What Happens at Christmas

by Evonne Wareham

  ‘Wow!’ The valley stretched away below – a long drift of white. Above them the sky was blue-black and full of stars. Lori held the lamp long enough for them to settle in the old leather campaign chairs, then set it down and turned it off. Plunged into darkness, the Cwtch was just a mass of shapes. No way was Drew going to see the contents of any of the bookshelves.

  ‘Is that Venus?’ Lori pointed to a particularly bright point of light. ‘I can just about put a name to Orion and that’s all.’

  ‘You need to wait for a while, let your eyes get used to the dark. It would be better for star-gazing if there wasn’t a moon.’

  ‘It looks good enough to me.’

  For over an hour Lori sat, enchanted, as the stars became clearer and clearer and Drew explained the constellations. His voice was soft and mesmerising and the Cwtch seemed to float between earth and sky and they were dark shadows, the only people left alive in an otherwise silent landscape. Eventually Drew’s voice died away and they simply sat and watched.

  Together.

  Something that was almost painful stirred in Lori’s chest. Drew’s presence beside her in the darkness felt as intimate as a kiss.

  ‘Earch!’ The unearthly noise came out of the darkness. Lori jumped and the campaign chair rattled as she dropped back into it. ‘Griff!’

  The cat prowled into view, stretched, then butted his head against Lori’s feet.

  ‘I think he wants to go out.’

  ‘Come on then.’ Lori switched on the lamp and they both blinked, turning away from the light. Having got his way, Griff ambled off, pausing on the landing to make sure she was following. Lori rose, to stumble after him.

  ‘Here.’ Drew got up quickly to follow her with the light. ‘Be careful. Don’t fall on the stairs.’

  Lori turned back as Drew moved forward. For an instant their bodies were so close she could feel his heat, and his breath on her cheek. Then he stepped past her to turn on more lights, Griff yowled again, and the moment was gone.

  Lori dragged her thoughts together and followed Griff down the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christmas Day, Night

  Drew rubbed his hands through his hair and down over his face. The stubble – which was fast becoming a beard – was itching again. Weariness was pressing on his shoulders. He sat on the edge of the bed, yawning. They’d settled the house for the night and Lori had gone to her room with her head down, barely looking at him.

  His skin felt raw in a way that had nothing to do with the beard and the bloody fingernails. Exposed. They’d sat in the dark and watched the stars like lovers. He’d felt closer to Lori, there in the darkness, than he had to women who had shared his bed. It had felt wonderfully scarily right.

  He rubbed harder. Felt, felt, felt. God, he was losing it, big time. He’d known the woman for twenty-four hours. He pulled himself further onto the bed, breathing deeply and evenly. He had to focus, to centre himself. He was a loner. He travelled. He didn’t do long-term domesticity and commitment. So why were frightening words like that tumbling through his head? Stress. It was simply stress. He would sleep and in the morning everything would look different. With a groan he dragged himself upright and began to unbutton his shirt.

  An hour later, Drew lay on his back, looking up at the beams of the barn, where they disappeared into the dark shadows of the roof. He’d thought he was too tired to think, but now here he was, awake and staring at the ceiling. After sleeping all night and then napping for a chunk of the afternoon, maybe it wasn’t so surprising that he was wide awake now, his mind relentlessly ticking over.

  He was still hollowed out from his episode in the hut – he knew that.

  Normally he took time to decompress after one of what Clint called his ‘experiences’. Rest, eat, make notes.

  You want to make notes now, about being chained up for three days with a bag of seeds and a bucket?

  No … well … okay, maybe. But not right now.

  He’d spent the day celebrating Christmas. Something he’d run a mile from for years. And it hadn’t been what he’d expected. You did it. Christmas.

  And playing with a child.

  He could cope around kids. Lots of his friends had families and their kids seemed to like him. And Misty was awesome – four, going on forty. There was a story there. It was clear from her chatter as they’d assembled the castle that she’d seen Disney – Paris and the US. Lori had taken pictures of opening parcels and painting pictures, but those seemed to have been for Daddy, not Mummy.

