by K. L. Jessop
Wanting her mouth, I shift my upper body to sit up. She whimpers from the slight change in position, and I grab the back of her head to kiss her in hunger. She stops the rotation of her hips to fall into our connection before pulling away with my bottom lip between her teeth. I growl and fall back with the push of her hands that tells me loud and clear that she’s the one in charge right now.
“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”
“You still angry with me, angel.”
“Yes,” she pants in barely a whisper.
“Is playing rough with me making you feel better?” I circle my thumb on her clit and her body arches with a cry.
“God, Noel.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Stop talking and let me fuck you.”
I grin. Sweet Jesus, I love this woman.
I feel her pace waver and I take the lead, thrusting into her as I hold her hips. My arse cheeks begin to tingle with the orgasm that’s going to rush through me, and I feel Tamzin begin to tighten. I change direction with my thumb and the pressure has her screaming, clenching my cock with her climax that draws out my own.
We both break in unison, hard and fast. Her breathless pants mirror mine as her head falls back.
“Fuck, we should argue more often,” I gasp.
Even though I’m still inside her, I don’t feel completely connected. Her eyes are focused on the ceiling as she tries to control her breathing. Not having her silver-greys on me makes me uneasy, and I slowly bring her back to me with my hands to find they are once again dark grey and watery. “Angel,” I whisper, with a heavy heart. “I promise everything will be okay.” I kiss her with grace, gently combing my fingers through her hair as I caress her mouth with adoration. I love this woman more than words can say. Everything that I am and have become is because of her. She has no idea how much I’m hurting at the thought of having to leave right now, but what I feel will never match her pain because the second I stop kissing her, she dips her head to my shoulder, grasps the back of my neck and breaks out in sobs.
“This is killing me too, angel.” I caress her gently. “You have no idea.”
Tamzin.
I’m trying to be brave. I’m trying not to cry but my heart is hurting with the hollowness I’m about to feel when he walks out of the door.
It’s just four days: three lonely sleeps and ninety-six hours without him.
Those hours may seem so meaningless to most people, but to me it feels like a lifetime. My heart feels fractured, even before the sand timer has been turned. I cried silently most of the night, wrapped up in his arms as he held me like he too was struggling. I keep telling myself that it’s just Paris, and that soldiers go through a longer distance with months in between before they see their loved ones again, and here I am broken over a few hours travel time. It’s pathetic, but at the same time, I’m only human and this month has never been easy for me in years. I’m not mad at Noel; I’m mad with myself at the thought of not being able to cope because he’s not standing by my side. I’m mad with the person that’s done this to us at Christmas, taking away our time because of his stupidity and selfishness. I was never mad at Noel; it’s just unfortunate that he was in the firing line at the time. It never registered with me that he too will be affected by our time apart. I am his everything and our baby is his world.
His lips hold a kiss on my stomach and a tear slides down my face as I close my eyes.
“I’ll be back real soon, Dumpling. Look after your mummy for Daddy, okay?”
He stands, his exhale deep and heavy. Gripping hold of his jacket, I try to keep my legs from buckling as the ice wind sweeps in the doorway to blow my hair around my face. My heart is beating fast and no doubt matches his own as the warmth of his lips presses against my forehead with promise: an adoration that no one can take from us no matter the distance.
“Please don’t hate me, angel,” he whispers.
“I don’t hate you. I hate the person that’s taking you away from me.”
“You can do this. You are strong.”
“I don’t feel strong. I feel stupid for overreacting and being so overwhelmed by something I can’t control.” I sniff back my tears and whisper. “I’m sorry.”
He takes hold of my jaw, making me look at him. His eyes are thick with remorse. “Don’t you dare apologise, you hear me? You can’t help, nor can you control, what your heart feels.”
Even though I know the reasons behind my melancholy, I find it hard to comprehend. It was less than four weeks ago that I was on my own. Noel was in Paris then and he was there longer than four days but I managed. Yes, it was hard, yes, I cried myself to sleep nearly every night because I missed him and yes I hated every second, but I got through it. So why do these coming few days feel twice as bad as back then?
“Why do I feel so weak?”
“Because that’s what love does, angel. You’re not on your own with that one.” He tucks the hair behind my ears, bringing his lips to mine for a soft kiss, slipping the tip of his tongue into meet mine. There’s so much passion behind it. “I love you,” he whispers. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
With that, he kisses me once more and leaves.
Noel.
The light is back; it’s brighter than before. Voices murmur in the distance but their faces are a blur. Then, I see her—Tamzin: my angel—walking towards me in a short summer dress that blows in the wind. The smile on her face is a mile wide and her hair flows over her shoulders. She looks like a dream. She’s my dream, and my heart pounds at the sight of her. The weather is hot, the flowers around us vibrant as the songbirds in the trees sing sweet melodies. I’m captivated by her smile, I can’t stop looking at it and I know from the ache in my cheeks mine mirrors hers. She seems to take forever to walk towards me, but in three strides I get to hold her.
“Angel…” Her flower aroma lingers around us and the feel of her in my arms is so good. I’ve missed her so much. I kiss her warm soft lips and smooth my hands down her hair. She smiles at me and my heart’s never felt anything like it.
