The Christmas Stocking and Other Stories Read online

  But she knew, as she followed the motorbike along the lanes, that she was using her excitement at packing as an excuse to cover her faint guilt at visiting a man to see his house, even in daylight. If he’d been an unattractive toad it would have been different; she wouldn’t have felt guilty at all. But he was very attractive indeed. And not remotely a toad.

  The bike turned off the Cotswold lane and she followed it along a tree-lined path. The trees grew thicker and became actual woods. The sky had darkened a bit as well and she knew she didn’t have long before the daylight would be gone. She parked where he indicated, in a large lay-by.

  ‘Oh wow! Real woods!’ she said when she had got out. ‘It’s beautiful!’ It was also quite a lot colder amongst the trees, and much crisper. In the town it had been chilly but damp.

  ‘It is quite isolated but I like it.’

  There was emphasis on the ‘I’. Romy felt he should have said, ‘We like it.’ His words indicated his New England girlfriend felt a bit differently. But Romy was probably imagining things.

  ‘Come on in and I’ll give you the tour.’

  ‘Let’s get your stuff unpacked first.’

  When she’d seen the decorations safely into the house, she took one of the food bags into the kitchen end of the big, open-plan room. There weren’t any proper units, just a stainless-steel sink and a big cooker flanked by a couple of old cupboards, but she loved the way it was separate but also part of the room. It had so much potential it was hard not to squeak enthusiastically. The bag clinked revealingly as she set it down on a makeshift worktop.

  ‘You don’t seem to have bought a lot of food, considering it’s Christmas and people usually buy three times as much as they’re likely to eat,’ she said and then wondered if she’d sounded nosy and rude.

  He didn’t seem to object. ‘Well, I was going to friends for Christmas and Boxing Day. I reckon it’s best to buy everything when it’s half price after Christmas.’

  ‘Cheapskate! You’re happy to bum meals off your friends so you can buy everything cheaper afterwards!’ She was only pretending to be shocked. Really she thought it was a good idea.

  ‘Hey! I was going to take both lots brandy, port, some of that vile cream liqueur that my girlfriend likes and some very nice red wine.’

  Romy put down the box that contained food. She liked Bailey’s herself and wondered if Gus would have bought her some. She suspected his parents would have referred to it as a ‘stickie’ and disapproved.

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s get your Christmas tree set up.’

  They assembled Romy’s painted branches in the corner by the huge glass wall that looked out on to the woods. It took a little while to add all the decorations as he’d bought quite a few but the effect was wonderful.

  ‘This is lovely!’ Romy said when they’d lit all the little battery tea lights. ‘Handier if they were connected and you could just put them on with a switch but I designed them as individual decorations. I didn’t expect them to be sold as a job lot.’

  ‘So what is it you do, exactly? When you’re not flogging tea lights?’

  She laughed. He was teasing her and she liked that. ‘I’m doing a master’s in Art in the Environment. I’ve deviated slightly. I set out doing something sensible but got waylaid.’ She laughed again. ‘My boyfriend thinks I’m mad to have given up on something that would have given me a qualification – to teach maybe – but when I realised I could do an MA in a subject I loved, I had to give it a go.’ It was why she was always looking for ways to make a bit of extra money.

  ‘I think that sounds very cool,’ said Felix, looking at her intently.

  Embarrassed, she said, ‘It does mean I’m always broke, of course. But I don’t really mind.’

  He seemed to pull himself together. ‘Now let me show you my house before the light goes.’

  The house was enormous and luxurious – or it would be when it was finished. The kitchen was positioned so it got all the views. Skylights above it meant it also captured every scrap of natural light. The sitting room had a huge wood burner, several tatty old sofas and not much other furniture if you overlooked the piles and piles of vinyl records. The walls were stone and desperately needed some large artworks (Romy’s opinion, and she kept it to herself).

  Upstairs there were three bedrooms with gorgeous bathrooms attached, with baths looking out into the trees: wet rooms with plenty of room for two; and a master bedroom so beautiful it made Romy catch her breath with admiration and envy.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ she said. ‘Absolutely amazing.’