  A well-travelled four-year-old, who wasn’t spending Christmas with her mother or her father.

  And then there was her aunt. Her gorgeous, mysterious aunt.

  His breath hitched. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had such a powerful attraction to a woman. A woman you know nothing about – except that she’s a great cook and good with kids.

  Kids and cooking? My, my, what a male chauvinist pig you are, Mr Vitruvius.

  He grimaced – yeah, well. He couldn’t deny that the idea of Lori cooking in his kitchen and then afterwards, being in his bed …

  Groaning, Drew resisted the impulse to bury his head in the pillow. Do not go there.

  It had to be mixed up with his depleted state, and the fact that she was the one to get him out of that hell-hole. Obligingly the chain on his arm clinked a reminder as he moved. Back to the new version of Stockholm Syndrome. Falling in love with your rescuer.

  Hell, wait a minute, who’s mentioning the L word!

  Whatever it was, he had to keep control of it. He couldn’t abuse her hospitality and generosity by coming on to her. Although a couple of times he’d thought … When she’d taken his hand … And then on the landing …

  Do not go there.

  Lori seemed to be a private person. Although they’d spent the day together, he’d learned very little about her. And he’d respect that. Respect her. Once he was out of here …

  He looked over at the window. He’d pulled the curtain back, so he could see out. He could still see the stars. The freak snow-storm had passed.

  Tomorrow he might have a chance to hike out of here. Next day for sure.

  A shiver went down his spine. He had to get out, in case someone went to the hut. Although it was sufficiently isolated to keep a prisoner, the hut wasn’t that far away, as the crow flew. If they found him gone, would they check the local properties?

  Mr Right and Lefty, posing as carol singers?

  Well maybe not that, but stranded motorists? That would work.

  It was safe for the moment. Nothing much was moving in the snow. He couldn’t envisage pursuers tramping here through the drifts, acting casual.

  But once the world started to turn again …

  He had to leave. If there was a Christmas gift he could give Lori and Misty it was that.

  Lori lay on her side, listening to Misty’s soft breathing. The day had gone quite well, considering. Drew Vitruvius had been an easy guest. A surprising one. Not the man you thought he would be.

  Quieter and more subdued. What would you expect after being chained up for a few days in the dark and damp?

  Lori chewed her lip for a moment, wondering if he should have had medical attention. He’d seemed okay. Just exhausted. They’d had a good day. And she was proud of herself. She’d kept information about herself and Misty to a minimum. Nothing about writing ambitions and famous relatives.

  And the time they’d spent in the Cwtch, looking at the stars …

  He’d be gone soon. Back to his real life. And they could go on with theirs.

  A Christmas interlude with an attractive man.

  Attractive? Is that the best you can do?

  Alright, drop dead gorgeous, sex on a stick.

  With a grunt. Lori thumped her pillow into a more comfortable shape.

  Drew Vitruvius was famous, sought after, poles apart from her world. And someone in his world really doesn’t like him.

  Stay well away from Drew
Vitruvius.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Boxing Day

  Misty was awake with the dawn chorus next morning.

  ‘Wasamatter?’ Lori rolled over as her niece poked her hopefully in the ribs. ‘Sweetie, it’s still dark.’

  ‘But it is morning, it’s getting light,’ Misty said persuasively. ‘I want to go out and make a snowman. And Griff needs go to pee pee.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Lori grabbed the clock and squinted at it. Ten to seven, which probably did count as morning? She crawled out of bed and found her dressing gown.

  If Misty was early, Drew was earlier. He’d done his thing with the stove again, and there was coffee brewed. Lori fell on it with a moan of relief. Normally she was quite lively in the morning. She didn’t know why she was so tired. Well actually she did. She had been dreaming and she wasn’t sure, but she thought that Drew may have featured in some of the dreams.

  Hoping that any pinkness in her face would be put down to the heat of the coffee, she started to mix up batter for breakfast pancakes. While they ate, Misty and Drew were in deep discussion over the name of the toy dog.

