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At five past five, I pull on my coat, say goodbye to Mark and step out into the snow-covered street. Instantly, Nick catches me in his arms and crushes his lips against mine, consuming me with a heat that makes my knees tremble. After what seems forever, he releases me and tenderly strokes my cheek with his thumb.
“Ready?” he whispers.
“Uh-huh.” Feeling light-headed, I take his arm and he leads me through hoards of late-night shoppers and tourists in the direction of Bond Street. Everything looks like Santa’s Grotto: coloured lights and seasonal store displays.Rubbing my arms against the cold, I stamp my feet in an effort to keep warm. My eyelashes are frozen and I can’t feel my legs, but I don’t care. With Nick beside me I feel like I’m walking on air.Everything is so wonderfully Christmassy, it’s like I’m a child again.
We walk at a steady pace, blending flawlessly with all the other couples out for Monday night in search of a last-minute bargain. I feel so proud to be on his arm, yet at the same time it’s also a little weird; a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I wonder what all of these people would say if they knew Nick is a vampire. I whisper my fears to him, but he just laughs it off with a shrug. He says he likes the danger; likes the fact that we have this big secret that no one else is in on.
I have to agree it is sort of fun and a little scary.
Around six o’clock, we reach Selfridges and fight our way through the crowds to peruse the designer shelves. Clutching my hand, Nick takes me up the escalators to the second floor where he buys my mother a gorgeous Chloé shoulder bag, a Rolex watch for Dad and a set of gold cufflinks for Michael. Then he asks me what I want for Christmas and tells me I can have anything in the shop.
I shake my head and give his hand a little squeeze. “That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want anything.”
“Are you sure? I told you, you can have anything. No expense spared.”
“No, I’ve already got what I want. Nick, you’re the best present a girl could wish for.”
He smiles down at me warmly, his expression filled with love. “Do you have any other shopping to do? Have you bought your mum and dad their presents yet?”
“No, I already crotched their gifts months ago. I made Dad and Michael reindeer sweaters and Mum a new scarf.”
“That sounds great. You’re so creative, my darling.”
I beam at the compliment. For a moment, I forget all of the darkness and dare to dream of leading an ordinary life with him. Golden moments like these are what it’s all about.
After Nick’s paid for his stuff, we head back to find the car, which is parked in one off the turnings off Harley Street. As we walk, I ask him if he ever has any problems with religious symbols, especially at this time of year. Surely, I reason, his adverse reaction to crucifixes means he must steer clear of all objects associated with Jesus? Okay, so churches are easily enough avoid but what, for example, would happen if he saw someone wearing a crucifix in the street? Or saw a crucifix on TV? Or in a shop window? Would that cause an immediate reaction or does the crucifix have to have direct contact with his skin?
“It doesn’t work like that,” Nick smiles. “Inanimate religious objects are not enough to produce a reaction in me—it is thebelief systembehind them that affects me.” He pauses as hetakes out his car keys and unlocks the doors to his Jaguar. “On its own, a crucifix is nothing but a scrap of metal, but if the person wearing it truly believes in Christ, then it affects me.”
He laughs bitterly. “Luckily for me, a recent survey showedthat only 25 per cent of the British public actually believe in God, as opposed 50 per cent who definitely don't. What this means is that there are far moreatheists out there than you think, despite England being described as a ‘Christian country.’ For most people, Christmas is a time to stuff their faces; for greetings card companies and supermarkets to milk the masses and quadruple their sales of turkey. Very few people actually care about what this time of year originally represented andin the wake of terrorism, the majority now view religion as the cause of more harm than good in the world.”
Nodding silently, I open the door and slip into the passenger seat. Nick loads up the trunk with his purchases.This is starting to get very interesting.
“So,” I say. “That must mean I believe in God.”
Nick doesn’t answer straight away. Quietly, he gets in the car and fastens up his seatbelt. Then he looks at me and says, “Yes, I suppose it does. For me to have had that awful reaction when you gave me the crucifix, I would say it most certainly points to that.”
My brows furrow. “But I didn’t think I did…not really. Neither of my parents is particularly religious. Okay, so my mother’s a non-practicing Catholic and Dad’s obsessed with all that New Age stuff, but no one ever forced me to go to church. Of course I’ve been a couple of times over the years, but that’s just for funerals and weddings.”
“Well, for whatever reason, you must have an unwavering faith, despite what you say. Sometimes our true beliefs are buried deep in our subconscious and only manifest at times of great urgency.”
My heart soars with hope. “So God exists? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? All that stuff about Jesus and the Christmas story is real?”
He makes a non-committal sound. “Hey look, we’re running low on fuel. Keep an eye out for a petrol garage.”
“Please answer the question.”
He laughs good-humoredly. “My lips are sealed.”
I bounce up and down, barely able to contain my excitement. “But Nick, for vampires to hate crucifixes, that must mean that Jesus was real. It means he was the son of God!”
Nick snickers and covers my mouth to shush me. “Sssh, not so loud. Do you want the whole street to hear our conversation?”
“Just answer yes or no. Did Jesus exist?”
Shaking his head, Nick starts the engine and carefully steers the car onto the main road and heads in the direction of south London. Throughout the journey, he refuses to answer any of my questions, saying that when the time is right, he’ll reopen this discussion. But for now, he just wants us to enjoy the drive.
Playfully, I agree to drop the subject but make a mental note to revisit this another time. There’s no way he’s getting off that easily.
