‘I know,’ he replies. ‘Best four years ever. Pretty sure my mum will just take a flamethrower to it when I leave.’
‘Or she’ll turn it into an Eddie shrine,’ I mock. ‘Wall-to-wall baby photos, crusty sheets left on the bed. . . discarded socks sticking to—’
‘Oh god, enough!’ he exclaims. ‘You’re so gross.’
‘Me? They’re notmysocks.’
He hits me with a pillow and laughs, though his cheeks are more than a little red.
‘Seriously, though. . . she’ll really miss you. They both will.You’re their little miracle.’
‘I know,’ he agrees. ‘But Manchester isn’t that far. . .’
I throw my arms around him and squeeze. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
He nods. ‘I know. Fuck, it’ll just be weird not seeing you every day.’
‘You’ll cope. I’ll send photos if I can get them back from Ross Tucker. . .’
He laughs. ‘God, wait till I tell Carly. She’s already had her acceptance. At least I’ll know one person there.’
My squeeze loosens a little. ‘Carly?’
‘Yeah. The girl I met at music camp two years ago, remember? We email every now and again.’
‘Oh,’ I reply, casually. ‘I don’t remember you mentioning her. That’s cool, though.’
As we continue to hug, I feel my stomach twist. Who the hell is Carly? Is she why Manchester is his first choice?
I hear him breathe a sigh of relief while I take a deep breath in. Maybe persuading him to go to Manchester isn’t such a great idea, after all. Shit.
DecEMBER 25th– Christmas Day
Ed
I can’t remember the last Christmas morning when I didn’t awaken to the sound of Mum singing holier-than-thou carols in the wrong key. Today’s choice of ear assassination is ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. I hear Dad hum the occasionalbum bum bumas he potters about in the kitchen.
Kate’s already up and in the shower, her Christmas clothes laid out on the chair at the window. The purple top she bought last week and black trousers. She suits purple. As with Mum’s singing, I can’t remember the last Christmas morning when Kate didn’t kiss me the moment she woke up. Although I’m glad I said what I did last night, there’s a little voice in my head reminding me that I’ve hurt the woman I love.
I’m getting dressed into my blue shirt and jeans as Kate appears from the shower, a towel wrapped loosely around her while she uses another to dry her hair. As she turns and her towel slips a little, my arousal is immediate and unexpected. Turns out my penis is nowhere near as upset with her as the rest of me.
I carefully button up my jeans and move to the living room, where Mum and Dad are busy sorting through presents. I see a stack for us and other gifts for their friends around the village.
‘Merry Christmas!’ I say in my best, my-life-is-not-an-utter-shambles voice. ‘I see Santa’s been.’
‘Merry Christmas, Edward!’ they say in unison. ‘Where’s Kate? We’re just getting the gifts ready.’
‘Shower,’ I tell Mum. ‘She won’t be long.’
‘Is she OK?’ Mum says, almost in a whisper. ‘I mean, it’s none of my business but—’
‘She’s fine. Just a lot on her mind. You look lovely, Mum.’
‘Well, isn’t that nice, thank you, darling,’ she says, twirling around to show off her dress. ‘It’s only Marks and Sparks but it hides all me lumps and bumps. Tuck your shirt in, love– it looks so much smarter. Oh, must check on the pastries.’
I refuse to explain to my mother on Christmas Day that my shirt is actually covering my erection and therefore won’t be getting tucked in anytime soon, so I just mumble about feeling more comfortable this way and hope that’s enough. Dad, unsurprisingly, is wearing yet another Christmas jumper, but he has a shirt and tie underneath. Smart yet fun. That’s my dad to a tee.
‘Nice snowman, Dad,’ I state, sitting beside him on the couch. ‘Think that’s my favourite so far. Any tea on the go?’
