All I Want For Christmas

by Willis, Susan

  Tom grinned. ‘I’m hoping if I pull this quilt down your nipples will be hard and erect with the cold − they could at this very moment be desperately in need of a good pair of lips on them.’

  Ellie burst into giggles at his fascination with her breasts. He leaned his face closer and she raised a fine eyebrow. Slowly, inch by inch, she teased the quilt from her shoulder and felt him harden against her leg. It amazed her how quickly he was aroused by her body, which in turn made her feel powerful and totally in control. The quilt was nearly down to her nipples now and she looked at the expression on his animated face. It was almost as though he was a little boy full of anticipation and delight while waiting to open a Christmas parcel.

  ‘Oh, my, God,’ he almost sobbed, ‘they are pointing at me and crying out to be sucked.’

  With his lips latched greedily on her left breast and his fingers tweaking her right nipple she threw her head back in absolute joy and abandonment. She placed her hands gently in the back of his thick hair, loving the sweet intense feeling between her legs that flooded through her very being. All the doubts and thoughts from the previous night flew out of the window and she groaned loudly, shouting his name and begging to have him inside her once again.

  ‘You looked like a little boy opening a present at Christmas when I showed you my breasts,’ she cooed gently as they lay together.

  Tom chuckled. ‘I felt like it! I would have much rather had them wrapped up under the tree than some of the rubbish train sets and soldiers I got.’

  Ellie felt his body droop and saw a sudden cloud pass through his eyes. Was it the mention of Christmas, she wondered, and knew that just because she’d been thoroughly spoilt as a child and had been given the most amazing Christmas times, not everyone was as lucky. ‘So,’ she probed ‘you’re not a lover of Christmas then?’

  Tom sighed and wrapped his arms tightly around her body, pulling her closer to him for comfort more than any sexual desire. ‘Not really,’ he said, ‘my wife died in a car accident on Christmas Eve, two years ago.’

  Ellie gasped in shock. She pulled his head further into her chest and began to rock him gently. A huge ball of love and tenderness choked in the back of her throat, as she couldn’t even begin to imagine what this wonderful man had gone through. She swallowed down tears, knowing that if she cried it would make things worse for him. ‘Oh, Tom,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so very, very sorry.’

  Tom nestled further into her. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have just come out with it like that. I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you without sounding pathetic and like a real wimp. But I couldn’t.’

  Ellie was mortified at her previous accusatory thoughts and misgivings. ‘Of course you’re not a wimp,’ Ellie cried, ‘If you were the type of callous unfeeling man that could lose his wife and not be upset about it, well then you wouldn’t be here with me now.’

  Tom pulled back from her slightly. His eyes were red and watery and she prayed to God he wasn’t going to cry because she wouldn’t be able to cope without going to pieces. She swallowed hard. ‘D…do you want to talk about it?’

  He shook his head with downcast eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Not really. Some days I think I’m doing fine, and then other days I don’t feel as though I’ll ever come to terms with it,’ he said. ‘So, if I don’t get caught up with all the Christmas hype in the next few weeks, I hope you’ll understand?’

  Ellie nodded dumbly, feeling her insides twist with painful concern for him. ‘Of course I will. We can just pretend Christmas isn’t happening until it all goes away in January. Well, that’s if we’re still together by then,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I hope we will be, Ellie,’ he croaked. ‘I can’t imagine getting along without you now.’

  Her heart soared with happiness at this disclosure, knowing she felt the same. And, she decided, I’ll do my level best to help him through it all. She tried to think of supportive and encouraging words to say, but her mind went blank. Ellie cursed silently under her breath – out of all the time she spent writing sentences with poignant words now, when an important occasion arose to use them, she couldn’t think of a darned thing to say. She hugged him close to her again, running her hands up and down his back in an effort to comfort him. Maybe, I could look for some self-help books at the stall about the grieving process, she thought, but as it was two years ago they might not be much use to him.

