This morning I’m up, showered and dressed by nine. I put the same Christmas album on the stereo as I do every year. The opening bars of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ fill up the house and I boil the kettle to make a pot of coffee and whisk up some eggs for scrambling. Dad emerges as I’m dishing up.
‘Happy Christmas, old man,’ I say, handing him a mug of black coffee and his plate of eggs on toast.
‘One day, you’ll come downstairs on Christmas Day and I’ll have done all this for you,’ he says. He carries his plate into the living room.
‘Perhaps, but this ain’t the year,’ I say, following him in. We sit down and tuck in.
‘Great eggs, Fran,’ Dad says. ‘Fancy, with the smoked salmon.’
‘Thought it would make a nice change,’ I say. ‘Is anyone stopping by today? Do the lovely Turkish family still live over the road?’
Dad nods. ‘Why?’ he asks.
‘Because I still dream about that baklava,’ I say. ‘And I’ll be sad if I don’t get another piece at some point in my life.’
‘That’s the reason you’re here this year, isn’t it?’
‘Foiled. One hundred percent,’ I say. ‘Hey, shall I open the Buck’s Fizz?’
We exchange gifts after breakfast is over, but before we make a start on dinner, the same way we do every year. We spoil each other a bit because, friends aside, we don’t really have anyone else to buy for. I’ve bought him a fine knit jumper in a shade of blue that I know will bring out his eyes, the new Blossoms album on CD, because I know he’ll never ever get into streaming, but I also know he’ll love the album, a shirt, a bottle of brandy and a book. He’s bought me a watch, AirPods, a set of champagne coupes and a cocktail-making set. I raid the drinks cabinet and put the cocktail shaker to use whilst Dad preps veg in the kitchen. By the time our dinner’s ready we’re both a little sozzled, and after we’ve eaten I wash up and Dad dries and we both cover the leftovers and stack them up in the fridge ready for picking at and sandwiches later on. We take our traditional Dad-and-Fran stroll around the neighbourhood to look at the lights strung up and flashing outside people’s houses. During our walk, we chat about nonsense and talk about our plans and wishes for the new year. It’s dark when we get home and we settle in front of the TV with cups of tea and the fire on. We draw the curtains and switch on the Christmas tree lights and it’s warm and cosy. Dad falls asleep and I swipe through my phone and send a round robin text to everyone wishing them a merry Christmas, watching for a few seconds as one tick appears, followed by another, and then a couple change to blue. Lydia texts back straight away, from her in-laws’ house in Cheshire. She sends a photo of a glass of champagne, so I reckon she’s having a good time. Suze leaves me on ‘read’, but I can’t be mad at that, she is, after all, working today. I put my phone down on the sofa and pull a blanket around myself, tucking it under my feet and around my back, cocooning me in. Flames flicker and dance in the fireplace and Dad is snoring softly from his recliner, and I’m deciding whether or not I can stomach the Christmas episode of Call The Midwife when my phone beeps again. I pick it up and unlock it.
Ollie
Happy Christmas to you too Fran! Hope you’re having a good one.
He’s online and that status doesn’t change. So I type back:
Yes thanks, I’ve come out west to visit my dad for a couple of days, so just the two of us. How are you?
Again, I watch one tick, then two, then two blue ticks and then Ollie is typing, and it doesn’t escape my notice that I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the screen.
Ollie
Good thanks. Gone home to see Mum and it’s just us as well.
Fran
Not spending it with Lou?
Ollie
She’s gone to Wales with her family. I was invited but I didn’t want to leave Mum on her own. Going up the day after Boxing Day instead.
Fran
Aww, you’re a good son. So where’s home?
Ollie
Ruislip. Well Eastcote, really.
Fran
Are you actually joking? That’s where I am. Other side though, close to Northolt.
Ollie
No way! Small world. How did that never come up?
