by K. C. Wells
Ollie pointed to a photo frame standing on the mantelpiece. “Is that Mike?”
I nodded, staring at the photo I’d taken when we were on holiday one year in Wales. Mike was sitting on a low wall, Lake Bala behind him, the mountains to the rear reflected in its still waters. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts, and a white T-shirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but he was smiling.
“I see what you mean about him and Jay getting along. He liked to work out, didn’t he?”
“I used to joke that even his muscles were developing muscles.” At least the recollection drew a smile. A few years ago, I’d have reacted very differently.
Ollie glanced around the flat. “This is a nice place you have here.”
I agreed. “I bought it when I’d been at my job a few years and could finally afford a place of my own.” It was a light airy space, and what I liked best about the living room were its French doors that opened out onto the private garden. Not that either of us had been keen gardeners. In fact, there was very little visible earth left out there. Mike had seen to that. Most of the ground was covered with decking. A small patio table and chairs stood near the house.
“Those are nice.” Ollie pointed to three framed sketches on the wall.
“Thank you. I did those.” They were drawings I’d done during our Welsh holiday, simple landscapes with a touch of watercolour.
Ollie stared at them. “Seriously? Wow. You have talent.”
I flushed. “Again, thank you.” Mike used to tell me I was crap at accepting praise. He was the one who’d insisted I had the sketches framed.
I collected the papers from the fish and chips, screwed them up and threw them into the bin. The tree was still standing in its net in the hallway, leaning against the wall.
“Do you have a stand for the tree?”
“Yep. I’ll get it.” I went into the hall cupboard, stepping over boxes and the vacuum cleaner, to find the heavy stand right at the back. I brought it into the living room and placed it in the middle of the floor. Ollie smiled when he saw it.
“That’s beautiful.”
I had to agree. It was an octagonal stand in a bronze-coloured metal. Around the base were reindeer and sleighs. In the centre was a deep reservoir for the tree trunk, with four metal screws protruding into it, and a spike poking up from the bottom.
“Okay, where is your saw?”
I blinked. “Saw?”
Ollie nodded. “How else are you going to take off the base of the tree trunk?”
Okay, I was truly confused. “Why would I want to do that?”
Ollie’s mouth opened slightly. “Well, how else do you expect it to take a drink?”
I bit my lip. “You want the tree… to have a drink?”
Ollie stared at me, apparently horrified. “Well, yes, unless you want all the needles to fall off.” When I pointed to the label that clearly said non-drop, he rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point. You cut off a couple of inches from the base, then you drill a hole into its centre so that it fits easier onto that spike, and it’s easier for it to take in water.” He peered at me. “Your Christmas trees in the past… they all lost their needles, didn’t they?”
“Of course. That’s what Christmas trees do. It’s one of the joys of Christmas, clearing up the needles that fall every day.”
Ollie gave a heavy sigh. “That’s why you water the tree. If you do that, it holds onto its needles for longer. Plus, it stops the tree from drying out. All you need is for one of the lights to get too hot, and the whole thing’ll go up like… well, like a Christmas tree.” He cocked his head to one side. “Why do you think forest fires catch the way they do?”
“Okay, okay, I get it. The tree needs water.” I thought it was kind of cute, Ollie lecturing me.
He folded his arms, smirking. “You don’t have a saw, do you?”
“Yes, I have a saw someplace,” I retorted. “Mike’s uncle sent him a toolbox one Christmas. I don’t think he ever touched it.” The memory made me smile. “Mike wasn’t the most practical of creatures. I’m pretty sure there’s a saw in there.” In fact, I’d stepped over the toolbox in the cupboard in my search for the stand. I went back and peered inside. Sure enough, there was a saw.
Ollie, meanwhile, had picked up the tree, carried it through the living room, opened the French doors, and stepped out onto the deck. The security lights flooded the area. I handed him the saw, and he removed about two inches from the base of the trunk. Then he came indoors and rummaged in the toolbox for a sharp-looking implement. He went back to the tree and made a hole in the centre of the base. Finally, he came back inside, carrying the tree.
“Where are you going to put it?”
I pointed to the corner near the window. “It normally goes there.”
It took us about fifteen minutes to get the tree standing upright and centred. Ollie held it firmly when I got down on the floor and took turns adjusting the screws so that they evenly pierced the trunk. When they were all the way in, the tree could stand on its own. Ollie went in search of a jug to fill with water. He got down on his knees and carefully poured it into the reservoir that held the tree trunk.
“If you put your finger inside, you can feel the base at the bottom of each screw. You don’t want to go past that, or you’ll have the water leaking out. You need to keep it topped up every day. So just put your finger inside to feel where the level of the water is.”
I really liked Ollie’s practical manner. “I guess this is Christmas trees 101.”
Ollie grinned. “You’ll thank me when you don’t have to vacuum up pine needles every day. Now, where are the decorations?”
“I’ll have to go out for those. They’re in the garage behind the house.” Not that there was a car in there: the space was filled with boxes and the usual bric-a-brac. I pulled on my jacket and went outside to walk along the line of white painted houses, before turning the corner to reach the little back lane where all the garages stood. By the time I was back in the house with the box, I was shivering.
