One Perfect Christmas and Other Stories

by Paige Toon

  ‘I thought she was doing this wedding with you tomorrow.’

  ‘She is. She’s picking me up at six.’

  ‘She’s driving? And she’s still out drinking? She’ll probably still be over the limit when she gets behind the wheel!’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Lachie mutters, while I have this horrible feeling I sound like his mother. ‘Anyway, George will probably drive.’

  ‘So Fliss is out with Elliot right now?’ I ask as he kisses my neck again.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Does she fancy him?’

  Lachie shrugs. ‘I don’t know. He fancies her, though, so that’s a good start.’

  ‘Isn’t she a bit young for him?’

  ‘Says the cradle snatcher,’ he snorts with amusement.

  Lachie is twenty-eight, the same age as Fliss, while Elliot is thirty-five, just one year older than I am. My boyfriend has a point, but I shove his shoulder indignantly, regardless.

  ‘Doesn’t she care that she’s his rebound shag?’

  ‘Can we stop talking about El and Fliss?’ he asks pointedly, rolling onto his back and pulling me on top of him. He runs his hands up inside my top and cups my breasts.

  There are other, far more pressing things to talk about, but right now, there are also far more pressing things to do.

  I have to drag myself from bed the next morning when Lachie’s alarm goes off.

  ‘You don’t need to get up,’ he says in a deep, groggy voice.

  ‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ I reply, stumbling into the kitchen. It’s quarter to six. The shower turns on and, a few minutes later, Lachie joins me in the kitchen wearing black jeans, a grey T-shirt and a dark-blue beanie pulled over his blond hair. He never wears a suit when he gigs.

  He presses a kiss to my temple. I turn and slide my arms around his waist and he pulls me close, engulfing me with his warmth.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks, withdrawing to gaze down at me with tired but beautiful blue eyes.

  I sigh and place my hands on his face, running my thumbs across his stubble. After going clean-shaven for a year, he’s growing back his beard.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go today.’

  He looks dejected. ‘Sorry, Bron,’ he whispers. ‘Fliss and George need to get there early to prep. I could’ve driven later, but it seemed crazy to pass up the offer of a ride.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry.’

  He reaches past me to grab his coffee from the counter, and, at the same time, we hear a knock on the door.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ I open the door to find Fliss before me, looking a bit worse for wear, but still gorgeous. Her dark hair is pulled up into a high, tousled bun and her big brown eyes stare out at me from behind a thick fringe. We’re around the same height at five foot seven.

  ‘Hey,’ she says in a huskier voice than usual.

  ‘With you in a sec,’ Lachie calls from the kitchen.

  ‘Good night?’ I raise one eyebrow at her and lean against the doorframe.

  She smirks. ‘Could say that.’

  ‘Did you shag him?’ Lachie asks with a grin, materialising at my side, coffee cup still in hand.

  ‘No, I did not!’ she replies mock-indignantly. ‘What sort of a girl do you think I am?’

  He shrugs and grins and my insides clench. There’s something about this girl that makes warning bells go off in my head.

  ‘I thought you were desperate,’ he teases.

  Has she been divulging to my boyfriend how much she wants sex?

  She rolls her eyes at him. ‘Not that desperate.’

  ‘You could do worse than Elliot,’ I chip in, feeling suddenly defensive of our friend.

  She screws her nose up. ‘He’s way too old for me.’

  Cheeky bitch! I know I said the same thing last night, but now I feel like she’s implying that I’m too old for my boyfriend.

  ‘Come on, Loch Ness, time to go,’ she urges.

  Lachie is actually pronounced Lockie, and, somewhere along the line, Fliss got the idea of nicknaming him after the Loch Ness monster. Lachie and I met in Scotland, while Fliss has never even been to Europe, but that’s not why I find the nickname irritating. I hate how familiar and cutesy this girl is with my boyfriend. And Lachie, who has always been a flirt, doesn’t discourage her.

  Lachie downs his coffee and plonks the cup on the table, picking up his guitar case and bending down to peck me on the lips. ‘Have a good day,’ he says.

