All I Want For Christmas

by Willis, Susan

  Sharon groaned quietly and shook her head. ‘For God’s sake! How much more money are you going to throw at this ridiculous whim of his, Anne,’ she snarled unkindly. ‘It might only last a few months. Buy him a bloody mouse or memory stick and put it in his stocking.’

  Anne felt as though the piece of cucumber she was trying to swallow had stuck in the back of her throat. She relaxed the hunch in her shoulders and took a long drink of water. Was Sharon just in a bad mood, she wondered, or was it simply because she was talking about Tom? She shuffled on the plastic chair. ‘Oh, but he’s doing so well, Sharon. He loves his writing and is so much happier than when he worked at the factory. I can see such a big difference in him already.’

  Sharon sighed heavily, as though she was running out of patience. ‘Look, Anne, exactly how much money is he making at this malarkey - absolutely nothing, right? So, I don’t understand why you can’t see that. It’s just another excuse not to get his arse off a seat and go to work!’

  Anne’s shoulders slumped, knowing she was in a losing battle with her friend today, and she gave up with the conversation. She knew that Sharon had no reason to believe in her husband and she herself had been dubious at first, but now he seemed like a new man. He even talked in a different manner, exuding an air of knowledge which Anne found very attractive. As Sharon continued to scowl, Anne carried on eating, imagining Tom’s clean-shaven face, his gorgeous blue eyes and how his hair had a slight curl when it was wet.

  Sometimes, Anne thought, I still can’t believe that I’m the one who Tom loves and that he actually wanted to marry me. She’d known when they first met that he was in a different league to her and was so good looking, he could have any woman he wanted. She also knew that, apart from her weight problem, she wasn’t what was classed as an attractive woman, not ugly, but just plain. She remembered turning into adolescence and her father once saying that they should have called her Jane, as she definitely fitted the platitude, plain Jane.

  Sharon scraped her chair back and heaved herself up from the table, which startled Anne from her thoughts. As they parted to return to work she arranged to meet her in the car park at the end of the shift.

  Anne’s train of thought continued as she worked throughout the afternoon preparing vegetables for the chef. As he threw the spring ingredients together with different flavourings she stood at the sink washing dishes and wondered what the following year would bring for her marriage. Anne had long since decided that as she didn’t have the good looks to hold on to Tom, and as there was still no sign of a baby on the horizon, she would have to think of a way to keep him close. She thought of the light nights and warm weather that spring would bring and how they could sit together in the garden with a glass of wine in the evening.

  Her happy daydreams, however, soon clouded over as she wondered if Tom would still be with her next April, or would Sharon’s prediction and her mother’s cruel words come true? Anne recalled the warning look in her mother’s face before she married Tom and, as she’d spat out the words, ‘he’s only marrying you for your father’s money. As soon as he’s spent it all he’ll be off to look for someone else and you, my girl, will be left with nothing but a broken heart.’

  Anne felt tears choke the back of her throat at the mere thought of Tom leaving her, and knew she wouldn’t survive the devastation it would bring. He’s my whole life now, she thought, and shivered, trying to imagine living without him. She pulled the plug from the sink and watched mesmerised as the soapy water swirled down the hole. She had to keep Tom with her at all costs, and if spending a little more money to make their first Christmas together perfect would help, then that’s what she would have to do.

  When the chef had disappeared upstairs to a meeting Anne slid on to his chair in front of the computer and logged into eBay, where she found a second-hand tablet which looked in good condition for a reasonable price. Quickly she paid with her card and entered Sharon’s address for next day delivery, then smiled to herself, imagining Tom’s delighted face when he opened the present on Christmas morning.

  *

  As Tom sat in front of his computer he stared at the blank screen. It had been dark at four o’clock when he’d left Ellie on the settee and walked hurriedly to the bus stop. The bus had been crammed with shoppers leaving the city centre clutching carrier bags full of gifts and food. He’d managed to find a seat, but had become hemmed in by a large woman with five or six bags and two long rolls of Christmas wrapping paper which had stuck awkwardly into the side of his leg. An air of merriment and excitement filled the bus, with people happily chatting, and two small children had sung Christmas songs. Their mum tried to keep them quiet, but Tom could tell by the shrug of her shoulders that she’d given up and smiled as everyone on the bus seemed to hum and tap their feet along with the singing.