Ollie took one look at the box’s contents and sighed. “Yeah. You’re gonna need more.” He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. “I should really get going.” He gave me a warm smile. “I’ve had a great evening.”
I returned the smile. “Me too. Do you think you can find your way back to the Tube station?”
Ollie chuckled. “Jay used to swear I had a lodestone in my head. He called me his navigator bunny.” He paused. “And that’s the first time in a while that thought has made me smile.” He gave me a speculative glance. “This weekend, are we still on for skating?”
“Of course.” I grinned. “We just need to agree that we’re not shooting any video. No one needs to see this.”
Ollie laughed. “You never know. You could be the next Christopher Dean.”
I sorely doubted that. I walked Ollie to the door, said goodbye, and watched him walk along the front path to the gate. When he was out of sight, I closed the door, then locked and bolted it. I came back into the living room and stared at the tree.
“Wow.” Mike shook his head. “Wherever you go in the room, you’re next to it.” He glanced at the box of decorations. “It’s still gonna look bare when you’ve added all that lot.”
He had a point.
Mike crouched beside the box of decorations, gazing at its contents. “There are a lot of memories in here.”
“And I’m keeping them.” I could have told him where we’d bought every single piece.
Mike nodded. “Now it’s time to add to them.” He got to his feet. “I think it’s beautiful. And when it’s covered with lights and decs, it’s going to look amazing.”
Shit. Lights. I was going to need a hell of a lot more lights.
“Ollie has a good laugh.” Before I could respond, Mike had done his fadeout. The first thought that came to my mind was that he was right. Ollie had a great laugh, and it had been a while sin
ce anyone had laughed in that flat.
Thursday. Thirteen days to Christmas
I’d just taken my morning break and was pouring myself a coffee when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out to see a text from Ollie.
Got a minute?
I hit call. “Good timing. What’s up?”
“I know this is going to sound odd, but… I’ve got something for you, and I’d like to bring it round on tomorrow night. If you’re not doing anything, that is.”
I wasn’t about to tell him I never did anything on a Friday night. “This sounds very mysterious.”
“I know. I can’t tell you what I’m bringing, because I want it to be a surprise. But I will bring dinner, how’s that? Even if it’s a ready meal from Tesco that I pick up on the way.”
“Make it a chicken korma with naan bread and you’re on.”
“Oh, a Friday night Indian. I can do that. So it’s a yes?”
“What time were you thinking of?”
“Maybe seven? That’ll give you time to get home from work, shower, whatever.”
I told him that was fine. “I’m making a detour on my way home tonight. I need to go to B&Q for some more Christmas tree lights. I realized that once I put on the ones I already have, you won’t even see them on this tree.”
“Always go for more than you think you need. I usually have about five hundred on my tree.”
I laughed. “That makes my one hundred and fifty sound pitiful.” I had to admit I was intrigued. “Oh, come on. Just one clue?”
“No clues. But you’ll like it.”
His confidence made me smile. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” A thought occurred to me. “What do you drink? Apart from spiced rum and coke.” Now that I thought about it, when was the last time I bought a bottle of rum?
“I’d already thought of that. I’m bringing a couple of bottles of mulled wine. All we have to do is warm it.”
A Friday night with Ollie, a surprise, chicken korma, and a glass or two of mulled wine. It sounded perfect.
“I’ll see you at the flat then.” We said our goodbyes and I disconnected. I took my coffee back to my desk and sat in my chair, staring at the monitor but not really seeing it. I couldn’t decide whether my good mood was due to the prospect of company, or the fact that it was Ollie.
Chapter Ten
Friday. Twelve days to Christmas
Just before seven, the doorbell rang and I got up to let Ollie in. I was definitely intrigued by the large box he carried into the living room. He handed me the plastic bag containing our dinner and the mulled wine, with instructions to shove the meal in the oven because he was starving.
Quite the entrance. I couldn’t help smiling. “Good evening Ollie. Come on in. Make yourself at home.”
He laughed. “I had to skip lunch today, because I nipped out during my lunch hour for this. And I tend to get cranky when I’m hungry, so feed me.”
I snickered. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” I was still smiling, however, when I walked into the kitchen to switch on the oven. When I came into the living room, Ollie had placed the box on the table in the corner.
“Can I move this stuff?” He gestured to the magazines and mail. “Only, we’re going to need some room.” He shrugged off his leather jacket and scarf, then placed them over the back of a chair. Then he kicked off his shoes and I had to smile at the sight of his socks.
“Polar bears. How cute.”
Ollie chuckled. “They were a present from Jay. You know, one of those filler presents that you get every year?”
“I used to get an awful lot of filler presents. Mike was dreadful at buying Christmas gifts. He would ask me weeks beforehand for hints of what I needed or wanted. I would give lots of hints. And then Christmas morning would arrive, and nothing I asked for would ever find its way under the tree. I’d end up with scarves, pyjamas, occasionally some CDs, and a lot of chocolate, but it was never anything that had required a great deal of thought.” It felt for a moment that I was criticizing Mike, but I knew I was speaking the truth. All my presents seem to be ones he’d picked up on a stroll through a department store.
