One Week 'Til Christmas

by Belinda Missen

  Breaking away from Tom, I grabbed a pencil and paper and started scribbling down all the things I’d love, if only I could snap my fingers and make it happen. At the top of my list, success in my new venture. One way or another, I felt I was going to need it by the end of the week. I wished for a safe flight home, and I wished for all the good things for my friends, whatever they might be. At the bottom of my list, I wished for more time with Tom.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Tom appeared around my shoulder.

  I snatched my letter up and clutched it to my chest. ‘Writing a letter to Santa.’

  ‘Oh.’ He plucked a blank page from the pad. ‘What have you asked him for?’

  ‘It’s a secret.’ I scrunched the piece of paper over and dropped it into the letterbox. ‘Are you going to write yours?’

  ‘I think I will, actually.’ He pushed me away gently. ‘If I can’t read yours, you can’t read mine. Go away.’

  I took my shopping basket and went back to browsing, picking up the glossiest boiled-lolly-shiny-red bus souvenirs for the girls. When they asked, I could tell them about how I’d met a man named Tom by the bus stop and had crazy PG-rated adventures across London with him.

  In that moment, I was overwhelmingly glad for Tom, for his Christmas spirit, and that I’d been caught up in all of this. Something swelled inside my chest and threatened to spill out of my eyes as I ran my fingers through the fronds of a Christmas tree.

  I looked up in time to see him pop his letter in the post box and walk over to me.

  ‘Did you put your name down to get your photo with Santa?’ he asked.

  ‘What? No,’ I scoffed. ‘Firstly, the queue is far too long. Secondly, we’d be the oldest lining up by, oh, twenty years?’

  Tom grasped his chin and tapped at his cheek. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ I jumped in with a snap of the fingers. ‘Bzzzt.’

  Tom smiled. ‘Were you not just lecturing me the other day about how your dearly departed grandmother told you to grab life by the short and curlies?’

  ‘By the throat,’ I reminded him. ‘The throat. She was very clear about the fact that she no longer had any time for men’s genitals.’

  ‘Right,’ he said slowly. ‘And you’re just going to disavow her advice? That seems a bit premature, don’t you think? Not the genital part, but I mean, if you want to look at this objectively, you could always ask yourself, “What would Grandma do?”.’

  ‘You’re going to get me into trouble, you know that.’ I turned and walked back towards Santa’s chair.

  In the end, joining the queue didn’t feel as silly as I thought it would. After all, I was the one who had begun the week waxing lyrical about getting into the Christmas spirit and having my photo with Santa. That, and Tom was right. Even if I wasn’t following my grandmother’s advice, what harm would a photo do?

  I slipped my hand into Tom’s as we watched quietly through the tears and tantrums, the elongated and elaborate wish lists, then stepped forward when it was our turn. Santa took one look at us and then around us. He raised his woolly brows.

  ‘Right, it’s just you two is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Just us.’ I grinned, squashing into the space on Santa’s left.

  ‘You know, I can move over if you’d like to sit with your husband,’ he said.

  ‘Not my husband,’ I sang.

  ‘Not my wife,’ Tom added at the same time.

  ‘Brother?’

  ‘God, I hope not. That might get awkward,’ Tom said only loudly enough that the three of us could hear. Both he and Santa laughed.

  ‘Gotcha. Well, just arrange yourselves then, I suppose,’ Santa mumbled. ‘Filled out your wish lists, have you?’

  ‘Yes, but she won’t tell me, so I’m not telling her,’ Tom said.

  ‘Ah.’ Santa sighed as he wriggled in his seat. ‘Never a dull moment here.’

  The five-year-old before us was officially more mature than we were. As soon as our photo was taken, we shuffled off to the other side of the store to pay for my overfull shopping basket and collect our prints.

  ‘One copy or two?’ asked the shop assistant.

  ‘Two,’ Tom said.

  ‘Two?’ I asked.

  ‘You don’t want just one, do you?’ he asked. ‘What do you suppose we do with one? We’re not going to share custody of it.’