  ‘Rex, Sniffer, Shep, Spot.’ That was Drew.

  Misty gurgled with laughter and spread more chocolate sauce on her pancake. ‘He can’t be Spot, he doesn’t have spots.’

  ‘Fluffy, Woofie, Snowy.’

  ‘Snowy is good.’ Misty put her head on one side to consider.

  Lori reached to wipe a smear of chocolate off her face, before it spread itself any further. Drew was giving all his attention to her niece and had barely said ten words to her. Were they both avoiding each other? Suddenly the idea made her laugh. She looked out at the garden, becoming visible as the sun rose, and then at the toy dog, standing at the end of the kitchen island. ‘I think he looks like a Snowball,’ she decided.

  Misty clapped her hands. ‘I like Snowball.’ She grabbed the dog, with mercifully chocolate-free fingers, and cuddled him to her chest, crooning, ‘Snowball, Snowball, Snowball.’ She looked up over the dog’s furry head. ‘Can we go outside and build a snowman now?’

  ‘I think you’d better get dressed first.’

  The radio was still giving travel warnings for their corner of Wales. While Misty was rummaging optimistically around the mud room, hoping to unearth a bucket and spade for snowman making, Lori found Drew standing at the open front door, looking over the valley.

  Still white, as far as the eye could see.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be leaving today, either,’ she said softly.

  He turned towards her, frustration flaring in his eyes and the tense lines of his body. ‘We know that some traffic is moving. If I could just make it to a main road, hitch a ride—’

  ‘There would be no guarantee that you could find a lift. Not one to take you any distance, anyway. In this weather most motorists are probably not going very far. And it’s Boxing Day – no public transport.’

  He huffed. ‘You’re probably right.’ The frustration was still there.

  ‘So stay.’

  ‘Looks like I will have to.’ He was silent for a moment, mind obviously elsewhere. ‘Sorry.’ His attention came back. ‘That sounded ungrateful. And I am grateful, but I said I would go as soon as I could.’

  ‘But that was before the blizzard. The forecast said it would be warmer today and there will be a thaw. Tomorrow things will be getting back to normal. Everything will be easier. Stay and help Misty with her snowman.’

  The grin was reluctant. It still did strange things to her abdomen. ‘How can I resist an invitation like that?’

  Drew was as good at constructing snowmen as he was at putting together fairy castles. Recognising her limitations, Lori found a carrot for a nose and some sprouts for eyes, and an old hat and scarf in one of the sheds to dress him in. Then they threw snowballs and made snow angels. The sun had come up and the temperature of the air was much warmer. Lori shaded her eyes with a hand to look up at the roof of the barn. Water was dripping off the eaves. ‘It’s thawing.’

  Shooing Misty inside to dry them both off, Lori left Drew digging away the snow that had piled up around her car. Tomorrow he probably would be able to leave.

  They spent an energetic afternoon, rampaging down the hill behind the house on a vintage toboggan Drew had found hanging on the side wall of the carport. By early evening Misty, overexcited and overtired, was hovering on the edge of a tantrum, mouth and chin stubborn, eyes narrow in a flushed face. Feeling partly responsible and therefore guilty, Drew faded over to the chair beside the window. He knew enough about kids to stay out of the exchange he realised would be coming. Coward.

  Lori was giving her niece cool stare. ‘Time to go upstairs, I think.’

  ‘Don’t want to go upstairs. Want to play some more.’

  ‘You can play, but quietly. Upstairs. Pick out what you want to take with you.’

  Drew sat still and kept quiet as Misty trailed around the room collecting her treasures, before dragging herself up the stairs, one reluctant step at a time.

  Lori gave him a distracted smile and followed her.

  Drew settled himself more comfortably, watching the night gather over the garden and the hill beyond. The steady drip of water and the occasional thump of dislodging snow confirmed the thaw. Clouds were rolling in, obscuring the sky.

  No star-gazing tonight.

  Tomorrow the holiday would be over and the world would be coming back to life. And he would be leaving. Reality check.

  You think?