  She took a deep breath. ‘This might be a stupid thing to say, Tom,’ she muttered, ‘but how about writing your experiences down? It might help you come to terms with it.’

  Tom nodded and lifted his head up from her chest. ‘The thought had crossed my mind when I was reading through some of the future assignments and autobiography that I might choose to do. It’s certainly worth a shot.’

  Ellie put her head on one side, feeling her heart melt with sympathy. In my eyes, she thought, you’re already my hero, and smiled lovingly at him.

  ‘Now look what I’ve done,’ he said forcing a lightness back into his voice, ‘I’ve made us both sad and put a dampener on the afternoon.’

  ‘Nooo, you haven’t,’ she cried. ‘And Tom, whenever you do need to talk, I’m always here.’

  *

  Tom knew as he left the flat he’d given an Oscar-winning performance as a grieving widower, and tried to think of a film to which he could liken himself. As he made his way shivering towards the metro station, a distant memory of Pierce Brosnan playing such a role came into his mind, but he couldn’t remember the name of the film.

  Boarding the metro train Tom felt a sick, queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and knew he shouldn’t have told lies about Anne being in a car crash. It had, he could see in the aftermath of the occasion, been excessive. But, he thought, pouting his bottom lip, when he was with Ellie and close to that fabulous body he just seemed to lose all sense of reason. The moment she’d handed him the hot chocolate he’d known that he would need to say something to keep her from asking more questions and having to stay at the flat past five o’clock. Although he’d more or less decided to tell her that he was divorced, he’d panicked and become flustered, deciding that simply being a divorcé wouldn’t get him the sympathy he needed to help cover his tracks and explain his absences.

  Peering out of the window of the train, Tom decided that he hadn’t known quite what he was saying, but the only thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t lose Ellie, and would do or say anything he could to keep hold of her. Especially now that he needed her help with his writing.

  Chapter Eight

  The following morning Tom lay in the dark, listening to Anne switch off her six o’clock alarm and creep around the bedroom collecting her clothes. He swallowed hard, remembering the dreadful lies he’d told yesterday and shivered with cold dread at the thought of her actually being involved in a car accident. ‘Anne,’ he whispered into the darkness of the room, ‘You will be careful driving to work this morning, won’t you?’

  He heard her pad back towards the bed in her fluffy slippers and although he couldn’t see her, he could smell the sleepy warm scent clinging around her face as she bent over him and patted his shoulder.

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said, ‘I’m a steady, safe driver, you know that. What’s all this about?’

  Tom squeezed her hand. ‘Oh, it’s nothing really. I just had a horrible dream. Will you text me later from work?’

  He could hear the smile in her words as she agreed and told him to go back to sleep. Tom did as he was bid and slept deeply until eight o’clock.

  *

  During the following week Tom established a daily routine. He got up at eight, showered, ate his breakfast while booting up the computer, and started what he now thought of as his work by nine o’clock. He joined an online writing group and found a few other newbies who were learning to write, which gave him great comfort and encouragement. He read the advised research to complete the future assignments, where he learnt the difference between fille
rs, letters, and articles in magazines and newspapers. He borrowed books from the library and spent hours in Waterstones and Smiths looking at novels and browsing through self-help guides to writing and beginners’ manuals. Ellie photocopied articles of interest about creative writing and found autobiographies from other writers. She emailed him fact sheets about character profiles, storylines, plots, and all aspects of how to establish his own writing style and voice.

  In his local newsagent he bought every male magazine on the shelf and pored over the articles about lifestyle, fashion, sports and hobbies. None of the magazines seemed to print short stories, although he jotted down facts that interested other men.

