All I Want for Christmas: a hilarious and heart-warming romance

by Joanna Bolouri

  ‘Jesus, you’re overthinking this way too much. We’re doing it.’

  I hesitate but she holds out her gloved hand.

  ‘We’re going to look ridiculous; you realise that?’ I say, giving the rink one last cursory glance.

  She nods. ‘Yep . . . but I will if you will?’

  I take her hand and let go of the side, feeling an immediate burst of embarrassment as we try to glide as gracefully as possible. I put my left hand out to the side for balance, my arse clenching itself for dear life.

  ‘Left . . . right . . . left . . . right . . .’ I hear Sarah say quietly to herself, ignoring the more experienced skaters zipping around us. ‘Um, Nick, you actually have to move your legs, I can’t just drag you.’

  ‘You’re the only reason I’m upright, let’s not ruin the moment.’

  Staying close to the side, we continue around the rink, giggling manically at every close call or surprise yelp which escapes from my mouth.

  ‘Mum! Look at me!’

  Sarah removes her hand from mine as Alfie pulls up alongside us, showing off his penguin skills.

  ‘Wow, you’re doing it!’ Matt says, skating haphazardly beside me. ‘Good job, mate, face those fears . . .’

  ‘Get away from me, Jayne Torvill, you’re making me nervous.’

  He playfully kisses Sarah before whizzing behind me. ‘Just bend your knees a bit more and no . . . you need to . . . Nick—’

  I’m going down. Arms like windmills as I veer right and smack into the barrier, my legs desperately trying to regain traction on the ice, but failing miserably.

  ‘Timber!’ yells some douchebag in a striped scarf, while Matt tries to help me up.

  ‘One fall down,’ I say, brushing my jeans off, ‘sixty-five to go.’

  ‘If you feel like you’re going to fall, lean forward and put your hands out to the front,’ a voice says from behind me. ‘Try and relax into it.’

  I turn to see a redheaded woman wearing a blue bobble hat standing at the barrier beside me. She smiles, zipping up her jacket. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I’m actually one of the guides and—’

  ‘Nick,’ Matt says on my behalf, pushing me forward slightly. ‘This is Nick.’

  ‘Juliette.’

  ‘Hey,’ I reply, still latched on to the barrier. ‘Thanks for the tip, I’m sure it will come in useful in about . . . oh, three minutes.’

  She laughs. ‘First time skating?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I reply as Matt slowly creeps away to be with Sarah and Alfie. ‘Definitely my last. You do this torture for a living?’

  ‘I do. Just finished a lesson. Newbies are my speciality.’

  Without warning, I wobble again, and she laughs. ‘There’s no way I can leave you like this. We need to march.’

  Within minutes, Juliette has me marching on the ice to improve my balance, teaching me how to get up when I fall and even getting down on the ice with me when I hit the deck. Finally, I manage to glide for more than ten seconds and she audibly cheers.

  ‘Yes! Go on, your bad self!’

  ‘Don’t jinx it,’ I say, grinning. ‘But this is amazing, thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ she replies, leading me back towards the barrier. ‘You might be a little sore tomorrow, but you did so well! You’re a quick learner.’

  ‘You’re a damn champion,’ I say bashfully. ‘You have my undying gratitude. You didn’t have to waste your time with me.’

  She smiles coyly. ‘Actually, I saw you when you came in. I was just picking my moment to say hello . . .’

  ‘I wish it had been a cooler moment.’

  She laughs. ‘The sessions are only fifty minutes. I had to work quick.’

  I like her laugh. It’s almost melodic.

  ‘Anyway, I need to shoot off,’ she tells me, ‘but I could give you my number . . . you know, in case you have any skating questions or . . .’

  ‘I will absolutely have skating questions,’ I reply, my phone practically leaping from my pocket into my hand. She takes it and dials herself.

  ‘And now I have yours. Nice to meet you, Nick. Hopefully speak to you soon.’

  I watch her perfectly pert arse skate off before taking a breather off the rink, feeling rather chuffed with myself. Tonight has been far more entertaining than I expected. I decide to change back into my shoes before I can be dragged back on to the ice, but Matt has the locker key.