  Tom laid his head back against the chair rest at home and cringed at what he’d done. It was sheer madness to agree to have Christmas lunch with Ellie when he knew he’d have to spend the day with Anne. He knew that at the bottom of her heart Ellie had asked him for Christmas lunch because she felt sorry for him, because she was under the illusion that he would be alone. A twinge of unease pulled at his insides and he hurried through to the toilet. As he washed his hands he saw Anne’s make-up bag lying on the glass shelf above the basin and lifted it up to peer inside. A sweet, powdery smell filled his nostrils and he was automatically transported back to his childhood home with his three sisters and mum in Brighton.

  One of his earliest memories had been at six years old, sitting cross-legged on the bed with his sisters fussing around him and giggling with delight as they pleaded with him to keep still. Their mother had been out for the afternoon and they were practising their make-up on him. After painting his lips ruby-red they thickened his long eyelashes with black mascara, and rubbed rouge on his cheeks. His oldest sister, Jenny, draped long beads around his neck and clipped a pair of big daisy earrings to his earlobes and then stood him up. The twins, Hannah and Hettie, ran in with arms full of skirts, jumpers and shoes, proclaiming he would be dressed to go to a party. He hadn’t minded and laughed along with them, revelling in the compliments and adoration. He was used to being the centre of attention in the female-dominated house, and didn’t know any different at the time. Being surrounded by girls and women was all he'd ever known; they pampered, loved and spoiled him unashamedly. Out of all his sisters, Jenny was his favourite. When he couldn’t sleep at night he'd creep along from his bedroom to hers, shake her awake until she pulled the covers aside for him to climb in behind her. He’d wrap his arms around her waist; nuzzle his face into the back of her hair, loving the warm, sweet smell of her skin and the fluffy softness of her nighty. At that age, from what he remembered, it had been his favourite place in the whole world.

  Now Tom jotted down the memories and stored them in a folder which he thought might prove useful at the end of the course for his last assignment. Although there was always a choice of assignments, he knew he would steer away from writing an autobiography and choose the alternative, whatever it was. It would be better than writing about his childhood.

  This done, he shook himself out of his reverie and tried to concentrate on the problem he now faced, which was Christmas Day. It hadn’t been done intentionally, he thought, trying to make excuses for himself and, of course, the last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt or upset either of them, but in those few seconds he’d somehow got mixed up. It wasn’t easy, he pouted, living his life in two separate zones. When he was with young Ellie he became so wrapped up in her that Anne and his home life slipped from his mind. And when he was at home with Anne, Ellie was merely an enjoyable flirtation that only came to his mind when he felt stirrings of desire in bed or in the shower.

  Tom opened emails that had arrived while he’d been out and read through a couple from his online writing buddies, who were struggling for ideas and plots for new stories. As he read some of the bizarre murder plots and ghostly imaginings, he gri
nned, and then replied with words of encouragement and what he now knew as constructive criticism. It still amazed him that after entering this new world of writing, his thoughts and opinions would even be listened to, let alone taken seriously.

  His fingers glided effortlessly over the smooth keyboard, writing sentences and words at a much faster pace than he’d ever been able to do in the past. It’s all through practice and routine, he thought, glowing with pride, the more you did something, the quicker it became. He stopped twice to look up in the thesaurus certain words to express what he was trying to say in a better way and, although he knew it didn’t matter how precise he was in answering emails, he wanted everything he wrote to be as good as it could be. And, Tom decided, if he learnt to be grammatically correct in everything he wrote it would carry through to his stories and assignments.

  As he finished the email he thought of his buddy in Scotland struggling for ideas and inspiration and knew it was called writers’ block. So far, however, this wasn’t something he’d experienced, as he always seemed to be full of ideas and could quickly imagine scenes and interesting characters in different scenarios.