Fran
Not sure why it would, tbh. I guess it wasn’t anything we’d ever talked about. How funny though :) :)
He’s typing again, and I’m expecting a round up message, one where he wishes me well for the rest of the holiday and tells me we’ll catch up at work, but instead:
Ollie
So… I know it’s Christmas night and all, but I don’t suppose you feel like going for a drink?
Fran
Now? Or…?
Ollie
Yeah? I mean, I don’t know how things are done in your house but we’ve had our dinner and I’m just chilling and Mum’s gone to see her mate. Plus, I could do with the fresh air. Understand if you’re busy though…
I look over at Dad. He’s out for the count. If I stay it’ll be TV and Baileys on the rocks. If I go, it’ll be a drink with the guy I snogged at the Christmas do – a kiss we haven’t really addressed since, other than making sure we haven’t spent any time alone. I could have a drink with him, but I’m a bit nervous about meeting him without the security blanket of other people. I decide to leave the decision up to Dad, and I put my phone down again and gently shake him awake.
‘Do you fancy a sandwich?’ I ask.
‘Err…’ he says, bleary-eyed. ‘If you like. Are you having one?’
‘Not right now, no. Look, would you be bothered if I went out for a bit?’
‘No, but where would you be going on your own at this time?’
‘A pub, with a friend from work. I didn’t realise he lives around here. He’s just asked if I fancy a drink.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Dad says, and now his interest is piqued. His bushy grey eyebrows are raised. The corner of his mouth is pulled into a smirky little grin.
‘Nothing at all like that,’ I say.
‘Like what?’ he asks, and when I don’t react he pulls himself up a little. ‘It’s fine. Of course it is. You should go. What else are you going to do tonight?’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘Because I never get to see you, and I see him most days, and if you’d rather I stayed—’
‘Frances,’ Dad interrupts. ‘Go to the pub with your mate. Please? Have a drink. This is your break, too, and I know you know your own mind well enough to have made the decision yourself if you didn’t fancy it. You wouldn’t have even told me.’
‘I tell you everything!’ I say, in mock shock.
‘I bloody hope you don’t,’ he says.
‘I’ll make you that sandwich before I go,’ I say, and pick up my phone again.
Drink is on. Text me where. I can be out the door in 15 minutes!
Chapter Seventeen
Ollie’s waiting outside under the pub’s sign lights when I rock up, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, a giant scarf wrapped around his neck. The tip of his nose is a little bit red. Condensation clouds float into the air as he breathes.
‘What up, homie?’ I ask, bounding over, and instantly feel weird about it. I’ve never called him ‘homie’. It sounds fake.
‘Well, this is a considerable surprise,’ he says, and we share an awkward hug. The last time we hugged was when we were kissing, and I briefly wonder if he’s remembering it the way I am.
‘I know, right? Like you said, small world, eh?’
‘Shall we go in?’ he asks, and pulls the door open. ‘After you.’
We find a table, and I play with a sticky, slightly damp beer mat whilst he queues at the bar, turning it round in my hands, spinning it on its corner on the table, thwacking it on the side. Ollie buys two pints of lager and sits down opposite me.
‘So, how’s your Christmas been?’ I ask.
‘How come you didn’t come out on Friday?’ he says, at exactly the same time.
‘I had a p
arty to go to,’ I say, and then: ‘Lucas’ work do, remember? Black tie. I felt so out of place.’
‘Oh. I didn’t catch that. Anyway, I bet you were the belle of the ball.’
‘I really doubt that,’ I say, thinking back to Annouska’s sheet of icy blonde waves, tumbling down her back, and her immaculate face and those shoes. And she wasn’t the only one; all the women there were polished to a level I could never achieve. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to, or enough funds, for that matter.
‘Alright then, if you say so,’ he shrugs, and I’m annoyed with myself for so obviously fishing for compliments and how instantly gutted I am that he didn’t take the bait. ‘Did you at least have a nice time?’ he continues.
‘Not really,’ I say, and I take a giant gulp of my beer and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before carrying on. ‘It’s fair to say that Lucas and I are no more.’