  Tom had always loved films. Whether it was watching them at the cinema or on DVDs at home, it was immaterial. As a film buff he had his all-time favourites, which he’d watched so many times he could practically repeat the scenes word for word. Since being a teenager he’d day-dreamed of being an actor and knew he’d be well able to pose his good looking face into the camera and say his lines. In these dreams of course, he always played the leading role – whether it was Clint Eastwood or John Wayne in an old black and white classic western, or Tom Cruise in an action film. He had to be the hero of the film, the gorgeous guy who rescues the woman in peril or saves members of the public from fatal catastrophe – in essence, he was Superman. This, however, couldn’t be further from the truth, as when it came to his own character Tom knew deep down that he had neither the bravery nor the courage to be a hero.

  The following morning Tom returned to the newsagent and bought a copy of every woman’s magazine on the shelf. He grinned with delight when he discovered that they did indeed buy short stories from new authors. He discussed the issue with another writer from his online group, who suggested he use a woman’s pen name. Tom grinned and then hooted out loud into the silence of his office – who would have thought it possible – here he was pretending to be a woman so he could write a romantic story. By the end of the week, he declared to Anne that he’d been bitten by the writing bug.

  *

  On Monday morning Tom sat at the computer writing, when he raised his head suddenly at the sound of the dog barking next door. He looked out of the window and saw the postman walking down his path with a large brown envelope in his hand. Tom leapt up from the chair and, taking the stairs two at a time, he flung open the front door before the postman had time to reach the step. Tom snatched the envelope from his hand.

  He held the envelope apprehensively while walking slowly back upstairs to his office. Did the tutor like it? Was his piece any good? He sat down in his chair and placed the envelope on top of the keyboard and sat staring at it.

  The day before, when he’d expressed his concerns to Ellie, she’d told him that no matter what mark the tutor gave, he or she would also give constructive criticism by suggesting ways to improve what he’d written. And this, Ellie had continued, would be beneficial as he worked his way through each assignment, because writing was the same as everything else in life, the more you practised the better you became.

  Tom sighed now, hoping this would be true. With a thumping heart and trembling hands he decided that he couldn’t sit and look at the envelope all day and he tore it open. The mark B was in the right hand corner and Tom jumped up from his chair to dance around the office in giddy hysteria. I’ve got a B for my first piece of writing, he cried. He read the tutor’s comments over and over again, memorising every word and noting the two suggestions that might improve his writing style.

  Tom flopped down into his chair and grinned with sheer joy. This, he thought, is such a monumental day for me. His feelings ranged from full-on happiness to shedding emotional tears that he wiped away with the back of his hand. Leaving school with only an English certificate, he’d never celebrated any form of educational success, which seemed very different from how students behaved nowadays. He’d seen groups of students on the local news channels waving exam results confidently in the air as they progressed onto university, and Tom grinned, thinking of one of his favourite films, Grease, and all the great fun they’d had at the school prom.

  But, he sighed, casting his mind back to the latter end of his own school days, the only thing he could distinctly remember was counting down days on a calendar until he could pull off his school tie and run from the gates. Tom fingered his report and re-read the tutor’s comments once more. He could feel his cheeks flush and his face contort into another wide grin. Finally, for once in my life I’ve achieved something worthwhile, he cried.

  By lunch time Tom wasn’t sure whether he wanted to get drunk and celebrate or buckle down to write his next assignment. Deciding the latter would be best left to the following morning when he could concentrate clearly, he bought a bottle of Cava champagne and made his way down to the market.

  *

  Ellie stood next to Darren, the young butcher’s assistant at the side opening to the bookstall. She knew Darren fancied her and had done since the day she’d started work in the market, but she had purposely given him a wide berth. Ellie also knew that he’d celebrated his twenty first birthday last year, so technically he was in her age group and, although he was a few inches shorter than her, he was by no means an ugly-looking guy. His brown hair was cut in a fashionable spiky style and he did have lovely dark brown eyes, but it was the smell she couldn’t bear. The long red and white stripy aprons the butchers wore always stank of raw meat, which, especially first thing on a morning, made her stomach heave. Ellie was by no means a vegetarian and liked to cook meat at home, but for some reason the stench from Darren always offended her.