  Fiddling with the wire on the mouse, Tom paused, deep in thought. Well, if this is the case, surely I can think of a way out of the hole I’ve dug myself into on Christmas Day. The perfect solution of course, would be to spend time with both of them during the day, but how would that work? What excuse could he possibly find to leave Anne alone?

  Tom let his mind drift over the lunch with Ellie’s parents and jotted down what Angela looked like, her friendly mannerisms and easy personality. She was, he decided, the type of woman that men would be easily attracted to, but he could also tell she was faithfully devoted and truly in love with her husband. It seemed to glow around her in an air of confidence and Jack, in turn, fawned over her as though she was his queen, showering her with his love and the respect she deserved. Tom remembered their conversation about a new homeless centre that had opened in a nearby Yorkshire town.

  ‘That’s it!’ he cried loudly into the room, and grinned from ear to ear at his ingenious solution.

  *

  Anne called hello upstairs to Tom as she entered the hall and removed her faux-fur jacket, hanging it on a peg behind the door. She wore a smug expression, knowing she’d found the perfect Christmas gift for Tom, and as she hurried through into the kitchen her stomach tumbled with excitement for the big day itself.

  ‘Hey, there,’ Tom said, entering the kitchen and sliding his arms around her waist from behind. With one arm around her he held a piece of A4 paper up in front of her face. ‘This is my latest assignment.’

  Anne giggled, loving the warmth from his thick wool jumper on the side of her face. ‘Oh, lovely! Am I to read it?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, holding it at eye-level for her. Tom had learned his lesson and now he was determined to include Anne in everything he did – the last thing he wanted was for her to feel left out. As she read he nuzzled his face into the back of her long hair, loving her familiar, comforting smell, which sometimes reminded him of Jenny at home when they’d been young.

  PULLING THE WOOL OVER HIS EYES

  John ran his fingers through his now silver grey hair and swallowed apprehensively as he glanced around his mother’s sitting room. He mentally calculated how much the two paintings and the three figurines would make at auction and added this to the approximate valuation for the property the estate agent had given him. If only he could get his mother to agree to sell up and move into the nursing home, he thought, waiting for her to return to the sitting room.

  His mother appeared in the doorway and ambled through into the room. Her slight, frail body was hunched over as she gripped the Zimmer frame so tightly her knuckles were white and prominent in her old hands. Each step appeared to take an enormous effort as she manoeuvred herself over to her big chair by the fireside and gently lowered herself into it, letting go of the frame simultaneously.

  ‘Well, John, it’s nice to see you again so soon after our talk on Sunday. It obviously means a lot to you.’

  Her old, lined face looked pale and drawn, but her bright blue eyes were shining and dancing with mischief as she sat back, waiting for his reply.

  ‘Oh, Mum, you know I would visit more often if I could, but work swallows up a lot of my time and what with the kids…,’

  John leant forwards, grasping his hands between his knees. He licked his dry lips and carried on, ‘Anyway, our talk is very important to me. I’m worried about you and want to see you settled somewhere safe; where you can be well looked after.’

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘And the money from the sale of the house means nothing to you I suppose?’

  She had touched a raw nerve and John jumped up from his seat. He cried in dismay, ‘Mum! How could you even suggest a thing, the money is immaterial where your health is concerned.’

  ‘Okay, sit down,’ she said, ‘I know the time is coming when I will have to think about having some help, but I had been thinking of hiring a private nurse to come and live here with me. That would mean I could stay in my home and be well looked after at the same time, and if the money is not important to you there’s nothing to stop me spending it now for my health care, is there?’

  John had not been expecting this reply and slumped back into his chair with an air of petulance and sullenness. He had talked himself into a corner and once again she had got the upper hand, he thought huffily. ‘Well, if you think it would work out, go ahead.’

  A large smile spread across her face and her eyes shone with triumph. ‘Oh good,’ she said, ‘That’s settled then. I’ll put an advert in the paper tomorrow.’