Ollie’s eyes widen. He opens his mouth and closes it again. Looking down, he asks, in quieter tones, what happened. Almost as if he’s worried there might be people who know us, and the secret we share, in this pub in Ruislip on this night. But there’s no one here we know. We couldn’t get more anonymous if we tried. ‘We broke up over dinner, in front of everyone he works with. Then I left, and went home via McDonalds. That’s the nutshell version. So maybe more the bellend of the ball.’
He’s looking down at his fingers, splayed out on the table. He drums them on the wood for a few seconds, lifts his drink to his lips and takes the same sort of nervous gulp that I did.
‘We haven’t really spoken about what happened between us,’ he says, again in that quieter voice. I have to lean in to hear him.
‘We have not,’ I agree.
‘That wasn’t the reason for your break-up, was it?’
‘What? Our kiss? No. Not at all. Lucas was… well, you know he wasn’t all that nice sometimes. You even said it, remember? “Why are you with him, Fran?”… and I can’t deny that got me thinking a little bit. But then I went home after our Christmas do and he was waiting for me at my flat—’
‘He was waiting for you? Hadn’t you just had an argument? Wasn’t that why you were outside in the first place?’
‘Yes. Good memory.’
‘Bit guilt-trippy if you ask me,’ Ollie says.
‘Hmm,’ I say. I hadn’t thought he was that Machiavellian, but now I’m not so sure. ‘Anyway, he was there when I got home. Which I thought was nice, but the next day he totally gaslit me about his work do, which sort of put me on the back foot for the whole thing. I didn’t really mention it at work.’
Ollie wrinkles up his nose but doesn’t say anything.
‘So I made a big effort, got my dress cleaned, scrubbed up nicely, was friendly and chatty to everyone and he just… well, he was terrible. Said awful things about my job, lied about me to everyone, in front of me, made it so awkward. I ended up losing it, called him a prick and finished with him.’
‘Well, sorry to say this Fran, but he was a bit of a prick. I thought that the first time he came out with us.’
‘Ha,’ I laugh, sardonically, ‘you can say that now he’s gone.’
‘It’s true, though,’ he shrugs.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You’re not the only one who thinks that.’ And part of me wants to tell him I think the same about Lou, but he’s never shown any signs he’s unhappy with his lot, so I keep quiet.
‘Did you want to talk about it?’
‘About… Lucas?’ I guess, but as soon as I’ve said it I know he didn’t mean about Lucas. I know Ollie well enough now to see when he throws a curveball. Usually.
‘No, Fran.’
‘We could talk about it if you want to,’ I croak. Another gulp of beer. We’re both about halfway through our pints now.
‘It was nice, wasn’t it?’ He’s staring at me now, the way he does sometimes.
‘Very,’ I say, and I force myself to look back at him, and I wonder if he finds it as hard as I do.
‘Did you feel guilty?’
‘Not until I got home,’ I say. ‘And certainly not anymore. And honestly if Lucas hadn’t been at the flat I think I’d have had time to process it all a bit better. I think you did, though.’
‘Yes and no. Yes, because obviously I wouldn’t want to hurt Lou, but no, because it sort of didn’t feel wrong. Not with you.’
‘I know it didn’t,’ I say, in the same quiet voice he’s been using. ‘But like we said at the time, it shouldn’t really happen again. I don’t want to fuck anything up for you, and I wouldn’t want it to cloud anything at work. The stuff we’ve produced so far is such dynamite. Maybe in the new year we’ll come up with other ideas. You know how in the LA office they have people who end up sort of like personalities? That could be us. It could get to the point where people see our stuff and know instantly that it was made by us, you know? We could even be in some of them.’
‘Yeah,’ he laughs. ‘We could end up appearing on TV shows made for streaming platforms, where we give our opinions on stuff in a funny and engaging way.’
