‘I’m trying to watch theElf!’ Alfie yelps, but we’re too far gone.
With an overly excited Alfie finally asleep, everyone mucks in to finish wrapping and arranging his presents under the tree. Thanks to the market stalls, I’m able to add three of my own: a gift basket filled with home-made chutneys, pickles and jams for Sarah’s parents, a new Frisbee for Alfie, to replace the one that Spot destroyed on the first day, and a silver family tree which has twelve little locket-shaped frames hanging from its branches. This was the trickiest to buy and I had to rush across the street to purchase it while Sarah took Alfie to the bathroom. Unbeknownst to Sarah, Linda has provided me with baby pictures of her, Stephen, Sarah and Alfie to start her collection. I think she’ll love it.
By 11.30pm, we’re all worn out, except for Spot who stands by the porch door, whining indignantly.
‘I think someone needs the loo,’ Stephen says, grinning. ‘You can just let him out in the garden.’
‘Or we could take him for a walk?’ Sarah suggests. ‘I could use the fresh air.’
‘Fresh air? It’s sub-zero!’ Before I can go on to explain how bloody exhausted I am after all that mulled wine, she throws me a look which saysalone time, idiot.
‘But yeah,’ I reply, getting to my feet. ‘It’ll tire him out. You wanna go for a walk, Spot?’
I see Linda and Stephen glance at each other. With a combined age of one-hundred- and-forty-three, it’s safe to say they’re not buying this.
Spot grabs his leash from the door hook and circles around in excitement.
‘Take one of my fleeces,’ Stephen says, ‘and watch the pavement. The gritters sometimes neglect our little street.’
We wrap up and step outside, watching Spot slide his way down the wheelchair ramp, leash still hanging from his mouth. I laugh softly as Sarah closes the door behind her.
‘Something funny?’
‘You mean apart from my dog being a dumbass?’
We walk over the garden grass and then on to the road, which is infinitely less icy, but the falling snow will soon put paid to that. Spot allows me to hook him up before zipping as far in front as the leash will allow.
‘I was thinking about last Christmas Eve, actually,’ I say as we stroll down the middle of the silent street, a small but growing flutter of snow landing across our path as we walk. ‘You were here with your awesome family, and I was alone and on my arse in the middle of the street after failing to navigate ice, once again.’
‘Aw, don’t! That hurts my heart!’
Sarah links into my arm, being careful not to cause my hand any further injury. ‘But here we are now. . . arm in arm. . . completely alone. . . potential targets for anyone feeling a bit murdery. . .’
‘Wow, that’s dark.’
She laughs. ‘I know. I’ve been listening to way too many true crime podcasts.’
‘It’s a fair point though,’ I reply, looking down at my hand. ‘With a three-legged dog and me in a cast, you’re pretty much on your own.’
We continue down the street, turning into a small grassy area, where Spot does his business before completing a few evening victory laps. I can tell he’s as happy as I am.
‘So, I was thinking that, maybe when I get back—’
‘Shh.’
‘I mean, I know it’s probably too soon, but maybe you could come up to Oxford and—’
She places her finger over my lips. ‘Shh. Listen. . .’
In the distance I hear the church bells strike midnight, followed by faint festive declarations from nearby homes. Sarah turns and wraps her arms around my neck.
‘Merry Christmas, Nick.’
‘Is it weird that theshhthing turns me on?’
‘Focus, Nick.’
I grin. ‘Sorry. Merry Christmas, Sarah.’