  She told Darren all about Tom and how they’d met in the café. ‘He’s absolutely gorgeous,’ she whispered.

  ‘But he’s far too old. I bet he’s taking advantage of you,’ Darren said, sidling closer to her and laying a hand on the sleeve of her green duffle coat.

  Ellie bristled at his gall. ‘No he isn’t, and quite frankly, that’s got nothing to do with you.’

  Startled at her abruptness, Darren stepped back from her and Ellie immediately felt guilty. He looked as though she’d slapped him across the face, which she knew wasn’t fair because he’d always been very kind to her. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap,’ she said, and then looked over his shoulder to see Tom hurrying along the aisle towards them. Smiling, Ellie ran a few grateful steps towards Tom and threw her arms around his neck.

  Tom hugged her close, loving the warm duffle material in his arms, and buried his face in the silky scarf wound around her neck. Her hair was tied up today and he inhaled the flowery scent that clung around her ears and throat. The duffle coat, he noticed, stopped just above her knee and Tom could see she was wearing his favourite short black ruffle skirt with thick tights. He asked, ‘Are you ready to go?’

  Ellie untangled herself from him and nodded as she threaded her arm through his. Tom smiled at Darren as they turned to walk back down the aisle, but then frowned when all he received was a look of contempt as Darren swished his long butcher’s apron and turned his back on them.

  While they walked through the market past the herbal tea shop Tom asked, ‘What’s with the butcher giving me a look of daggers?’

  Ellie sighed and told Tom how Darren had always flirted and chatted to her. ‘Darren thinks you’re far too old for me,’ she teased, ‘and that you’re messing with me by taking advantage.’

  Jealous feelings raged through Tom at the thought of another guy flirting with his lovely Ellie. He pouted and shook his head. ‘But I can’t help it if I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  Ellie gasped as they reached the front doors to the market and stopped still in her tracks. Had he just admitted to falling in love with her? Her heart began to race as she looked up into his shining blue eyes.

  An old lady, who always sat at her battered wagon stall in the entrance, held bunches of holly in one hand and waved a sprig of mistletoe in the other. Impulsively Ellie thrust her hand into the pocket of her duffle and pulled out
two pound coins. She gave them to the woman and took the sprig of mistletoe, held it high above their heads and kissed Tom full on the lips.

  Tom felt his head swim with total abandonment, and when Ellie finally released his lips he cheered with delight and hurried them towards the taxi rank. ‘We’re celebrating today,’ he said, waving the carrier bag in his free hand. ‘I got my assignment back and I’ve brought some champagne. Come on, let’s jump in a taxi. I can’t wait to get back to the flat to tell you all about it!’

  In the back of the taxi they laughed like naughty schoolchildren and Tom put his arm around her, squeezing her tight. The blood pumped through his veins at 100 miles an hour and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so excited and charged up. Ellie’s long legs were crossed and he ran his hand up the side of her leg, feeling the warm cosiness of the tights. She’d told him in the past how cold it was in the morning in the bookstall and how she dressed to keep warm now rather than as a fashion statement. Tom noted the feel and look of her clothes, which he decided might be useful when he posed as a woman to write a love story. Ellie had good fashion sense and taste in quality clothing, which was in a dramatic contrast to Anne, who Tom knew was hopeless with fashion.

  Ellie had left the heating on in the flat earlier that morning when she’d seen the thick frost in the garden and as they ran into the lounge Tom stripped off his Barbour jacket, throwing it blithely on to the settee. He felt pumped up and ready for action as he took the champagne bottle out of the carrier bag while Ellie hurried into the kitchen, returning with two glasses. Tom popped the cork, which flew across the room, and Ellie cheered as he poured the fizzy wine into the glasses.

  ‘Well, tell me,’ she cried, gulping a mouthful of champagne, ‘what did you get?’