  Scanning the crowd, I soon spot Sarah near the bandstand, holding on to Alfie’s penguin while Matt shows off, making both of them laugh. As Alfie commandeers his penguin again, Matt swoops in and kisses Sarah. This is what Matt was talking about – movie romance. I always thought the soppy stuff we were sold in films was bullshit, yet here it is, playing out right in front of me. It’s bloody magical; Matt and Sarah alone standing perfectly still, as everyone around them races forward, blurry figures squealing and laughing.

  Watching the two of them together makes my heart ache just a little. The feeling catches me off-guard; I should be happy for them. Hell, I should be bloody triumphant – this is exactly what I wanted. Sarah is happy, Alfie’s Christmas wish has been granted. So why do I feel so fucking melancholy? Sure, it stings a little to be around such a happy couple after being dumped but, even when we were at our happiest, I never looked at Ange the way Matt and Sarah are looking at each other right now. Jesus, I need to cheer the fuck up and stop being a self-obsessed twat.

  As a bell announces the end of the session, I slap a smile on my face and wave them over, more than ready to get these skates off my feet.

  ‘Where’s your teacher friend?’ Sarah asks, looking around. ‘I was going to get her number for Alfie.’

  ‘She had to go,’ I reply. ‘Though I can give you her number . . .’

  ‘Outstanding work, sir,’ Matt says, grinning. ‘Top marks.’

  Alfie tugs on my sleeve. ‘Nick, Mum fell on her bum and swore.’

  Sarah smiles and throws Alfie a stop snitching on your mother look. ‘I could use a drink. Shall we?’

  We all agree and make our way back to the changing area before heading into the main section of Winter Wonderland. Alfie drags Matt straight towards the popcorn stand, while Sarah and I grab some drinks and get a table.

  ‘She seemed nice,’ Sarah mentions, sipping her lager. ‘Really pretty. Good for you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get overly excited,’ I reply. ‘Number one, she has no idea what I do for a living yet, and number two: see number one.’

  Sarah rolls her eyes. ‘Not every woman is as shallow as your ex. She’d be lucky to date you.’

  I thank Sarah for the compliment, but as I text Juliette the following day, it’s still playing on my mind. While it might not bother Sarah, who is decidedly good-natured and non-judgemental, I still fear that the majority of women aren’t as generous as she is. I decide the best course of action is to be upfront and save everyone time.

  I text her:

  Would love to take you for a drink soon but you should know that I’m an out-of-work lawyer, currently employed as Santa in a local shopping centre. This is obviously not a long-term position and I intend to be employed again in the corporate sector as soon as possible.

  Then quickly delete it. But instead opt for:

  I currently work as this guy in a shopping mall. It’s not cool or well-paid, but if you’re still up for it, would love to take you for a drink.

  She replies twenty minutes later:

  Would love to. Just leave the sleigh at home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Three nights later, I meet up with Juliette again at a new Portuguese place in Shoreditch that Matt recommended. It’s cosy and rustically pretentious, with wooden-beamed ceilings and specials boards scribbled in a secret language even the waiters have trouble reading. She’s a little late, so I grab myself a be
er to calm my nerves.

  Jesus, Nick, it’s a date not a police interview. You’re literally just having some food and a chat with another human being. Behave yourself.

  I never used to get nervous on dates but the repeated battering my confidence has sustained recently seems to have taken a toll.

  Juliette finally arrives, ten minutes late but looking just as pretty as I remembered, only this time her red hair is down; it’s extremely wavy when it’s not hidden under a bobble hat.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ I say, rising to meet her. ‘You look nice.’

  ‘Thanks, you too. Sorry I’m a bit late.’

  She sits at the table and takes off her coat, while the waiter asks what she’d like to drink.

  ‘White wine spritzer,’ she replies, ‘cucumber, not orange, thanks.’

  She takes out her phone and quickly checks her mascara on her camera.

  ‘God, that rain is coming down in buckets,’ she says. ‘Thought I’d look like a panda by now.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you look great. How’s your day been?’