  He looked around the barn, at the twinkling tree, at a fluffy pink cardigan abandoned on a chair, at Griff conducting some sort of stalking game with the catnip mouse in a shady corner. He’d slid into this so easily. Stuff he’d been running from for as long as he could remember.

  A different reality.

  New, with disturbing knowledge.

  Yeah – like you don’t have to be risking your neck in order to feel alive?

  He looked down at his hands. At the damaged fingers and the chain, still wrapped around his wrist. He’d spent nearly twenty years throwing himself into things that might kill him and now someone else was giving it a try. Irony. Capital I.

  He’d not done too bad a job in pushing that fact away, but now he had to face it. Once he stepped outside this … cocoon … whoever it was would be waiting. Awareness settled, like a cold lump, in his abdomen.

  You don’t know that they intended to kill you.

  Yeah?

  He had a plan now, of sorts, and he knew who he could go to for help, but that didn’t come anywhere near the churn of emotion gnawing at him. He hadn’t cared enough and now someone – a stranger, a friend, had called his bluff. In spades. Life is precious when someone else wants it.

  He took in a deep shuddering breath. He’d done crazy things and been in some tough places, but it had always been his choice. Now the dark pit of someone else’s will was drawing him in. You have no control over this.

  His heart was thumping hard, a surge of useless adrenaline.

  Fear. It’s called fear.

  Slowly he opened and closed his hands, watching the motion until his heart fell back to its normal rhythm. A potential murderer was out there, staking out the shadows. But there were things he could still control, and the highest on the list was protecting Lori and Misty. There must be no connection for anyone to find.

  These two days never existed.

  He’d walk out of here tomorrow, leaving no trace. After that, if he survived … He shook his head against the bleakness of the prospect. Tomorrow was for leaving. Tonight …

  ‘Drew? Where are you?’ Lori was coming down the stairs.

  ‘Over here.’ Darkness had fallen around him, enveloping him so softly that he hadn’t noticed.

  She came towards him, turning on lights as she passed. ‘Were you asleep?’

  ‘No, just thinking.’ He looked up at the gallery. ‘Everything all right up there?’

  ‘Yes, eventually. She’s out lik
e a light. Lori held up crossed fingers. ‘Hope it lasts. Are you hungry?’

  He thought about it. Tea with Misty had been a while ago. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I put a couple of potatoes in the oven. I can warm some beans. And there’s cheese.’ She hesitated. ‘We could open a bottle of wine?’

  He stood up, stepping back into the light and the moment, into the evening and the barn and the woman in front of him. Now he could smell the savoury scent of cooking. ‘It sounds like a plan.’

  The meal was simple but the wine was something else. An Australian Chardonnay. He’d tasted a few similar in a winery in Australia and said so.

  ‘It was a Christmas present. From Misty’s mother, actually.’ Lori was absently fingering the label on the bottle. ‘You travel a lot for your books. Australia, was that research?’

  Which is how he came to be telling her about Australia and Indonesia, and the Rockies and the Isle of Mull. He was still talking when they’d finished the washing up and taken coffee and Christmas cake to the chairs in front of the small wood burner in the main room. Somehow he found himself telling her the real stuff. Not the carefully chosen quotes from press releases, or the interview sound bites, or the polished and edited after-dinner speeches, but the real experiences, like waking up in a tent to find a scorpion on his chest – bowel loosening – or falling from a boulder on a Swiss mountain – bone breaking. He even told her about the debacle of the train. ‘I must be boring you rigid.’

  She looked up from staring into the fire, watching the flames. ‘No, it’s interesting. What did you do – about the train?’

  ‘When I found out that there was no way I was going to be able to stand up on the roof of the thing when it was stationary, let alone when it was moving?’ The grin was shame-faced. ‘Used my imagination – I relocated that section of the book from a steam train in the Wild West to a cog railway on an undiscovered moon of Mars, messed about with gravity and gave my hero superhuman upper body strength.’ He flexed his shoulders in memory of a week in post-train agony. ‘I think I fixed it.’