  ‘It will be,’ said Felix. ‘Sadly only the downstairs shower is plumbed in, the sitting room is still a bit of a mess and the kitchen hasn’t even been started.’ He sounded as if he were quoting someone. ‘Oh, and the bedroom smells of bats.’

  ‘Does it? I didn’t notice. Mind you, I don’t know what bats smell of. And a gorgeous scented candle would fix that, wouldn’t it?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Seriously, something from Jo Malone could make the bedroom smell heavenly. Your girlfriend will love it then.’

  He didn’t answer for a moment and then said, ‘I hope so. Do you want to see the studio?’

  Now she felt bad for suggesting the candle. It was none of her business. She was glad that he had changed the subject. ‘Oh, yes please.’

  ‘Though it’s for musicians, not artists,’ he added.

  ‘I’m not fussy.’

  Crossing the cobbled yard from the house Romy became aware it had got a lot colder, even since they’d been in the house. She slipped a little on a stone and she hoped it was water, not ice. She determined not to linger too long in the studio. She should get home and pack. The days were short and she didn’t want to be driving through the dark woods in the dusk. And for some reason being at Felix’s house in the evening rather than just after lunch would seem even more wrong than it felt already. And it felt wrong, she knew, because she fancied him.

  The studio was far more complete than the house. It had beautiful wood floors, strange square boxes attached to the walls which she assumed were for soundproofing, a huge curved desk with hundreds of switches on it and a grand piano. There were some photographs of bands on the wall, one of which Romy recognised. Romy couldn’t even guess how much it would have cost but it didn’t look cheap.

  She felt a flash of sympathy for his girlfriend. His priorities were for the studio, but if that was how he made his money it was fair enough.

  ‘I expect you’re thinking that I spent too much on the studio and not enough on the house,’ said Felix, a touch defensively. ‘But it is how I earn my living: producing music.’

  ‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ said Romy. ‘After all, you’ve got to earn money, you can’t just spend it all on a fancy house.’

  He grinned suddenly, his teeth flashing. ‘Although part of the reason a lot of the house is unfinished is because a mate was doing the plumbing and he went and had a baby and he ran out of spare time.’

  ‘Unusual,’ said Romy solemnly.

  ‘I meant – you knew I meant – that his wife had a baby. But you are right. I should stop being a cheapskate and pay someone to do it.’

  ‘I absolved you of being a cheapskate when you told me how much alcohol you were giving to your friends.’

  ‘That’s all right then.’

  ‘Look—’

  They both spoke at once, but Felix motioned for Romy to continue.

  ‘I really should be heading off,’ she said regretfully.

  Felix said, ‘Why don’t I make you some tea or something? And a sandwich?’ She wasn’t sure, but Romy had a feeling he didn’t want their time together to end either. And she was hungry. It had been a horrendously early start and her banana and muesli bar felt like a long time ago.

  ‘I’ve got bacon,’ he added temptingly.

  Romy succumbed. ‘That would be great. Then I really must go.’

  At Felix’s suggestion, Romy lit the w
ood burner while Felix made bacon butties. He had proper rolls and toasted them lightly before adding the bacon. He also had a full range of sauces and while Romy liked hers plain, it was nice to be offered things. She also accepted a mug of tea.

  They ate and drank their tea in front of the fire and the conversation flowed easily. They had so much in common: a love of the outdoors, bats, music, the same sense of humour and outlook on life in general. Romy felt so at ease; she could hardly believe they’d only met a few hours before.

  ‘So, tell me why you’ve got a picture of Flying Angels on your wall in the studio?’ she asked.

  ‘The Angels? Old friends. They come here to rehearse sometimes and do a little mixing. Do you know them?’

  ‘Well, they are quite local. I heard them in a pub.’ She’d taken Gus along and although he pretended to like them she hadn’t been convinced.

  ‘That’s cool! They’ve got a gig coming up. We should go and see it together.’

  ‘Actually, we shouldn’t,’ she said, putting her mug on the floor by the fireplace and getting to her feet. ‘And I should go home now.’