  ‘You too,’ I reply.

  I watch him follow Fliss down the external staircase. The frown is still etched onto my forehead when I return indoors.

  Elliot texts me at eleven, wondering if I’m free for brunch. I reply that I am, glad to have something to take my mind off yesterday’s email. I went back to bed after Lachie left, but couldn’t sleep for my mind ticking over.

  We meet up at a café across the road from Manly Beach. Elliot is already at a table when I arrive, looking decidedly worse than Fliss did at six o’clock this morning. His normally tanned skin is washed out and pasty and he’s resting his darkly stubbled jaw on his hand. He smiles up at me, wearily.

  ‘Hungover?’ I ask the obvious question.

  ‘Not really,’ he replies, to my surprise, as I take a seat opposite him. ‘Miserable more than anything.’

  ‘Oh, El,’ I say with sympathy, reaching across to touch his hand. His eyes fill up with tears.

  ‘Christ!’ he mumbles, averting his gaze with embarrassment. ‘I should’ve stayed at home.’

  ‘No, it’s good that you came out. Have you ordered yet?’

  ‘Just a coffee.’

  On cue, the waitress brings it over. I order a latte for myself and turn my attention back to Elliot, who’s in the process of upending three sachets of sugar into his drink.

  ‘How was last night?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

  He shrugs. ‘It was alright.’

  ‘Anything happen with Fliss?’

  ‘Nah, we just went dancing. She’s not into me like that.’

  ‘I think she has a crush on Lachie.’

  ‘He only has eyes for you,’ he replies without missing a beat.

  ‘So she does like him, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I don’t know, Bron.’ He looks awkward, all of a sudden.

  I try to ignore the niggling feeling in my stomach as I pick up the menu.

  ‘Have you spoken to Bridget?’ he asks when we’ve ordered.

  ‘Last night,’ I reply quietly.

  He shakes his head and picks up his coffee, taking a large, scalding mouthful and wincing. ‘It’s too soon,’ he states, putting his cup down a little too firmly on the wooden table.

  ‘She seems pretty sure about him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says bitterly. His blue eyes dart up to meet mine. ‘Why didn’t she ever tell me she wanted a kid?’ He sounds anguished.

  ‘I’m not sure even she knew it. But would it have made a difference? I thought you were set on not having children.’

  ‘Yeah, I was. I am. I just… I don’t know. We could have at least talked about it.’

  ‘And said what? She was happy with you, El. She was. But maybe she didn’t know what she really wanted until it was right there in front of her.’

  ‘I should’ve proposed to her sooner.’

  ‘Do you think it would have made a difference?’

  Elliot doesn’t answer, but he looks downcast.

  ‘Maybe this is what you needed to hear to move on,’ I say gently, my thoughts jumping unwelcomingly to Alex.

  I wonder if he’s moved on… Did he remarry? Does he have a girlfriend? Children?

  ‘Yeah,’ Elliot mumbles after a long pause, bringing my focus back to him. He doesn’t sound convinced. ‘I guess I just miss her.’ His voice is racked with emotion.

  I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine, giving it a small squeeze. I don’t need to say it out loud. He knows I miss her, too.

  I wake up stupidly early on Sunday mor
ning. I don’t know what time Lachie came home because I was too tired to respond when he whispered hello. He’s still out cold, his full lips parted in sleep and his dark-blond stubble another millimetre closer to being called a beard. The next few months will see his shaggy blond hair lighten further under the sun. I reach out, but stop short of pushing a wayward lock off his forehead.

  He rolls away from me, the duvet slipping down to reveal his toned, muscular back. I can’t resist. I press a kiss onto the dent at the top of his shoulder and rest my cheek against his warm back. He stirs.

  ‘Alex emailed me,’ I whisper, feeling guilty for waking him, but unable to hold it in any longer.

  His whole body tenses.

  ‘What?’ He rolls over to face me.

  ‘Alex emailed me,’ I repeat. ‘He’s coming to Sydney next month.’

