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

by Joanna Bolouri

Matt swirls around the unset jelly with his spoon. ‘Kind of looks like he actually fucked it, though.’

  Sarah snorts and I consider leaving the planet. I’m mortified. I had one job.

  Matt sees my look of despair and slaps me on the back. ‘Nothing that Tesco can’t fix . . . Alfie! Put your shoes on, I need your help to save dinner, buddy!’

  Alfie obliges, excitedly accepting his new mission, and heads to the shop with Matt, while Sarah and I start clearing the dinner plates.

  ‘Well, that’s embarrassing,’ I mumble, draining the trifle goop. ‘I should just have bought something to begin with.’

  ‘Nah,’ Sarah replies. ‘I’m not so hot in the kitchen either. I once made a date a cup of milky gravy with two sugars because the jars looked the same. I wasn’t even drunk.’

  I laugh but I still feel like an idiot.

  ‘So only three more days at the grotto?’ she asks, wiping the placemats. ‘You’ll be relieved.’

  I throw some cutlery into the sink and pause. ‘You know, I thought I would be, but I’m actually kind of sad. I’ve enjoyed working there. Even with Izzy.’

  ‘I can’t wait to be away for two weeks,’ Sarah replies. ‘Being the assistant manager at Belle Blend isn’t as glamourous as it sounds, you know.’

  I smirk. ‘Try repeating the same thing over and over to children all day.’

  ‘Um, you’ve met Alfie, right? That’s the exact definition of parenting.’

  I run the water and let the dishes soak. I’d like to tell her how much I’ll miss our lunches and our chats, but now isn’t the time. I think never is probably more appropriate.

  ‘So, what now?’ she asks. ‘Job-wise?’

  ‘Well, I’m guessing I’ll start being rejected by law firms again after Christmas. I’d like to get back to the real world. Ideally a job where I don’t have to ask everyone how old they are and hope they don’t pee on me.’

  ‘Hmm, you say that, but I’m not convinced,’ she responds, taking a seat. ‘I think fictional characters might be your calling. Easter bunny next, maybe?’

  I laugh and join her back at the table. ‘Tempting, but no. I don’t want to be out of the game too long. Having paid a small fortune in tuition fees to get my degree, it would be nice to use my talents.’

  Sarah purses her lips and nods in agreement. ‘I know what you mean. When Adam, Alfie’s dad, died, I had to put my career on hold. I feel like I’m wasting my training, but let’s just say artists don’t exactly have a reliable source of income.’

  ‘You’re an artist?’

  ‘I am. I wasn’t always a barista! That was just a means to an end and I’m predicting that end will be when Alfie’s about forty.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ I admit. ‘I was so shit at art in school. My teacher used to just sigh at me as soon as I sat down.’

  She smiles, twisting the bottom of her hair. ‘I was just shit at everything else. Mild dyslexia mixed with hormone-fuelled rebellion was never going to fast-track me to Oxford or Cambridge. Luckily, I got into art college and even had a little show in Camden. Sold a few pieces here and there afterwards. Lily Allen owns three of my paintings.’

  I watch her blush as she realises her humble brag, but she has every right to feel proud of herself.

  ‘That’s amazing. Seriously. So, you don’t paint at all anymore?’

  ‘Nah,’ she replies. ‘I was too sad to paint for a long time and then I became too busy once Alfie started nursery and I took on more shifts at work. The time just flies by so quickly. When you’re solely responsible for a little one, it’s hard to find time to catch your breath.’

  ‘You must miss Adam,’ I say, and immediately I regret it. We’ve never talked about Adam before. Yeah, bring up Alfie’s dead dad while she’s at her new boyfriend’s house for Christmas, that’s a sensitive move, you utter prick. ‘Shit, sorry if that’s too personal.’

  She smiles. ‘It’s fine. He was a good man . . . made me laugh a lot. It’s just so fucking unfair. If the other driver had just taken a break . . . if Adam had just left half an hour later . . .’

  ‘It is unfair,’ I agree. Sarah pauses and bites her now trembling lip. ‘I’m most sad that Alfie didn’t have more time with him.’

  I hear her voice trail off as her eyes well up and I put my hand on top of hers.