  ‘I could chop it in half,’ I said. ‘Estelle works in an art gallery, so I could grab the guillotine and—’

  ‘Calm down, Marie Antoinette.’ He frowned oddly and turned his attention back to the shop assistant, who was red from holding in her laughter. ‘Two. Please.’

  Hoisting my shopping from the counter, we stepped outside. Standing under the awning by the front doors, we hid from the rain while shoppers continued to stream in and out of the store. I opened a bag of chocolate raspberries and offered Tom first pick. He popped one in his mouth and peered along the length of the street.

  ‘Are you okay there?’ He looked back at me. ‘Not too cold?’

  ‘I’m okay.’ A roll of wrapping paper slipped from under my arm. I repositioned it. ‘I just don’t feel much like walking about in the rain this afternoon.’

  Tom waved me into a tight corner, extended his arm and pulled me into a hug. We slipped together like he was a missing body part I never knew I’d been looking for. With my arms around his waist and his around my shoulders, I tucked my face into that warm spot on his neck that smelled of aftershave and sleep. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the feeling of sinking into him.

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘Hmm.’ I felt his voice reverberate through his chest.

  ‘I like you much more than I should,’ I confessed.

  ‘And how much should you like me, do you think?’ he asked, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘Considering I’m about to leave? Probably not as much as I do.’

  Tom pressed a lingering kiss into the top of my hair. It was true, I did like him too much. I could say I’d given myself over to that feeling this afternoon, but I was sure it had been there since the day we met. I took a deep sigh and felt myself rattle against him.

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to work it out as we go along,’ he said.

  I pulled my head away. ‘What are you doing for dinner tonight?’

  He gave his head a tight shake. ‘No plans.’

  ‘How do you feel about takeaway at my place?’ I asked. ‘I can get all these gifts wrapped, you can meet my friend Estelle, and we can get out of the rain.’

  ‘I feel like we should probably find a bus, then.’ Tom let go of me and picked up some of the bags by our feet.

  Chapter 15

  Tom’s backpack landed with a heavy thud by the foot of the sofa and he groaned in relief at having dislodged it from his back. Even my shopping hadn’t made that much of an impact when I’d tossed it through the door.

  ‘What on earth have you got in that bag?’ I asked as I headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Ah, I have ten new screenplays to read and consider,’ he called after me. ‘And I’m told there are another dozen coming to me on email tonight.’

  My shoulders sank at the realisation that I might have been selfishly ignoring his news this morning. I emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with a teapot, mugs, and milk.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just realised I haven’t asked you about your own morning yet. Here you are following me around London, and I’m completely oblivious.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry.’ He pulled the lid off the teapot and peered inside. ‘It’s not life-ending. Plus, you did ask now.’

  ‘Yes, but I care, so I should have asked sooner. Instead, I dominated with bloody shopping.’

  ‘You care about me?’ he asked.

  I gave him a confused look even though I could feel myself blush. ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said quietly, though the smile on his face hinted at barely concealed pride. ‘My meeting went very wel
l, thank you.’

  ‘And?’ I prodded. ‘Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that.’

  ‘Well, I’m not looking at my email until Boxing Day.’ He watched as I sat on the floor and spread wrapping paper, scissors and Sellotape around me. ‘But it does seem I have a bit of light reading to tide me over to the new year.’

  ‘Can I look at them?’ I asked. ‘After I’ve wrapped all these?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ He peeled his jacket off, tossed it against the sofa and sat on the floor opposite.

  It might not have been everyone’s idea of dating, but there was something gently romantic about it. We were in a warm home, there was a Christmas tree that blinked quietly in the corner, the television was on low and we were happy to natter away at each other instead of sitting in a café and struggling to hear. That was all I needed to enjoy my time.

  ‘I wanted to wrap these before I got on the plane home, and I want to box this stuff up so I can post it before I leave, obviously.’ I crossed my legs and folded up the first of the yellow coats. ‘I don’t land until almost midnight Christmas Eve, and nobody has time for wrapping gifts when they’re full of jetlag.’

