winked. “That’s true as well.”
Despite the discomfort and the awkwardness, we shared an intimate moment.
Later, as we drifted into sleep, Alan noted, “You’re getting there, Samantha.”
In the darkness, I smiled, “Yes, I am.”
Chapter Ten
After three blissful days at the cottage, it was time to return to Cardiff. The snow had relented and the main roads were passable, though high drifts still covered the ground. Alan, along with Alis, was due to visit his parents in Brittany. Alan’s parents had retired to Brittany – his mother was French – and he would spend three days with them, returning for the New Year. I’d miss him while he was away, but respected that his parents were important to him and that he had to see them. Besides, it was time for me to get back in the saddle.
Alan chauffeured me to my office. We climbed the stairs together and I unlocked the door. As the door swung open, I glanced around. My new computer was still in its packaging, though Marlowe had toyed with the plastic ribbons and they lay on the floor. Also on the floor, near my desk, I spied a large bloodstain. My blood. A new carpet was essential – I could not allow my clients to witness all that blood.
I stepped into my office and wandered round. The room, so familiar to me, now seemed alien and strange. I shivered and had to fight the urge to turn and walk out.
Sensing my discomfort, Alan walked over to me and asked, “How do you feel?”