But then everything happens so fast.
BANG!
BANG! BANG!
Screams of panic echo around our empty environment that now seems to be filled with people in blue scrubs. Sirens and vehicles zoom past as my love suddenly becomes limp in my arms. I look down and all I see is her wide eyes and her tiny body covered in blood.
There is so much blood.
My hands are red and sticky, my clothes covered in crimson.
She falls.
“Tamzin!”
Then I feel it: the hand that takes my shoulder in a tight grip—the one that’s haunted me for weeks. I turn and this time I see someone behind me. It’s a doctor or a surgeon—I can’t work out which—but he looks sad: full of remorse, gilt and regret. My stomach twists, the air leaves my lungs and I place my hands over my ears to stop the words from hitting me. But it’s too late.
I hear them. “I’m sorry sir. We did everything we could.”
I jolt up in bed, clutching my chest and gasping hard for air. I can’t breathe. My insides are on fire, like hot lava rushing through my body as my skin feels as though I’ve been dragged through nettles. It’s unbearable. My temples are pounding with an intense pressure; my chest is tight, and sweat clings to my body. I have that same gut-wrenching feeling that brings me out of sleep only this time it’s worse and I can’t get the vision of Tamzin’s lifeless body out of my head. She was in my arms. I felt the bullets.
Why is this happening? How do I stop it?
It’s a constant form of pain that I can’t seem to shift. My body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore and it’s driving me fucking crazy.
What’s wrong with me?
Leaving the bed, I head out into the living area of the hotel room to pour myself a large whiskey to calm my heart rate. I’m still trembling as I open the window to ge
t air into my lungs. The glow of the Parisian city Christmas lights illuminates the dark room as snow continues to fall evenly outside—just like it’s doing in London—only where it would normally excite me, it now does nothing to lighten my mood.
For the first time in the thirty-two years on this earth, I’ve broken the Thompson tradition. One rule in our household whilst growing up was that no matter what, December is special and Christmas is family, and here I am, miles away from the woman I love and the family I miss, all because of some selfish bastard with greedy hands.
I went straight to my firm from the airport yesterday and spent the entire day there. Colleagues are up in arms over the recent events, questions were thrown as soon as I got through the door, people demanding answers, and it took everything in me not to scream at them to shut the fuck up before I turned to get the next flight home. I’ve always looked after my people, but for the first time since I can remember, the only person I’m willing to throw everything away for is Tamzin. It fucking killed me having to leave her and I’ve been like some overprotective idiot since I landed and have constantly been texting her so I know she is safe.
It’s become apparent that Alex’s wife has been having an affair, cleared out their joint account and took off with everything they’d built together. Being in charge of accounts, he unlawfully redeveloped new spread sheets for figures that where false making myself and everyone else believe business was glowing when in actual fact the fucker was taking thousands when he could. I should have known. I should have listened with my gut and looked into it more. The atmosphere: that had been the first sign of trouble, yet I did nothing. If I had I might not be here now struggling to breath with the fear of losing Tamzin.
Still feeling unsettled, I pour myself another whiskey. The freezing conditions outside aren’t doing anything to cool my body. I dial James’s number. I need to talk to someone and even though I’m desperate to hear Tamzin’s voice, I don’t want to wake her. It’s late and it will only cause her to panic.
“Your pretty arse better have a good reason to be waking me in the middle of the night,” James groans, his voice thick with sleep.
“I’m sorry to wake you man. I just need to talk to someone.”
“What’s wrong?”
I clasp my chest, trying to ease the muscle that’s tight and burning from the inside out. The whiskey isn’t helping at all. My head is muddled with so many scenarios, my body is physically weak and I just want to run and scream for it all to leave me in peace. “I think I’m dying.”
“Well for a dying man, you’re doing well if you managed to ring me and talk. Why the end of life remark?” His voice is laced with concern, even though he’s trying to lighten my mood. Noises of shuffling are in the earpiece, and I know he’s leaving the bedroom.
“I can’t breathe; my chest is burning.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Nothing I just woke up. I feel like my nerves are running wild. It’s happening a lot and it’s driving me fucking insane.”
“How often is it happening?”
“These last couple of weeks it’s increased. I often have daydreams but recently it’s been nightmares. At first, I could never make them out, but now all I see is Tamzin in them and things happen. She… they tell me that she’s…” I can’t even speak the words. I feel sick to the stomach at the thought of losing her. I know it’s just a nightmare but they’ve become so vivid and realistic it scares the shit out of me. I keep my voice low, as though speaking it allowed will somehow make it more real. “One minute she’s there and then she’s gone. They seem so real.”
He’s silent for a moment, taking in everything I’ve said and knowing the distress it’s causing me without me coming right out and divulging further. “Sounds like you’re having an anxiety attack.”
If it didn’t hurt so much I’d laugh. “Are you crazy? Tamzin doesn’t give me anxiety. Besides, I’m the most confident person you know.”