  She didn’t trust herself – and possibly not him either – to keep things friendly. She needed to get herself out of there before something happened that they would both regret.

  ‘Are you sure? Are you sure you have to go?’ He got up too and seemed distressed at the thought of her leaving.

  ‘I am. I’ve got a ridiculously early flight in the morning. And the coach before that. But it has been – lovely. I love your house in the woods and I really didn’t think the bedroom smelt of bat poo.’ She had added this to lighten the tone but it seemed a bit too intimate now.

  He walked her to the door and on up the hill to where her car was parked. He still didn’t seem to want her to go. And she walked as quickly as she could to make sure she did leave and didn’t give up on Gus, her flight to France and everything sensible in her life.

  ‘Well, goodbye,’ she said, doing up her hat.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said. He looked as if he might kiss her cheek but she stepped back so he couldn’t.

  She got in the car and pulled out of the lay-by.

  She found tears pricking her eyes as she drove slowly away. That was possibly why she didn’t see the bend coming, just as she hit a patch of black ice, and when the road curved her car went straight, over the slight camber and into a tree. Because she was going so slowly she wasn’t hurt, but watching the front of her car crumple, as if in slow motion, was acutely painful.

  Her car was above the ground on the driver’s side, but she could still get out and lower herself down. Then she clambered up the bank and back on to the track.

  Felix was there, panting. ‘I was watching from the upstairs window, I saw what was happening. Are you OK?’ He took her into his arms without waiting for her to reply.

  It was lovely but it didn’t help. She felt more like crying than ever. ‘I’m fine,’ she said huskily.

  Then her phone pinged; she could hear it in her car.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Felix and ran off.

  She was calm by the time he got back. Her father had bought her membership of a rescue service. They would pull her out and the car was probably drivable. It would be fine.

  ‘Here’s your bag,’ said Felix. ‘I didn’t want to go in your bag and get your phone.’

  There were two text messages. The first was from the airline to say her flight had been cancelled due to ice on the runways. The second one was from Gus, who’d obviously also found out about the cancellation.

  ‘So soz about your flight! Nightmare! You’ll have to try and rebook and come over the day after Boxing Day. But we’re all leaving the day after that so maybe it’s too far to come just for a day? You’ll find some local friends to have Crimbo with? Catch up afterwards, OK? And very merry Christmas to you, lovely girl.’

  ‘What is it?’ Felix asked. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘My flight is cancelled due to black ice. And Gus, who obviously has the app on his phone and so knew that, suggests I have Christmas with local friends.’ She paused. ‘I probably can’t even drive to any of them now. I wonder if I could get a taxi?’ If she could, it would cost a fortune.

  ‘Spending it with local friends is a brilliant idea!’ said Felix. ‘Spend it with me! We’re friends, I hope, and you couldn’t get more local.’

  While she couldn’t help smiling, Romy said, ‘I can’t. And you’re supposed to be going to friends yourself.’

  ‘I could cancel them – they only asked me because they thought I was going to be on my own. Why not spend Christmas with me? Your flight is cancelled. What else are you going to do? Your car’s not drivable and a taxi would cost an arm and a leg.’

  ‘But you have a girlfriend. I should at least try to get home.’ She remembered then about the broken boiler, no heat, no hot water and no landlord to fix it. (He’d gone away for Christmas.)

  ‘Yes, but she’s not due here until just before New Year and nothing bad will happen. You have my absolute word on that – scout’s honour. We’ll have Christmas together as friends.’

  Suppressing a giggle at the idea of this music-producing biker boy being a boy scout, she looked for another reason to leave. ‘But what about my car? I can’t just leave it nose to nose with a tree.’

  He smiled. ‘I don’t have a sticker on my motorbike but my other car is a Land Rover – you need one living here. When the black ice has gone, I’ll pull you out, no problem.’

  ‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Maybe, if the weather improves, I could go home then.’

  ‘Didn’t you say your boiler was broken? You want to go back to a cold house?’

