Page 108 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Hurry up!’ Sam took a running jump and landed on top of the bed. I peeled my arms out from under the covers, and he dived into them. ‘Let’s go downstairs and see if Santa’s been!’

‘OK.’ I gave my son a cuddle and kissed his warm little face. ‘Just give me a minute.’

My gown was on the floor where I’d dropped it last night, just out of reach. Damn.

‘Mummy?’ Sam tilted his head. ‘Why are you in Dylan’s room?’

Oh God, here we go. I didn’t dare meet Dylan’s eye.

My heart gave a nervous flutter. ‘Well—’

But before I’d managed to concoct a vaguely plausible story, Sam nodded wisely. ‘Oh, I think I know why.’

My breath caught. This was not how I’d planned to start Christmas Day.

‘It’s the best room,’ Sam said matter-of-factly. ‘Because if you look really hard out of the window, you can see the sea. You should always sleep in here, Mummy.’

I let out a breath that came out half laugh, half sob. Dylan’s shoulders relaxed, and that lazy grin of his crept across his face.

‘He’s got a point,’ Dylan said, pulling his T-shirt over his head. ‘It’s certainly a good view from where I’m standing.’

He flicked his eyes to where one of my boobs had escaped from the duvet. I yelped and yanked the covers back up.

‘So, dude, wanna go check downstairs, see if Rudolph ate that carrot you left for him?’ Dylan could barely hide his mirth.

‘Yes!’ Sam cheered, already halfway down the hall.

‘Don’t open anything until I get there!’ I called after him.

Dylan picked up my robe and handed it to me, amusement flickering in his eyes. ‘That went well.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said dryly. ‘Flawless. So much for let’s break the news to him gently.’

He laughed, low and warm, before leaning over to kiss me. ‘Merry Christmas, Lucy.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ I whispered, watching him disappear after Sam.

I sat up and paused for a moment, listening to their voices floating up from below, Sam’s bubbling excitement, and Dylan’s deeper chuckle weaving through it. My heart squeezed, but not in the same painful way it had last Christmas. This year there was a softness to it; I was beginning to heal and hope for brighter times ahead.

I pulled back the curtains, wiped the condensation from the glass with my palm and peered out into an amber dawn. Sam was right, maybe this should be where I slept from now on. New beginnings.

‘Mum!’ Sam yelled from downstairs. ‘He’s been, come and see!’

‘Coming!’ I replied and ran down to join them.

Chapter 47

The living room was a happy muddle of Christmas morning chaos; the smell of cinnamon rolls drifting from the kitchen (I was so proud of myself for weighing out flour, yeast and water for the dough last night when all I’d really wanted to do was carry on kissing Dylan all night long), pine needles all over the floor from where Sam’s enthusiastic diving for his presents had knocked them from their branches, and wrapping paper strewn across the room like a festive snowstorm. And the soundtrack to the festivities was the best Christmas tunes, courtesy of Dylan’s playlist, just loud enough for us to sing along to. Gus was in heaven, shredding paper with his teeth and not caring one bit that he was wearing the most ridiculous Christmas jumper.

My happy little boy sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, cheeks flushed, a pile of chocolate coins beside him, unwrapping his presents while I sipped my coffee and touched my finger to the heart-shaped locket Dylan had given me, my feet cosy inside my new sheepskin slippers from Sam. Dylan was valiantly wrangling toys out of seemingly impenetrable packaging and making a list of the various battery sizes needed for new games when Sam let out a gasp as he tore the paper from a huge box.

‘A LEGO airport! With planes and everything!’ he shouted, eyes wide with joy. He ran to the chimney and cried up it. ‘Thank you, Santa.’

‘You like it then, huh?’ Dylan beamed proudly.

‘Clever Santa,’ I said, squeezing Dylan’s arm affectionately. ‘Fancy him knowing you want to be a pilot.’

Dylan grinned at me. ‘Every pilot’s got to start somewhere.’