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After dashing to the butcher to collect Dad’s sausage meat, I make it home, throwing my shopping in the cupboard under the stairs. Wrapping presents is bottom of my list of things to do, and the fact we traditionally open gifts on Christmas Day in the evening gives me some breathing room. I’ll sneak off for half an hour while Ma and Dad have their time-honored snooze after their big Christmas feed.
In a whirlwind, I fly around my apartment, ticking things off my list of stuff to do one by one. An hour later, I’m slightly out of breath but chuffed by what I’ve achieved in my tight timeframe. I’m ready. Let’s do this, Christmas.
I’m just yanking on a clean dress when the door knocks, and I race down the stairs as I button up the front. Swinging the door open, my parents bowl in, ever large as life.
“Merry Christmas,” Dad says, grabbing my shoulders and hauling me in for a squeeze. “Did you get sausage?”
I cough on nothing, my mind going to a terrible place momentarily. It’s an effort not to blurt, “Almost, Dad. So close.” But . . . “I got sausage,” I practically squeak as he releases me and slaps a kiss on my cheek.
He smiles fondly at me. “You got color in your cheeks, boo.”
I have? I reach up and feel them. That would be talk of sausage. And it really had been a damn fine sausage.
“My girl.” Ma shoves Dad aside and crushes me against her ample bosom. “He’s right. You’re glowing.”
I look past her when I hear a car door slam, courtesy of my niece, Ellis, and see my sister and her husband lugging bags out of the car. Judith catches sight of me and immediately cocks her head. Jesus, I feel like I’ve got a neon sign on my head declaring my recent illicit activities in a Harrods changing room. “Hey.”
She wanders up the path, pouting. “You pregnant?”
I laugh hysterically. “No, for crying out loud. What’s everyone’s deal? I’m just pleased to see you all.”
She sniffs. “I smell bullshit.” Kissing my cheek as she passes, she drops her bags and heads straight for the kitchen to fetch wine.
My niece enters the house like a hurricane, all full of beans. “He’s coming, he’s coming.”
And in follows my brother-in-law. “Hey, squirt.”
I shut the door on an exasperated eye-roll. “I’m thirty, Heath. When are you gonna drop that?”
“Never.” He kisses my forehead and disappears up the hallway as I shake my head, not at all annoyed. Judith and Heath have been together since she was sixteen and I was twelve. They’re lifers. And I’ll always be squirt. I shut the door and take a moment to listen, to inhale the smell of Christmas, family, and happiness. Perfect.Everyone is sprawled across the two couches in my lounge the next day—Christmas Day—after a mammoth Christmas feast. Judith and I are on our second bottle of wine, Ma and Dad are snoozing, Heath is smoking his obligatory Christmas cigar in the garden, and Ellis is playing with the one gift we let her open this morning, a doll house.
It’s relaxed. Lovely. Peaceful. I’m about to disappear to wrap my gifts when the doorbell rings. Judith looks across to me as she tops up her wine. “Seriously, who the hell could that be?”
“Maybe it’s Father Christmas again,” Ellis chirps.
I drag myself up and make my way to the door, swinging it open.
And nearly fall over from shock.
“Mr. Sexy as Fuck,” I blurt mindlessly, stuck in a stupor. Yet however paralyzed by shock I am, I still manage to register his casual attire—jeans and a rather fetching Christmas jumper . . . with two big baubles on the front.
I come from a long line of well-endowed men.
I burst into fits of laughter. “Oh my God.”
“Mr. Sexy as Fuck, eh?” He waggles a cute eyebrow. “Suits me.”
I pull myself together. “What are you doing here?”
He holds up a bag. “Our shopping must have gotten mixed up. My sister isn’t a fancy socks girl. You hadn’t noticed?”
Confession time. “I’ve not wrapped them yet. Was just about to.”
He grins, the bag lowering. “Me either. You dropped your driver’s license as you ran away. Must have fallen out of your purse.” Pulling it out, he flashes it at me. “Shannon.”
I laugh lightly as I accept it. “And your name?”
He motions down his fetching Christmas jumper. “Mr. Billy Big Baubles.”
And I’m laughing again, holding on to the door to steady myself. “Your real name.”
“Shaun,” he says, biting at his lip. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” I say thoughtfully, nibbling on my bottom lip too. “You tracked me down on Christmas Day.” How far should I read into it?
“Well, like I said, jazzy socks aren’t my sister’s bag. She’d be pissed off with me if I didn’t give her a gift.” He shrugs, like it’s that simple. Is it? Something about the way he’s looking at me tells me otherwise. He wanted to see me again.