  ‘Good,’ she replies, still flicking her lashes against her finger. ‘Busy time of the year, so it’s hectic most days.’

  I grin. ‘I feel you. I must have seen over a hundred kids today.’

  ‘So, you’re really Santa? I wasn’t sure whether you were messing with me or not!’ She picks up the menu and starts browsing. ‘I thought those jobs were exclusively for retired grandpas with too much time on their hands!’

  ‘Yeah, I thought so too,’ I reply, my stomach growling over the menu. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since my last selection box of the day. ‘But here I am. I probably wasn’t their first choice . . . I think I’ll get the chicken. Do you want to get a sharing platter to start?’

  ‘I don’t really have a huge appetite,’ she says. ‘I’ll just have the gnocchi, but get what you want!’

  I want the sharing platter.

  ‘No, I’m good with just a main,’ I respond, deciding that watching me pig out on a first date might not be the best look.

  ‘So, was that your friend’s little boy at the ice rink?’ she asks, diving into the breadbasket. ‘He was cute.’

  I nod. ‘Yeah, that was Alfie, Sarah’s kid. He’s great.’

  She smiles. ‘Do you have any kids?’

  I dip my bread into some herby-looking oil. ‘Not that I know of! You?’

  ‘Me! God no,’ she replies, wide-eyed, like I’ve just asked her if she supports Trump. ‘Heaven forbid. I mean, I like them . . . I teach them . . . my sister has them . . . but I have no intention of making them. I think I’m too selfish, you know.’

  ‘Right . . . yeah, it’s not for every . . .’ My words trail off as I watch her lift her knife and check her teeth for food. That’s a new one.

  ‘Life’s just complicated enough, you know what I mean,’ she continues, holding her knife at a better angle to see her incisors. ‘I still have so much I want to do.’

  Maybe my first date etiquette is a little rusty but I’m almost certain this is a conversation better placed for date three or four . . . Christ, after we have eaten, at least. She sees the look of uncertainty on my face.

  ‘God, here I go again,’ she says, wincing. ‘My friend Clodagh advised me to reel it in a little on dates. She’s all, “Jules, I love you, but you need to lighten the fuck up! It’s not a fact-finding expedition, it’s just dinner”, and here I am asking about kids right off the bat.’

  I laugh. ‘Sometimes it’s good to lay your cards on the table. I mean, some things are just deal-breakers, right?’

  She smiles. ‘Like what? What’s a big no-no for you?’

  As the waiter places our food on the table, I consider my reply. Do I have any deal-breakers? There must be something . . .

  ‘I dunno . . . the usual: racism, bigotry, not having a starter . . .’

  She laughs. ‘Dammit.’

  ‘I’m willing to forgive a lot for the right person. Well, except the racism part, obviously.’

  She stabs her fork into her gnocchi. ‘You seem far easier going than I am. This is probably why I’m single.’

  I smirk. ‘Is this your way of telling me how high-maintenance you are? OK – go on. What’s non-negotiable for you?’

  By the end of our first and only course, I learn that not only does Juliette not want kids, she also doesn’t want: marriage, Brexit, a traditional funeral, a shared bathroom, a postman who delivers her mail after 9 am or black pepper on her gnocchi. I think she also mentioned something about dry fasting, but the crunching sounds from my breadstick inadvertently drowned her out.

  ‘I admire your honesty,’ I tell her. ‘I have to admit, if I’m being serious, the marriage and kids part – I think that’s my deal-breaker . . .’

  Until recently I hadn’t really given it a huge amount of thought; I think I just assumed it would happen further down the line. But now my friends all seem to be settling down: Greta is getting married, Harriet is pregnant, and seeing Matt with Sarah and Alfie at the ice rink, it’s hard not to want that for myself. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.

  She nods. ‘See. Better to get it out of the way. Now we can just have sex and not worry about where this is going.’

  I cough into my beer and she laughs.

  ‘I’m kidding. Just trying to lighten the mood.’

  ‘Shame,’ I reply. ‘Mutual promiscuity is definitely not a deal breaker for me.’