  His red-tinged eyes are full of an emotion I can’t decipher. Anger? Trepidation? Concern?

  All of the above?

  ‘He needs to do some work at the Tetlan offices and thought he should let me know he’s going to be around,’ I explain. ‘I guess he didn’t want to freak me out.’

  ‘Has he asked to see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to see him?’

  His eyes widen at my split-second delay. My ensuing ‘no’ sounds false on my tongue.

  ‘Great,’ Lachie says sarcastically as he falls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. ‘All these years and we still can’t escape the guy.’

  ‘I have no intention of seeing him,’ I state firmly, placing my hand on his chest. ‘I haven’t even replied to his email.’

  He turns his head to look at me. ‘But you will.’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ I reply uncomfortably. ‘I wanted to speak to you about it first.’

  ‘What did his email say exactly?’

  I recite it, word for word.

  ‘Jesus, Bronte,’ he mutters, that indecipherable look back in his eye.

  ‘What should I say?’ I persist.

  ‘Just write back and say thanks for letting me know.’

  We stare at each other for several long seconds.

  ‘Really?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies, and I have this odd feeling he’s testing me.

  ‘Okay.’

  Neither of us brings up Alex again that day, and on the surface it’s a perfectly pleasant Sunday, but underneath is an underlying tension that we both choose to ignore.

  Back at work on Monday morning, I fire up my computer with a niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t want this to hang over me for any longer, so I open up Alex’s email and type out a reply.

  Thanks for letting me know.

  Bronte.

  The words look so stark. Is that really the best I can do after all this time? He’s only letting me know out of decency that he’s coming here.

  I try again.

  Hi Alex

  Long time no speak!

  I quickly delete that sentence, still shaking my head. Too jaunty. Too… wrong.

  Hi Alex

  Thanks for letting me know. All’s well here – hope you’re okay too.

  Bronte

  I suddenly remember that I don’t even know exactly when he’s coming – I don’t want to be on edge for the entire month of October. I ask the question and then press send, safe in the knowledge that it’s the middle of the night in England and he won’t be checking his emails for hours.

  His reply is waiting for me on Tuesday morning.

  7th October – I’ll be there for three weeks.

  That’s all he says.

  I don’t reply.

  When I walk through the door that evening, I find Lachie sitting on the sofa, strumming his guitar. His long legs are encased in tattered denim jeans and his bare feet are up on the coffee table, beside an open bottle of beer.

  ‘Hey,’ he says with a small smile, going to put his guitar down.

  ‘Don’t stop.’ I grab his beer and take a swig, squeezing between him and the armrest. His eyes drift to my lips and his own curve up into an amused smile. ‘What’s that you were playing?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing. Just messing. How was your day?’

  ‘Fine.’ I lift my shoulders into a shrug.

  ‘Has he replied?’

  I forgot that Lachie is like a sniffer dog when it comes to Alex.

  ‘Yeah. He’s coming on the seventh of October for three weeks.’

  ‘He volunteered that information himself?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head, feeling uneasy. ‘I asked when he was coming.’

  ‘Ah.’

  If he was testing me, I have a feeling I’ve failed.

  He puts his guitar down on the floor. I kick off my shoes and rest my knees against his lap, edging my shoulder into the crook of his arm. He takes the hint and pulls me close. I kiss his neck and he turns his head to stare at me levelly. His expression is unreadable, but I’m reluctant to ask what he’s thinking.

  He soon makes it clear. ‘Do you want to see him?’

  ‘No! I’ve already told you that.’

  ‘You just ran away. Four years ago, from England and Alex. I’ve never really known if you were taking the easy option by staying here in Oz with me.’

  I pull away from him and stare at him, shocked. ‘How could you even think that? You are why I stayed in Australia. I wasn’t running from Alex. I love you. I chose you. And, thankfully, you let me.’

  A long moment passes and then Lachie’s lips quirk up into a smile. Full of relief, I lean forward and plant a kiss on them.

  ‘I don’t want to see him,’ I repeat firmly, grabbing his super-soft T-shirt with my fingers. ‘That part of my life is done with. If I never set eyes on him again, it’ll be too soon.’