  ‘Does anyone have time to wrap gifts?’ Tom asked. ‘I’m perpetually lazy. I like gift bags.’

  ‘Tom,’ I complained. ‘You told me you loved Christmas, what are you doing? Isn’t the best part of Christmas the unknown moment where you shake your gift and try to guess what’s in it?’

  ‘And then flail in disappointment when it’s not a Lieutenant Towers doll?’ he teased.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is?’ I frowned.

  ‘Oh, it’s me.’ He looked around, his cheeks reddening. ‘Well, one of my characters at least.’

  ‘You have a doll?’ I asked, partly amused, and partly astounded. ‘Just … wow, really?’

  A deathly silence fell over the room. It was thick with embarrassment and awkwardness.

  ‘It’s okay, I get it, you don’t know that part of my work. It’s fine,’ he said quietly, quickly, trying to dismiss the mood.

  ‘Do you want to maybe fill me in?’ I asked. ‘Talk to me about your favourite roles.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Tom drew the scissors against some curling ribbons and watched it bounce to life.

  ‘Tom, it’s not from a lack of interest, honestly. It’s more a lack of time. Having the telly on today is the most I’ve watched in months. I lie, I watched a movie the other night. Sure, I could get online and scroll through endless pages dedicated to you, and I did in some part when I wrote my article. So, while I’m aware of your work in some brief capacity, I’d rather know you, not the internet’s version of you. And considering I’d never heard of you until a few days ago, I figure if I need to know something, you’ll tell me.’ I held his gaze. ‘I guess what I’m saying is I’d rather know you from you.’

  A thoughtful, relaxed look washed over his features, loosening them immediately. It was the kind of bliss that sets in when a heavy weight has been lifted; the moment a doctor tells you that you’re not dying, it’s just an allergic reaction.

  ‘In that case, I want you to know that you’re beautiful.’

  I pushed gifts, wrapping paper and scissors aside, and crawled across the floor to him, heat pooling in the depths of my stomach and my heart fluttering like a sparrow. A small frown relaxed as he worked out what I was about to do.

  His nose brushed against my cheek and, rather than be horrified that something had gone wrong, we laughed. I reached between us and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer. Finally, I kissed him.

  Though my lips trembled against his, he was solid and sure, and was kissing me back. My heartrate sent my breathing skyward, and it felt like a gust of wind was about to pick me up and toss me about like a breeze. He stopped for a moment, and I could feel him smile against me. I laughed through nervous relief and kissed him again, this time opening my mouth to let his tongue in.

  Pressing my body against his, I pushed him further down towards the ground as he curled his fingers through my hair and deepened the kiss. I don’t know if we were there for five minutes or five hours. Right here and now, with my face in his hands and my hands up the front of his shirt, I knew I didn’t want this to end, knew I couldn’t get on that plane without some serious regret. Just the thought of it had tears prickling the backs of my eyes and threatening to spill out onto my lashes.

  When I pulled away, I replaced my lips with a thumb. ‘Does this mean I get a doll to take home? You know, until I see you again.’

  I’m not sure I caught his answer through laughter, but I do know he kissed me again.

  A Sheldon-esque knocking at the door stopped us in our tracks. I yanked my head back and looked at Tom. Or, moreover, his mouth.

  ‘Isobel, do you have a moment?’ Estelle’s voice called from behind the door.

  Tom’s head tilted, an unspoken question: how did we miss that? I scrambled away, suddenly feeling as exposed as someone who’d been caught naked. I pressed a hand against my cheek, and it felt redder than a hotplate in a cook off. Tom smiled and chewed his bottom lip.

  ‘Stop it,’ I whispered.

  ‘Stop what?’ he asked.

  ‘Stop looking at me like that.’

  He did it again. ‘I’ll wait here then, shall I?’

  ‘Y – you do that.’ I left the room quickly, finding Estelle wide-eyed and bushy-tailed in the kitchen. She leaned against the sink and rubbed her hands over her face.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I whispered, holding my hand out as if that might calm her down. ‘I promise we didn’t do anything.’

  ‘What?’ she balked. ‘Don’t apologise.’