  As Anne read through the piece, Tom continued to think about Jenny. He’d been very close to his sister in an innocent, childish way up until he was nine years old, when an incident happened that had separated them naturally. At fourteen Jenny had found herself an older boyfriend and she wanted someone to practice her kissing technique with. Young Tom closed his eyes and puckered up his lips, ready for the game. She put her lips on to his and pressed for a minute and then pulled away, asking him if it was okay. Startled, Tom jumped back from her and ran along the landing into the bathroom. He heard her shouting for another try, but he ignored her. Tom knew what he’d felt hadn’t been normal with a sister, and he sat down on the lid of the toilet seat, taking deep breaths. The feelings the kiss had stirred in him made his legs tremble and his penis stand erect, which throbbed like hell. He'd heard the other boys at school talking about this and listened carefully to what they said. Relieving himself for the first time was an absolute joy, and this pleasure became the most important thing in his life for years to come.

  ‘Oh, Tom!’ Anne exclaimed, ‘It’s marvellous how you’ve caught the old lady’s spirit in that way.’

  Tom realised Anne was talking about the piece he’d written, and he spun her around to face him, throwing the paper to the floor. ‘Well, I was asked to write about people’s expressions and how their looks can say something completely different about a person.’

  Anne gave a little chortle, loving the look of amusement and happiness in his eyes. ‘Hmm, it sounds intriguing,’ she said, ‘so, what do my looks say about me?’

  Tom stepped back and grasped both her hands, holding her arms out wide and grinned. ‘Now let’s see. I’m looking at a beautiful lady with the biggest and kindest heart ever. Many people probably don’t get her at all. They just see the woman who trudges to work every day and happily spends her time at home with her husband. They’d probably think she was old fashioned and boring, but they can’t see past the end of their noses and don’t see what I do. I can tell she’s full of love and has endless patience with her husband, who really doesn’t deserve it sometimes, and she’s a sexy tiger in the bedroom.’

  Anne felt her eyes fill with tears. Her heart was ready to burst with love and she caught her breath in the back of her throat. ‘Oh, Tom,’ she cooed.

  Tom w
asn’t sure if he’d overdone it, but he had to start laying down the beginnings of his plan, and he needed her in a good mood to tell her about Christmas Day. He’d spent the last hour online researching the homeless centre in Newcastle and had his words and thoughts carefully arranged in his mind. He wrapped his arms around her and croaked huskily into her ear. ‘Don’t waste time cooking tonight, sweetheart. Let’s order a pizza and eat it in bed.’

  Anne ran her lips down the side of his neck, inhaling his manly, exciting smell and draped her arms around his shoulders. Desire flooded through her and she knew that even if they hadn’t planned to spend all evening upstairs in bed, there was nowhere else on earth she’d rather be.

  She pouted, ‘I have pork and vegetables planned on my diet tonight and I was trying hard to cut down before the Christmas splurge next week.’

  Tom nibbled the lobe of her ear and placed his hands on her large buttocks, squeezing them firmly. ‘Don’t be silly! There’s nothing wrong with this – it’s gorgeous and I want to feel this bottom bouncing up and down on top of me until I beg for mercy.’ He tried a comical pleading tone in his voice, ‘Oh please, Anne, stop, enough is enough, you’re wearing me out!’

  Anne couldn’t resist him and laughed out loud. ‘You idiot,’ she squealed as he pulled her through the door into the hall and gently pushed her in front of him to climb the stairs. She mounted them slowly, accentuating the swing of her bottom on each stair as he kept his hands on her buttocks, squeezing them hard through the black stretchy fabric of her leggings until they reached the bedroom. Taking a deep breath and flexing his muscles, Tom lifted her up and threw her on to the unmade bed.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to chastise him for not making the bed that morning, but as he straddled her, pulling off his jumper, Anne gazed longingly at his broad, toned chest and pushed all thoughts out of her mind. She pulled him down on top of her and kissed him hard.