  Briefly, as she smiles at me, I wonder if maybe marriage and kids isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be.

  ‘Dessert?’

  ‘I thought you weren’t that hungry,’ I respond, our eyes now firmly fixed on each other.

  ‘I’m not . . .’

  I signal to the waiter for the bill.

  After a mini pub crawl featuring three of the many bars between the tube station and home, I do my best to sneak Juliette into the flat as quietly as possible. This isn’t the time for small talk; I don’t want to risk Matt thinking one of his terrible dad jokes will make this more fun for everyone. The first night I brought Angela home, he threw open the living room door, yelling ‘WHAT TIME DO YOU CALL THIS?’ and almost gave her a heart attack.

  The flat is dark and for a moment I think Matt might still be out with Sarah until I spot her long black boots in the hall and a chink of soft light from underneath his bedroom door. I relax a little. If she’s here, he shouldn’t be appearing anytime soon.

  The moment my bedroom door closes behind me, Juliette pins me up against it, launching a blitz attack on my face. Stunned for a second, I let this happen before my brain kicks into action and reminds me that this is the part where we remove clothes as quickly as possible, before someone says something stupid and ruins it all. She wriggles out of her trousers while my hands begin twisting open the buttons on her shirt.

  We move from the door, our faces still locked together as she leans back on to the bed, pulling me down on top of her. My hand slides up her thigh, while she starts undoing my belt.

  ‘Fuck,’ I breathe. ‘You sure you want to—’

  ‘Definitely,’ she replies, tugging at the waistband on my jeans. ‘Take them off.’

  Within seconds her knickers are on the floor and her hand is inside my boxers, making me groan a little louder than I planned to.

  ‘You like that?’ she asks, my underwear now firmly round my ankles. ‘What if I do this?’

  I nod as her left hand joins in. I swear if her mouth gets involved it might be game over before it’s even begun.

  Fuck’s sake, Nick. Five months without sex does not mean this has to be over in five seconds. Pace yourself.

  Thankfully, she’s more than happy to let me concentrate on her for a while, but she completely ruins my plan to quietly go about this. By the time we finish, Matt and Sarah are defi
nitely aware she’s here, as is half of London. I shouldn’t complain though; she made me sound like a damn rock star.

  ‘I could use some water,’ she says as we lie there afterwards, panting like dogs.

  I grin and reach down for my boxers. ‘Be right back.’

  I creep through the living room and into the kitchen, feeling extremely pleased with myself, before almost jumping out of my skin.

  ‘Fucking-fuck! You scared the shit out of me.’

  Sarah’s eyes widen as she briefly scans my half-naked body. I feel myself blush deep crimson.

  ‘Sorry! Just getting a drink.’ She closes the cupboard quietly, holding a glass in front of her.

  She’s wearing Matt’s T-shirt. It looks better on her. It looks freaking incredible on her.

  I gulp and attempt to speak normally, as though we aren’t both standing half-naked in front of one another.

  ‘Same. Can you grab me another couple of glasses?’ I manage weakly.

  She nods and turns to the cupboard, while I run the cold tap. As she reaches on tiptoes for the glasses, the T-shirt starts to creep higher. Oh dear God. I look away quickly and carefully study the ceiling until she turns to hand me the tumblers, the T-shirt a safe length once again.

  ‘Skating instructor?’ she mouths.

  I nod, awkwardly rubbing the back of my neck as I fill the glasses. She takes one and smiles. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  I give her a second to get into Matt’s room before returning to my own. Juliette is already dressed.

  ‘Wow. OK,’ I say, watching her zip up her boots. ‘You’re welcome to stay, you know.’

  She takes a glass and downs the water in one. ‘I don’t do sleepovers,’ she replies, handing me the glass back. ‘Besides, I have an early start.’

  Lifting her jacket from the floor, she kisses me. ‘It’s been fun, Nick. I’ll see myself out.’

  As the front door slams behind her, I finish my water before slipping back into bed. A few minutes later, the silence is broken by Sarah and Matt laughing in his room and I can’t help feeling a little deflated, lying in my empty bed. I want someone to wear my damn T-shirt.