  ‘No?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, her giggle almost delirious. ‘What I’m freaking out about is that there’s a guy in my front room who looks suspiciously like someone I’ve been watching on television for the past six months.’

  ‘Oh.’ I scrunched my face. ‘You have?’

  ‘I need a paper bag.’ She made a point of holding her breath. ‘Is it him? Tell me it’s not him. Tell me it’s someone who looks a lot like him, maybe a cousin, or maybe I saw wrong because you were on top of him and it made an optical delusion.’

  ‘Illusion.’

  ‘So it’s not him?’ she asked. ‘The guy who just magically fell into your lap the other morning?’

  ‘No, no, it’s him … wait, who’s him?’

  ‘Tom Bracken,’ she whispered, hand clutched to her chest. ‘Lieutenant Towers. He has guns and he has guns.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, no, that’s him,’ I said quietly. ‘Though I can’t comment on the rest of that … guns and stuff.’

  For someone who worked with the rich and famous daily, Estelle’s reaction seemed way out of character. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. We all had that certain someone who made our toes curl, didn’t we? That actor or actress we’d pay to see in the cinema if only to watch them read the phone book. I looked at her curiously as she took a few deep breaths, used her hand to fan her face and began pacing the kitchen.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

  ‘The guy you’ve been seeing is Tom Bracken?’

  I nodded, shrugged, held my hands up. ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘You suppose? Isobel, that guy is crazy talented. He is going places. He’s almost mythical in his rise this year.’ She stopped. ‘Wait, I said rise.’

  I snorted. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Is he staying for dinner?’ she asked. ‘What are we going to cook him? We don’t have anything here.’

  ‘Relax.’ I gave her shoulder a squeeze and plucked a bottle of red from the cupboard. ‘We’ll get something delivered.’

  Chapter 16

  After the awkward introductions and first nervous conversations, I found myself peeling the lid off a steaming container of lemon chicken. Estelle was pouring our second glasses of wine and, at my behest, Tom was digging some screenplays from his backpack.

  ‘S
how me what you’ve got.’ I leaned into him as he stacked bound piles of paper between us. ‘What are these marks on the front?’

  ‘Oh, that’s my agent. It’s C for comedy, A for action, T is thrillers, B for biopic.’ He waved a hand about. ‘You get the idea.’

  ‘Tom had a meeting with his people today,’ I explained to Estelle, who looked a little confused at all the paperwork appearing from his bag.

  ‘Would there be a script for season two, episode one of Countershock?’ Estelle batted her eyelashes. ‘Please?’

  ‘There is, and the answer is no. I can probably show you a lot of others, but that one is sworn to secrecy. I’m sure it might even self-destruct if someone else so much as looks at it,’ Tom said with a smile.

  ‘You know she has no idea what we’re talking about.’ She thumbed in my direction.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ I poked my tongue out at Estelle. ‘Sort of. I’ve just never seen it, that’s all.’

  ‘And that’s perfectly okay.’ Tom reached out and gave my knee a squeeze. ‘Maybe I could show you then, because you’d have no idea what was going on.’

  ‘Wasted opportunity.’ Estelle laughed into her wine glass.

  I stuck my tongue out at her. ‘You’re hilarious.’

  ‘Oh, here’s one for you.’ Tom perked up as he handed me a tattered and worn binding. ‘I signed a contract for this one today. Filming late next year.’

  ‘Tom, you didn’t tell me that!’ I squeaked as I moved in for a hug. ‘That’s so exciting! Why didn’t you say something this morning? Where are you filming?’

  ‘The good news is it’s set up north, so I’ll be close to home for a few months.’ He looked at me. ‘And honestly, it feels like a normal part of work now, so it’s excitement but it’s also just … my job?’

  ‘I wish my job was that exciting,’ Estelle quipped. ‘At the rate I’m going, the only thing that’ll help is alcohol.’

  ‘Oh.’ I turned to Estelle. ‘How was work for you today? Did you have any luck? I feel like a right arse asking all these work questions when I’m on holidays.’