  ‘The boiler heats the hot water, too,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then stay! I promise nothing will happen that would worry either of our partners. I really respect your feelings about this and they’re my feelings too. Cheating is wrong.’

  She felt a smile of happiness spread over her face. She had no alternative. She pushed aside the guilt and allowed the bubble of happiness to rise. She didn’t have to spend Christmas with her boyfriend’s hearty family but instead with a lovely man who was fun and interested in the same things as she was. She couldn’t believe her luck, really.

  ‘I do have to say,’ she said as they walked, arm in arm (in case she was wobbly after her prang), ‘I was rather dreading staying with Gus’s family. They’re terribly kind and all but I don’t think I’d have fitted in. They’re very into quizzes.’

  ‘I like a quiz myself,’ said Felix. ‘Aren’t you keen?’

  ‘No! I like them too. But I’m hopeless at things I feel I should know about. I’m great at art and artists, indie bands, stuff like that. But mountain ranges? No!’

  ‘But if there was one in the paper, you’d give it a go?’

  ‘Only if competition rules don’t apply.’

  ‘You mean you google the answers?’ He seemed a bit shocked.

  ‘No – at least, not until the end when you’re really desperate. I meant no one saying, “Didn’t they teach you geography at that arty school of yours?”’

  ‘They didn’t say that!’ Felix was appalled.

  ‘To be fair, they didn’t. But I was worried that it was the sort of thing they would have said.’

  He pulled her closer towards him in a little hug. ‘Idiot. It won’t be like that if it’s just us. Oh …’ He paused, allowing Romy a couple of seconds to enjoy the ‘just us’ part of his sentence.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I called you an idiot. Not very friendly.’

  ‘But you said it in a friendly way. It’s fine.’

  She felt a little pang of loss as they got to the house and he let her go.

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ he said as they went in. ‘I have an album to finish working on tomorrow. I really can’t take the day off. Will you be OK looking after yourself?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. Then she had an idea. ‘I know!’ she said enthu
siastically. ‘Why don’t you give me a job to do on the house? I’m good at those practical things – far better than I am at quizzes.’

  ‘You don’t have to – you could just veg out in front of the telly.’

  ‘No! I’d rather do something. No point in making Christmas decs now, and my plumbing skills are non-existent, but if you’ve got something that’s maybe a bit delicate for your average builder? I could perhaps do that?’

  ‘Actually,’ he said slowly, as if pennies were dropping in his mind, ‘I have some lovely Art Nouveau tiles that were taken out of a bomb-damaged house in London. They’ve got cement on the back and they’re all fairly damaged but I think they’d look lovely in the master bathroom. I know it’s all very modern and high end at the moment but a little touch of Arts and Crafts would just make it a bit different.’

  ‘I’d love to do that! Working with reclaimed things is what I like doing best. And if I’m doing a job I won’t feel so – guilty.’

  ‘I’ll never give you any cause to feel guilty – or me to feel guilty. I promise.’

  ‘But I’ll feel better if I’m contributing in some way. My being here will be justified.’

  ‘I think we should open one of the bottles,’ said Felix. ‘To celebrate. Then we should eat something.’

  ‘I know what I want!’ said Romy. ‘The sickly cream liqueur that your girlfriend likes and you obviously hate.’

  ‘No argument from me. We won’t be fighting over that one. With or without ice?’

  ‘Too cold for ice. On its own, please.’

  ‘I’ll have a whisky mac. It’s my designated Christmas drink.’

  They brought their drinks to the fireside, taking a sofa each. Romy had removed her boots at the door and was happy to be able to snuggle up.

  ‘I’ll get you another pair of socks, in case you’re cold,’ said Felix, and leapt up from his own sofa.

  Romy loved the way he moved quickly, gracefully. Gus was a bit ponderous for someone of his age, she reflected.

  Felix came back not just with socks, but with a lovely mohair blanket. ‘I bought this locally,’ he said. ‘It felt wrong to leave it in the shop. It was so beautiful. Sadly,’ he added, ‘apparently it’s not the right colour.’ He paused. ‘Wrong green.’