  ‘My dad vanished before I was born,’ I find myself saying. ‘And my mum had to raise me alone, which she did like a total champ. I know she wished that I had some kind of male role model in my life, but if it’s any consolation, I never missed him. She was all I needed,’ I explain. ‘It was always just her and me; like you and Alfie, I guess.’

  ‘It wasn’t always just us.’

  ‘Of course not, sorry.’ I cringe, fumbling around for what to say next. ‘I mean, my situation is totally different, but I understand loss. I miss my mum a lot.’

  Sarah smiles sadly and asks gently, ‘She isn’t around anymore?’

  ‘No, she died when I was twenty. Breast cancer.’ I take a deep breath as I feel that familiar jolt of sadness in my chest. ‘She was already stage IV when she was diagnosed, so there was nothing anyone could do. She didn’t even tell me that she was sick; I mean, I understand why, she didn’t want me to put my life on hold and come home just to watch her die, but I’d at least have liked the choice.’

  ‘You weren’t at home with her?’

  I shake my head. ‘I was at university. I was with Matt when I got the call and he pretty much held my hand through the whole thing. I’m not sure what I’d have done without his support. He stepped in to help clear her flat, dealt with her landlord and made all the funeral arrangements. He was the one who made sure I remembered to eat, to leave the flat once in a while. Christ, he pretty much made sure I continued to breathe in and out.’

  ‘Ah. I can see why you two are so close.’

  I nod. ‘He’s the best.’

  And now here you are, ten years later, and you’ve been fantasising about his girlfriend for the past week. This thought hits me hard. What kind of friend am I? Sarah mistakes my look of remorse for one of sorrow.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Life is shit sometimes. It’s so hard when parents get sick. Alfie’s only got the one set of grandparents and my dad’s MS got worse in his mid-sixties and now my mum cares for him full-time. That’s why I go to them every year for Christmas; my house isn’t exactly wheelchair-friendly.’ She trails off sadly.

  ‘Shit, what a conversation for Christmas dinner. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ I say softly, but she shakes her head, gently dabbing the first sign of any visible tears.

  ‘No, it’s not your fault. If anything, you’ve made things far more bearable lately. I should be thanking you.’

  She leans in to hug me and I reciprocate, feeling her grasp tighten ever so slightly as I do. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. As we pull apart our eyes meet, just as they have dozens of times before. Only this time we’re not sitting across from one another at a crumb-covered shopping-centre table, we’re inches apart, and I can still feel her arms around my neck. Her eyes drift down to my mouth. I can barely breathe.

  ‘THE ADVENTURERS RETURN!’

  Jesus fucking Christ, my heart leaps from my chest as Matt and Alfie burst through the front door, congratulating each other on their successful pudding mission. Sarah springs away from me like I’m a ticking bomb.

  ‘Wow. Success then?’ she says, her voice breaking. ‘What did we get?’

  Alfie carefully carries the box and sets it down in the kitchen. ‘Chocolate cake,’ he informs us. ‘They only had tiny trifles, but this cake is huuuuge.’

  ‘Good job, buddy,’ I say, my brain as scrambled as my trifle. ‘Cut me a piece, I’ll be right back.’

  The seclusion of the bathroom is exactly what I need, but once I’ve locked the door, I
flop down on the side of the bath, my head in my hands. What is wrong with me? Here’s Sarah having a vulnerable moment and I’m all, she’s totally checking me out when she probably was doing nothing of the sort. Oh, fuck this, go eat your cake, Nick, and grow up.

  Dessert was evidently worth the wait, with Alfie eating two pieces before falling almost immediately asleep on the couch, his head in Sarah’s lap. She’s been acting like nothing’s happened . . . because it didn’t. Whatever is going on in my head, it certainly isn’t going on in hers.

  ‘I hear you’re off to Matt’s parents’ house for Christmas. That’ll be nice,’ Sarah says, breaking a slightly awkward silence.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘This will be . . . God, the ninth year. Can’t believe it’s been that long. His family are super nice, they really should adopt me already. I’ve dropped enough hints.’

  Matt laughs, calling me ‘Hard Knock Nick’.

  Sarah’s laughing makes Alfie stir and she announces that she’d better take him home.