‘With snacks!’ I add. ‘And maybe alcohol.’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ he says and we grin at each other, and I nod at him, and it’s all so chummy that I know it’s better this way. That what happened was a one-time moment of slightly pissed-up madness, fuelled by Christmas cheer and that slightly fizzy energy between us. Nothing more than that. We can funnel that energy into work.
‘So,’ I say, attempting to get back to safer territory. ‘How’s your Christmas been?’
Ollie sits back in his seat. ‘It’s been good. Lovely to spend some time with Mum,’ he says. ‘But we don’t have to talk about mums if it’s a sensitive subject.’
‘Don’t be silly. Just because mine’s crap, doesn’t mean you can’t talk about yours. How did you spend the rest of today?’
‘Did the usual gift exchange thing this morning. Then we went out for lunch,’ he says. ‘I took Mum to this brasserie she loves, then, like I said, she went to visit her mate down the road, but I didn’t fancy it really. She’s a bit full-on.’
‘What did you get?’
‘AirPods,’ he says. ‘Amongst other things.’
‘Snap!’ I say.
‘Really? Another coincidence. We’re full of them.’
‘I’m a bit worried I’ll lose them.’
‘Nah, they stay in really well. I used them on the walk over here. No issues.’
‘What did you get your ma?’
‘I bought a spa weekend for her and aforementioned friend,’ he says, and I think two things: one; that’s wonderful, and two; mums are easier to buy for than dads. Especially fiercely self-reliant dads.
‘Have you always lived round here then? Because if so, I’m amazed our paths haven’t crossed before.’
‘No, I grew up in a little flat above a shop in New Malden,’ he says. ‘But a few years ago Mum’s business took off and she always liked the idea of living up this way, so… I’ve never really lived up here. I’d left home by the time she moved.’
‘What’s her business?’
‘She does interiors,’ he says. ‘She’s really good, actually. She’s got a really keen eye for nice stuff. The house she bought is nineteen-thirties, right, and it has those windows that curve around the side. Know the ones I mean? Art deco, with the front door on the corner?’ He makes a sort of curving motion with his hand, and I nod. ‘Anyway. She ran with it completely. Did the whole place up in the style. She found loads of original tiling around the fireplace and you should have seen her, Fran, she was beside herself. I mean, she had a great big extension built at the back for a modern kitchen, but otherwise it’s like walking into a very well-preserved time capsule.’
‘Amazing,’ I say, meaning it. It sounds like a world away from Dad’s little two-bedroom terraced house. The whole place could do with a bit of TLC but I don’t think he really notices it. Last year I mentioned the bathroom was looking a litt
le grotty, but he’d shrugged and said it was fine for just him.
‘What about you?’ he asks, swirling his beer around in the glass. ‘I take it you’ve always been a Ruislip girl?’
‘Born and bred,’ I say. ‘My dad has never moved.’ And then, because it seems like the obvious thing to say next: ‘Taxi driver. Not quite as glam as interiors, but he likes it. Lots of airport runs.’
‘It’s not about glam, though, is it Fran? It’s just doing what you have to do when you’re on your own with a kid. Mum worked in an interiors shop when I was growing up. School hours. She did the window dressing and got lucky from there. A customer commissioned her to do up their house and she never looked back. If she hadn’t been in that day, or they hadn’t liked her style or whatever, she’d probably still be in that flat in New Malden.’
‘She sounds like a very driven woman,’ I say, finishing up my drink. ‘Do you fancy another one? Or…?’
‘Yeah, go on then,’ he says, and he hands me his empty glass to take back to the bar.
Ollie and I stay until they ring the bell for last orders. Outside, we hover for a few seconds. Rain spits from an inky, heavy sky. I pull the hood of my jacket up over my head and Ollie retrieves a beanie from his pocket.
‘How are you getting home?’ he asks.
‘I was going to walk,’ I say. ‘It’s not far.’
‘Well, I’ll walk you back,’ he says, and I don’t argue, because it wasn’t a question, and this is something I’ve noticed a lot since we’ve known each other. He has a way of getting exactly what he wants by just saying it’s going to happen, and no one questions it.
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