  I mean the words as I say them.

  It’s only later that I doubt their truth.

  The closer it creeps to Alex’s arrival date in Sydney, the more on edge I feel. On the morning of the 7th of October I consciously spend no more time on my appearance than usual, but I find myself reaching for my favourite skinny jeans, teaming them with the top I bought at the weekend when Lachie was working.

  I know my boyfriend hasn’t forgotten the significance of today, even if he’s not bringing it up.

  People have a habit of underestimating Lachie – I did, too, at first. He comes across as so carefree and young at heart that it’s easy to mistake how much he actually sees; how shrewd he is. When I go to kiss him goodbye and he tells me that I look nice, I can’t help but wonder at the hidden depths in those summer-sky eyes of his.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, choosing to take the compliment at surface level and not read into things.

  I’m jumpy the entire day. Every time I step out of the office, my nerves ramp up a notch. Crossing the landing to go to the communal kitchen, taking the lifts, walking across the lobby, even going for a wander at lunchtime, I’m racked with tension, half expecting to see Alex at every turn. I spy him in every tall, slim, dark-haired man who passes me by – just for a split second, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat.

  It’s the same the next day. And the next. By the end of the first week, I tell Lachie to stop asking me if I’ve seen him, vowing to divulge the information if I do. But the tension never leaves me.

  By Wednesday of the following week, I begin to feel oddly fretful. It suddenly seems like a very real possibility that Alex could return to the UK without us laying eyes on each other. And this doesn’t make me feel happy. In fact, I feel the opposite. Do I want to see him? Do I need to in order to be able to move on?

  I try not to overthink it, but I find myself venturing out of the office more, finding excuses to go and see friends or colleagues at different magazines, just in case we cross paths.

  On Thursday, Lachie calls me at work to say that he’s invited Elliot over and is getting some steaks in.

  ‘Seen him yet?’ Elliot asks with a raised eyebrow as soon as I walk through the door shaking my umbr
ella.

  He and Lachie are sitting at the living room table with the adjacent balcony doors wide open to the elements. The barbecue is smoking.

  ‘No,’ I reply firmly, rolling my eyes and casting a look over at the four empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter.

  ‘El thinks you should,’ Lachie stuns me by saying, in a flippant tone.

  ‘What?’ My eyes dart between my boyfriend and our wayward friend.

  ‘You need closure,’ Elliot states adamantly as Lachie jumps up and pecks me casually on my cheek. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, despite the heavy rain.

  ‘You want a beer, Bronnie?’ he calls over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen.

  ‘Sure,’ I call back distractedly. ‘Well, Alex has been in the building for two weeks and I haven’t bumped into him yet,’ I say to Elliot. ‘I’m not sure I will.’

  ‘Then why don’t you email him to arrange a catch-up?’ Elliot suggests easily as Lachie returns to the table, chinking our bottles as he passes them over.

  ‘Maybe he’s right,’ Lachie chips in with a shrug.

  ‘Are you serious?’ I stare at him in shock, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

  ‘Lay it to rest, once and for all,’ he continues. ‘You’ve been tetchy as hell lately. This is your one chance to see him and move on. Once he’s gone, he’s gone. Hopefully for good,’ he adds drily.

  I put my bottle to my lips and tilt, deciding to get as drunk as I can in as short a time as possible.

  The next day, I’m still mulling over our conversation when I walk into the Tetlan lobby and press the button for the lift. The doors open, I step in – and freeze.

  ‘Sorry!’ I exclaim, quickly coming to my senses and moving off to the side as the person behind me crashes into my abruptly halted frame. I breathe in deeply to be sure, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter inside my stomach.

  Alex has just been in this lift. I’m sure of it, because I can smell his aftershave. There’s only the faintest trace of musk, but it used to be like catnip to me.

  By the time I’ve reached my desk, I’m in pieces. Devastated. I don’t understand how he still has the power to do this to me. I have to lay what happened between us to rest, and, if that means seeing him, then that’s my only option.