  ‘We’re getting an early train tomorrow and I still have some packing to finish.’

  ‘Thanks for my bourbon,’ I say, grinning. ‘I’m chuffed.’

  ‘Well, thank you for Alfie’s robot thing. It’ll keep him entertained while he’s away.’

  ‘My pleasure. Have a great Christmas. Bye, buddy!’

  I watch as she gets Alfie’s coat on, then I disappear to the bathroom to give them some alone time. As I hear the door close behind Sarah and Alfie I feel a pang of both sadness and relief. Being around her is becoming more difficult than I could have anticipated. Matt starts clearing the living room table as ‘Last Christmas’ begins to play. I turn it off immediately before Matt starts reading too much into the lyrics. I’ve had enough misplaced emotion for one evening.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘And that, my little elven helpers, is a wrap!’

  Everyone stares at me blankly.

  ‘Get it? Because of the wrapping paper and the fact that we’ve finished . . . forget it.’

  Grumbling to myself, I turn to collect the unused gifts while, around me, last-minute Christmas Eve shoppers panic-buy themselves into a frenzy. Izzy pulls across the rope and officially closes the grotto while Geraldine hovers around, reminding everyone that uniforms must be left in her office before we leave.

  ‘A word, Nick?’

  Nope. There’s a word, Geraldine. Just. Fuckin’. Nope.

  I put down the gifts and walk over, my head sweating profusely under my hat. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies, expressionlessly. ‘Just wanted to thank you for all your hard work over the past few weeks.’

  ‘Oh,’ I reply, surprised. ‘No worries. It’s been . . . an experience.’

  ‘Izzy specifically mentioned that you were a valuable addition this year. So, next year, if you want it, we’d be happy to have you back.’

  Izzy said something nice about me. Holy shit, I’m just knocking these Christmas miracles out of the park.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘I’m hoping to be back in full-time employment by then but . . .’

  . . . Aaand she’s already walking away.

  ‘Does everyone who works here have zero social skills?’ I ask no one in particular, but Laura overhears and laughs.

  ‘Hey Santa – high five!’ she demands, and I feel obliged to comply, my padded gloves hitting her hand with a dull thud. It’s very anticlimactic.

  ‘So, what are you doing for Christmas?’ Laura asks, taking off her hat. I’m dying to take mine off but, as much as I want to burn my entire costume, there are still kids around.

  ‘Quiet one,’ I answer, continuing with gift duty. ‘The usual.’

  ‘Just you and your girlfriend?’

  ‘No girlfriend,’ I respond, ripping apart a selection box then openly eating a Snickers. I don’t even care anymore. ‘I’m single.’

  As I hand her a Mars Bar, she looks perplexed. ‘Single? But the woman from the coffee place. I thought—’

  ‘I told you,’ Izzy interjects loudly as she walks past. ‘See! Everybody think this . . . Laura think this . . .’

  ‘She’s just a friend,’ I say indignantly. ‘And she happens to be dating my best friend.’

  ‘. . . I think this,’ Izzy continues, waving her hands around and paying no attention to me, ‘Christine thinks this, even the security man Charles with the stupid beard think this . . . oh, and the woman with the bad eye who make the vegan soap, what’s her name—’

  ‘I’m leaving now,’ I interrupt, but she’s still talking. ‘Have a great Christmas, everyone.’

  I march myself back to the staffroom, annoyed and a little embarrassed. Was I that obvious around everyone, or do people just have nothing better to do than gossip? I grab my clothes from the locker and move into the men’s bathrooms to change out of this hot, itchy suit for the last time.

  When I return, I bump into Laura, who looks a tad embarrassed.

  ‘I didn’t mean to offend you or anything,’ she begins, but I stop her, reassuring her that I’m fine and just want to get home.

  ‘Have a drink with me,’ she suggests. ‘There’s a nice pub around the corner.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer but honestly, I’m tired and—’

  ‘Stop being so old! I mean, it’s not like you’re rushing off to meet your girlfriend . . . Live a little, Grandpa.’

  I can’t help but laugh. In that squeaky voice, her sassiness is quite charming.

