Page 74 of Last Christmas in London

‘Does he still support Tottenham?’ Bob shouted again. ‘If so, I revoke my answer.’

‘Oh, Bob!’ Denise scolded. ‘Really?’

I tittered. ‘I think he generally just supports whatever football, cricket, or rugby team his latest boyfriend supports.’ I think the last team was Millwall, which was quite a comedown from Tottenham Hotspurs ‘But, regardless, he’s had a bit of a break-up.’

‘Did he break up with that married man?’ Denise asked, leaning me – or rather, the phone – against a stack of coasters on the coffee table so that she could return to her previous task of folding laundry that was evidently on the floor of her living room.

‘So Megan filled you in?’ I queried, to which she nodded. ‘He knows it was wrong, and he’s sorted it all out now—’ I didn’t bother adding that he had caught his boyfriend sleeping with his husband; that was a little too messy for my liking. ‘We all make mistakes.’

‘That we do,’ she said. ‘And if you’re about to ask if he can come over for Christmas, the answer is and always will be yes.’

‘Even though he and Megan had a bust-up. And he got with a married man and, y’know, you’re married.’

Denise laughed abruptly. ‘I doubt he’ll be on the prowl for Bob, love.’

‘Eww! No!’ I cried as Denise chortled and Bob paraded into view doing his best Kinky Boots kind of walk that only made him look like a penguin. ‘Oh, God, stop! Please. I beg you!’

‘He’s welcome to him,’ Denise added, and Bob leaned down to give her the sloppiest of kisses he could muster.

One day I’d love a relationship like theirs, I thought, it’s so much fun and silly, but there was also an implicit trust that felt wholesome and rare.

But I wasn’t sure what that kind of love might look like for me. Not as a graysexual woman with limited experience and even less time.

It was not something I ever raised with Denise and Bob, though. Partly because they’d never quite understood my sexuality – or perhaps hadn’t known how to – and partly because I hadn’t known how to explain it myself. They’d nodded along, made all the right noises, but deep down I think they just thought I was picky or scared. They didn’t see that it was more than that, or that I was comfortable with my lack of interest until they made me feel otherwise.

But it was hard for them to know that, when I never raised it with them.

The truth was, I’d never felt entitled to take up that kind of space with them. They’d already given me so much when my mum died: a home, stability, love. I didn’t want to add confusion or disappointment to the list, or risk being misunderstood when I was still working it out myself.

And without my mum, there had never been anyone it felt natural to talk it through with first.

Josh knew, in the loose, unexamined way LGBT+ friends sometimes do. Megan and I had tried to speak to about it, but she was so focused on her own explorations and her relationship with Alex, that I never let her examine it further. Brushing it off whenever she brought it up, making a joke and changing the subject. It was easier to be the low-maintenance one, and I preferred being the truth bearer, not the truth sharer.

It wasn’t that I was picky or didn’t want love – that couldn’t be further from the truth. I did want it; I wanted what they had. But what if my love life looked and felt different?

I hoped it wouldn’t.

‘Look, Josh is always welcome here.’ Denise’s cheery planning pulled me from my introspection. ‘Even when Megan’s furious with him, he hasn’t hurt her, he just made some erm…’ She considered for a moment. ‘Questionable life choices. Besides, I don’t think she is mad with Josh at all now.’

‘Really?’ I said, my eyebrows creasing in confusion. ‘Then why isn’t she replying to his messages? Or mine, for that matter?’

Denise continued to fold the laundry.

‘I think she’s a little embarrassed about how she behaved. And about how little she’s shared. I’m her mother, I can tell when things are wrong with her – and with you.’ I swallowed again but said nothing. ‘She’s not been entirely honest with anybody in this situation. But…’ she stopped herself and threw some single socks across the room. ‘It’s not for me to talk about. I’m sure she’ll call.’

‘Really? By Christmas?’

Denise scoffed. ‘Well, even if she doesn’t, you’ll certainly see her at Christmas. She’s coming here with Alfie. And you’ll be here with Josh.’

I didn’t even want to picture what Christmas would look like if Megan still wasn’t talking to us. Josh’s prediction about flying roast potatoes may well come true. Although I suspected it was more likely Megan would be more underhand than that and would serve me more roast parsnips than potatoes, as she knows the true betrayal of biting into a parsnip thinking it’s a potato. It’s a soggy disappointment, unmatched by much else in life.

‘Okay…’ I said, elongating the vowels. ‘But just to be clear, Josh is welcome?’ I confirmed, and Denise nodded vigorously.

‘He can sleep on the sofa. Unless he wants the air bed.’

‘He can have my room,’ I said, with a knowing smile. ‘Save him complaining. I’ll take the air mattress.’

Denise didn’t even try to protest. ‘So will no one else be joining?’ she asked, with a hint of anticipation.