? ? ?
I’d never had a conventional nuclear family Christmas. When my dad lived in London, he spent Christmas with his actual family in his other house; I wasn’t welcome, but have always made peace with that given that his wife is an actual living witch. Since I could remember, my mum’s hostel only allowed visitors for an hour at a time, so that option was out. The week before my first Christmas with Tom, I was sitting at the table having Friday fish and chips with Tom’s family discussing how “the little African boy” that they sponsored was doing when his mum reached across the table and put a hand on my forearm.
“You know, you’re more than welcome to spend Christmas with us here in Peterborough, Queenie.”
“Um, is she?” Tom’s brother wasn’t up for it.
“No, don’t worry, I spend it with my grandmother every year!” I smiled.
“Are you sure?” Tom’s mum asked. “We’d love to have you, and we’ve got all your presents here under the tree.”
“Well, she can open them after Christmas?” Adam again. His voice was higher this time. Tom locked eyes with me and nodded.
I looked over at Adam and smiled. “I’d love to be here. Thanks, Viv.”
“Don’t worry about Adam,” Viv said to me later. “He’s just jealous because you’ve taken his brother away.”
“I don’t want to annoy anyone, especially not at Christmas! It’s just that . . . well, your family, it’s what a family should be. I’ve never had that.”
“Well, you’re part of our family now, Queenie,” Viv said. “And you always will be.”
???
Come Christmas Eve, Tom and I were sitting on the last train to Peterborough, Tom squashed into the window by bags of presents on the seat next to him. I sat opposite him with my feet on the suitcase full of his presents just for me. We’d been together for about six months at that point, so not only had I known his parents, grandmother, and brother well enough to choose all of their gifts, but I also felt that after never getting what I wanted, and sick of being asked, I could give Tom a full list of the things that I wanted rather than just hoping for the best and getting something that I’d have to pretend to like.
“Are you excited, Tom?” I asked, leaning across and putting my hands on his cheeks. He didn’t answer.
“Tom, please stop faffing with your phone, it’s Christmas Eve! I need attention, I am excited like a small child.” He put his phone in his pocket.
“Yes, I’m excited too, sorry.”
“Good, you should be excited, because this is not only our first Christmas together but my first Christmas where there will be alcohol!”
“I always forget that your family doesn’t drink.”
“Not a drop, Tom. Not since my granddad had a small sherry in 1961 and called the ambulance because he thought his heart was failing.”
I swapped seats with the bags of presents next to Tom and tucked myself under his arm. “You make me very happy, you know. I know I’m not good at saying it, but you do,” I said, looking out of the train window, watching as the gray buildings thinned out and made way for suburban tranquility.
He lifted a hand to my hair and stroked it. “You make me happy too. I love you.”
“Tom, don’t touch my hair.”
? ? ?
I put a T-shirt on and got onto the bed next to Guy, tucking myself into him. I hated myself for doing it, and him, but of all the anonymous partners, he was the most reliable. And, reliably, he faced away from me as soon as my body touched his. I climbed under the sheets and thought of nothing but Tom as I fell asleep, Guy’s snores providing a steady soundtrack to my sadness.
I woke up to a digging in my ribs. “You’re talking in your sleep.”
“Huh? What?” I sat up.
Guy was squinting at me with one eye, the other buried in the pillow. “You’re talking in your sleep,” he huffed. “I don’t know who this Tom is, but his ears must be burning.”
“Sorry,” I said, lying back down. “Have you done all of your Christmas shopping?” He didn’t reply. Had he already gone back to sleep? “What time is it?” I asked.
“Too early to be talking,” he said gruffly.
“But it’s a week until Christmas!” I reminded him.
He took my hand and shoved it into his boxers. “All right, I’ve got a present for you.”
? ? ?
“What?”
“I said, I’ve got a present for you. Wake up, Queenie.” I sat up, my eyes still closed. When I blinked them open, Tom was sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed holding a small gift in his hands.
“Oh, Tom, what is it?” I asked.
“Well, you’re meant to open it, aren’t you?” he said, handing it to me and moving up the bed so that he was next to me. I opened it slowly.
“Ha! Where did you get this?” It was a silk headscarf.
“Happy first Christmas! Do you like it?” Tom asked, beaming from ear to ear. “I went to one of those black hair shops in Brixton for it. I chose a green and black one because your other one is gold, and all together those are the Jamaica colors, right?”
“You went all the way to Brixton for a headscarf?”
“Well, I didn’t know how to find it on the Internet and I remembered seeing them when we went to buy your hair that time.”
I put my arm around his shoulders and forced him into a gentle headlock. “You’re very good to me,” I said as he moved his head from my chest to my neck, kissing me behind the ear gently.
“That’s because you’re my Queenie,” he whispered in my ear, taking the headscarf from my hands and slipping his fingers through mine.
? ? ?
“Don’t you like it?” Guy asked, disappointed that I wasn’t pleased by his erection.
“Mmm, I think it’s too early for that sort of present, Guy.” I removed my hand from his boxers.
“Oh, come on, you said it yourself, it’s Christmastime. How about a quick hand job?” he begged. “You took so long in the shower last night that I fell asleep before I could give you a festive fuck. A hand job is the least you can do.”
“Guy. I think we should . . .” I said in a very small voice, “. . . maybe wrap things u—”
“Ha!” Guy cut me off. “Come on, there’s nothing to wrap up, this is never going to be more than sex, you know that! You’re a good girl, but I’m busy, I don’t have time for dating and all that.”
“Guy, you know I’m a person, don’t you?” I started. “With thoughts and feelings and—”
“And a big gob, but most of all, a big arse.” He laughed. “Come oooon, don’t get all serious, we have fun, you and me.” He pulled his boxers down and presented his erection to me again. “Just climb on, Santa wants to give you a ride on his sleigh.”
“I thought you were too practically minded for jokes, being a doctor?” I teased. There was no point being cross. Guy was very persuasive. He was always going to get his way.
“Junior doctor,” he corrected me. “Anyway, we’re going off topic and I’m going to lose my lob-on. Come on, Queenie. Climb on board. Don’t worry, I’ll pull out before I give you a Christmas miracle of your own.”
chapter
TWELVE