  ‘Sure, why not,’ I reply. Matt is off picking up the hire car to drive us to his parents’ and then out with his work colleagues until God knows when. Maybe a drink is exactly what I need.

  ‘A private detective? You’re shitting me. I’m not even sure that’s a real job.’

  Laura nods, trying to guide her straw into her mouth, while she props up the wall. We’ve been in the pub for almost three hours and still haven’t found a seat. I’m slightly miffed that she’s far drunker than I am; as hard as I try, I can’t seem to let my hair down.

  ‘Yep. I want to investigate shit,’ she explains. ‘Like Jessica Jones but without the superpowers.’

  ‘Right,’ I reply, pretending to know who the hell Jessica Jones is. If she has superpowers, I bet Alfie would know. I wonder how he’s doing . . .

  ‘And if it all goes tits up, maybe I’ll just be an elf for the rest of my life!’

  ‘There are worse things to be,’ I respond, swirling the last of the beer in my bottle. ‘Another drink?’

  She peers at her glass. ‘Maybe a cocktail,’ she considers. ‘Something strong, I’m not really feeling anything from this gin.’

  The fact her eyes are darting in different directions leads me to believe that the gin is, in fact, working just as intended. I smile, thinking about how cute Sarah is when she’s tipsy. She does this thing with her hair where—

  ‘Earth to Nick . . .’

  Laura’s voice snaps me out of my momentary trance, and I notice her wandering eyes are now fixed firmly on me. She really wants that cocktail, I guess.

  I push my way to the bar, but get stuck behind at least seven people for what feels like forever. With only fifteen minutes until Christmas Day, everyone is in high spirits, but I don’t feel quite so merry. Laura has been a great distraction, but it hasn’t stopped Sarah drifting in and out of my mind. It’s like a miserable sense of longing and I need to snap out of it, but not here. I need to go home, get a reasonably early night before the drive to Matt’s parents’ house in the morning. Giving up on ever getting a drink before midnight, I about-turn and make my way back to Laura.

  ‘No one is getting served anytime soon,’ I tell her. ‘I think I’m just going to call it a night.’

  ‘Great idea,’ she replies. ‘My place or yours?’

  I’m genuinely surprised when she says this and choke on
the dregs of my beer. ‘Oh! No, I meant—’

  She prises herself off the wall and tries to pull on her coat, missing the arm several times before she successfully slips it on. Even if I wanted to take her home, she’s far too wasted. I take out my phone and open the Uber app.

  ‘What’s your address? Maybe we can share?’

  She presses herself up against me and giggles.

  ‘Santa, baby . . .’

  Oh fuck, she’s singing. I glance around, hoping that this moment isn’t being shared by anyone else. ‘OOOOK . . . I just need—’

  ‘Put a stable under the tree . . .’

  ‘I think it’s slip a sable, but whatever, I just need your address . . .’

  ‘And hurry round the chimney tonight . . . be doo be doop.’

  OH, DEAR GOD, this is horrible. People are starting to stare. I take her arm and try to guide her towards the door but instead she holds on to my jacket and plants her mouth firmly on mine. I briefly consider keeping it there, so she won’t be able to sing again, but in the end I gently pull away and step back.

  ‘Laura, you’re a great girl but I’m just not looking for anything . . .’

  ‘Santa babbbbyyy . . .’

  ‘Laura, are you hearing me? I’m going home. Alone.’

  The smile on her face suddenly drops. ‘Seriously? It’s Christmas!’

  ‘I’m sorry . . . Look, it’s late, I’ve just ordered an Uber, let me drop you—’

  She starts to cackle. ‘Did I just get turned down by a shopping-mall Santa? That’s a new fucking low. God, why are men such dicks?’

  ‘Wow, OK,’ I reply. ‘So, I’m going to go . . .’

  ‘Good. Shove your Uber up your arse, I live at the end of the road above the chippy, not that you’ll ever know.’

  ‘You literally just told me.’

  I hear her announce that I probably have a knob like a cocktail sausage anyway in front of the whole pub as I slink away, confused and slightly wounded by her drunken outburst. My knob is at least a bockwurst.

  Stepping outside, I check my phone and see that no one has accepted my Uber request yet. This is just perfect. It’s minus three and I’m going to have to walk home.