“Still a cocky sod even when dying,” he jokes, before he turns serious. “Look, you’re about to embark on a life changing event. Fatherhood is a massive deal—”
“I’m not worried about being a father.”
“Subconsciously you might not think that, but something is going on for you to have these thoughts—these visions or nightmares you say you’re having are about Tamzin. God forbid, but take her out of the picture and you’ll be a single father.”
I close my eyes and clench my jaw at the thought. Hearing someone say that causes my gut to twist even harder than just imagining it.
“If she wasn’t pregnant you most likely wouldn’t be having these thoughts. Am I wrong?”
“No.”
“Women risk everything to bring life into this world; it’s natural to feel the way you do. Being a father takes so much responsibility it’s enough to put any level of fear in any man. It doesn’t make you less of one. If anything, it makes you more human. You’re having anxiety attacks, Noel.”
Are my dreams of losing Tamzin really anxieties of being a father? Or is it more the fact that I know I won’t be able to cope without her? Being a father or not, not having Tamzin to wake up to will destroy everything I am. I’m nothing without her, and as selfish as it sounds, raising a child and knowing she is a part of it won’t be enough for me if she’s not standing by my side. I don’t want to look at that little person we created and resent it because it’s mother has gone. That’s not who I am. I’ve seen death—I’ve seen what it does to people: you either become close or get divided. Our brother Harry went his own way after we lost my little brother, William, and the effect it had on my family almost tore us apart. I can’t go through that again. A thick lump forms in my throat and my eyes sting. “I can’t lose her, James. It will finish me.”
The need to feel Tamzin’s skin on mine is unbearable. I want to hold her, kiss her stomach, feel the baby kicking under my hand, while I lay beside my love and make her laugh. I’ve wanted to share my nightmares with Tamzin, but how the hell do I share these kinds of thoughts with her? I can’t put this burden on her now; it’s not fair.
Ending my call to James, I pour myself another drink as insomnia takes over. The snowflakes falling outside and the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed finally calm my thoughts a little and reduce the level of stress that’s running wild. Still not wanting to wake her but desperate to make contact, I pick up my phone and send her a text.
You are my everything, angel. I love you. X
Tamzin.
The kitchen worktops are covered in flour and dough. Freshly baked Christmas shaped cookies are stacked in piles on a side plate as festive music plays in the background. Pregnancy is kicking my arse with the diet today. I baked twenty-four fig rolls before dawn and ate sixteen of the fuckers before breakfast. I don’t even like fig rolls, but baby seemed to enjoy them and my backside is now going to suffer for the rest of my life because of it. I offered to look after Ruby while Karen finished off the rest of her Christmas shopping and after smelling the sweet and savouries when she arrived we’ve done nothing but bake since she got here. Noel rang me this morning and it was enough to have me crying down the phone again. That’s all I’ve done since he left two days ago, and I’m exhausted. He sounded miserable too, and knowing that he’s also finding it hard sort of eased the ache for a while. I’ve not slept since he left, I feel huge and I’m in agony with my back today. I’m trying my damn hardest to stay upbeat for Ruby’s sake, but inside I feel like I’m dying.
“Did you like my nativity, Aunt Tamzin?”
“I did. You were an excellent donkey and your costume was so good.”
“Nanna helped Mummy make it. She’ll make loads of things when the baby comes too.”
“I’m sure she will.”
Thankfully, Ruby’s nativity wasn’t as eventful as the Carol services and no mention of my expanding arse was announced to half of Hackney. Noel unfortunately had to miss it this year due to his business trip but that didn’t stop
Ruby bragging to her class mates that her Uncle No-No was FaceTiming her from Paris and that people over there were weird because they ate snails. I swear sometimes this girl has no filter.
“I think we should make cinnamon swirls next,” she says, drawing patterns into the flour with her finger.
“That sounds like a plan, but I need to check how much of the ingredients we have left.”
“They’re Daddy’s favourites.”
“They are Uncle No-No’s, too. Maybe we can make some for him.”
I struggle but manage to stack another lot of dishes in the dishwasher while she continues to make her stained-glass effect cookies, humming along to the Christmas music in the background. More snow fell over night leaving a picture postcard effect outside and the windows bubbled with condensation. The temperature has dropped these last few days and the snow clouds have been heavy in the sky. In the hours that I couldn’t sleep, I managed to wrap all the presents that need to be exchanged, so all I have to do before Christmas Eve is clean the house.
“Aunt Tamzin, do you think Uncle No-No will like this?”
I find big brown eyes looking up at me. Loose curls cascade around Ruby’s pure face as she holds out her hand. She’s made a heart shape cookie with a Christmas tree cut out that will blend into a red stained-glass effect when cooked and a small stamp of Noel’s name pressed into the dough.
“Oh wow. I think he’ll love it.”
“Would you like to give it to him yourself?” Her question is delicate and sweet.
“Ruby, sweetheart, you made it. Why would I want to give it to him?”
“Because you miss him, and he made you believe again.” Her words have a far greater impact on my heart than I ever thought was possible. He did make me believe, and I need to hold onto that. Tears glass my eyes as I smile down at her. Little rebel or not, this girl is the sweetest.