Ollie stared at me. “I think I’ve just found the brother Jay never knew he had. Every year, I would go out of my way to find something special for him. There was the time I bought him a flying lesson. Another year, I bought him six laps around a racetrack in a classic sports car. Then there was the hot air balloon trip. Whereas I got‒”
“Socks, scarves…”
He nodded. “Exactly.” I left him for a moment to go into the kitchen to put dinner in the oven. When I returned, he opened the box, and I crossed the room in a hurry.
“I am dying to know what’s in there.”
Ollie said nothing but reached into the cardboard container. On the table, he placed several items: plastic sealed packages containing clear plastic baubles; a couple of packs each containing twelve ceramic bells; little pots of red, gold, green, and silver glitter; glitter pens; small sheets of coloured cellophane; and a bag containing tiny Christmas figures—snowmen, penguins, polar bears, Father Christmas, elves…
“What on earth?”
Ollie grinned. “I raided Poundland.” He pointed to the tabletop. “I got the idea after seeing that you were quite artistic.”
“The mind boggles.” I chuckled. “Okay, I give up. What am I going to do with all this?”
“We are going to make baubles. Now, before you tell me you could just as easily go to a shop and buy a box of decorations, this is more personal. We can put what we like in the baubles, and paint what we like on the bells.” He picked up a brown paper bag and emptied its contents onto the table. Out spilled red and gold ribbon in coils. “We use these to hang them on the tree. Granted, my efforts might not be as beautiful as what you’re capable of, but I will do my best.”
It was something I’d never consider doing. And I loved it. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”
Ollie’s face lit up and the sight warmed me. “Oh God, I’m so relieved. I had no idea how you were going to react.”
I was touched by how much effort he’d gone to, for me.
We spent the next fifteen minutes or so, deciding what we were going to do. The cellophane had a green tinge to it, and Ollie explained that when you scrunched it up and put it inside the bubble, it caught the light. We were going to put some of the little figures into the baubles, along with glitter. Others would remain empty, and instead we would paint on the surface with the glitter pens. By the time we’d worked out what we were going to do, the oven pinged, and dinner was ready. Rather than disrupt what was laid out on the table, we sat on the couch to eat, our plates balanced on our knees.
Ollie glanced at the tree. “You haven’t done anything with it yet.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to help me this evening. This would normally be the night I would decorate it anyway. And I’m going to be up the stepladder just to reach the top of the tree. It would be easier with a second body to pass me things.”
Ollie’s eyes shone. “I’d love to help. I can even take turns up the ladder too.”
“And how is your tree looking?”
He bit his lip. “I’m a bit late this year with putting up my decs.”
I had a brief flash of insight. “It’s not the same, is it? Decorating on your own?”
Ollie paused, his food forgotten for a moment. “Can I tell you something? Buying the tree with you this week, buying all the stuff to make the baubles… This is the most Christmassy I felt in a while.”
My heart went out to a fellow sufferer. “Then let’s finish our dinner and get on with making this tree look magnificent.”
Ollie smiled. “You haven’t mentioned Mike, so I’m assuming he’s elsewhere this evening, wherever it is ghosts go to when they’re not watching the living. Will we be having any extra help this evening?” His eyes twinkled.
“For a man who wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts a week ago, you’re takin
g this all very calmly.”
“You didn’t see me when I got home that night. I ran around the flat screaming for half an hour. This calm exterior you see before you is the result of taking drugs.” His lips twitched.
I liked a man with a sense of humour.
“I haven’t seen Mike today.” Only then did it strike me that I hadn’t seen Mike since Wednesday night. Not that I was concerned. I mean, what harm could befall a ghost?
Ollie shivered. “Seriously though, I’m not sure how I’d feel knowing there was a ghost following me around, watching me all the time.”
“Oh God, I hope he isn’t watching me all the time.” I laughed. “I had to make him wait outside the bathroom when I was brushing my teeth.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be doing anything he hasn’t seen before. Unless you were one of those couples who didn’t live in each other’s pockets.”
I nodded slowly. “And there you have it. I happen to like my privacy.”
Ollie’s gaze went to Mike’s photo. “I’m glad you have that up,” he said. “You’ll never forget him, just like I’ll never forget Jay. They will always be a part of us.” He sighed. “Can I share something with you?”
“Of course.”
Ollie’s gaze went to Mike’s photo. “These last few days, I’ve been feeling a little… guilty.”
“What on earth have you done to feel guilty about?”
He didn’t look at me, but kept his gaze focused on the photo. “We’ve talked a lot about our memories, haven’t we? Well, just recently I’ve become aware of something. A change in me. I’d remember something Jay did or said, and the memory made me smile, but… it wasn’t tugging at my heart the way it had in the past.” At last he looked at me, his eyes troubled. “Does that make me a horrible person?”
“God, no. It just means you’re healing, that’s all.” I considered his words, applying them to my own experience. “I do understand. The memories don’t hurt anymore. They leave you with a warm glow inside, reminding you of good times you shared.”