Chapter Twenty-Six
When I was little, I would lie awake in bed on Christmas morning, counting backwards from one hundred over and over until I heard my mum moving in the next room, Dad reluctantly staggering downstairs in his red and blue striped towelling dressing gown to put the kettle on, turn on the tree lights, assemble the piles of present.
Then I would close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, waiting for her to come and wake me, to confirm Father Christmas had in fact paid us a visit, at which point I would vault out of bed and race to the living room, Mum laughing behind me.
According to the wind-up alarm clock on my bedside table, it was almost six a.m. when I opened my eyes the next morning, those long retired feelings of excitement and anticipation fluttering in my belly.
But instead of toys and games, I rolled over to see Father Christmas had been to Balmaclay and left me a gift in the shape of Callum McClay.
His body curled around mine when he felt me stir, just as it had on the train, only now we were both naked and when I felt his erection pressing into my lower back, I didn’t jump out of bed and run away.
Instead I lifted the hand that rested so casually on my chest to my lips, kissing each finger in turn, replaying all of the places they’d been the night before.
There wasn’t an inch of me he hadn’t possessed, claimed as his own, and there wasn’t a single part of his body I hadn’t explored with my hands, my mouth.
We’d devoured each other, riding the tide and cresting higher and higher until we crashed to the shore, exhilarated and exhausted.
It’s just the oxytocin, I told myself, practically euphoric when the fingers that had been on my lips grasped my throat as he kissed my shoulder, my back, the nape of my neck.
It’s nothing more than a hormone response to physical stimuli.
Skin on skin, a thumb brushing the peaks of my breast, fingers splayed on my stomach, his hand between my thighs.
My body was only reacting as it was programmed to, the way human bodies had been programmed to react for thousands of years, I knew that.
But still.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he whispered, a rough raw sound in my ear as he pushed me onto my belly, my greedy gasp affirming consent, and slid inside me with one welcome thrust.
As much as I knew I needed time to think, space to ask myself what came next, it was impossible to drag myself away from him.
When we finally forced ourselves out of bed, it was only to move to the shower together and, soon enough, my back was flush against the tiles, one leg hitched over his hip, the soap dish making its disapproval known by digging into my vertebrae every time Callum drove into me.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care when we brushed our teeth side by side.
I didn’t care when he towel-dried my hair even though I knew his vigorous rubbing would surely lead to frizz.
I didn’t care when I chose a nonsensical outfit of mismatched pieces from my suitcase, and I didn’t care as I watched him pull on the same clothes he’d worn the day before.
I was the human embodiment of bliss, boneless desire.
Anything other than whatever was happening at this precise moment was a problem for future Laura.
More than a decade of telling myself I didn’t need this, that wanting someone, that being wanted, wasn’t missing from my life, and it was all undone in a matter of hours.
I turned my phone over to see ten messages from Desi and Joel, nine texts demanding to know where I was and when we were leaving and one photo of Desi fast asleep with an eyeliner pencil moustache on her upper lip, Joel in the corner of the frame giving me a thumbs up.
‘It’s almost nine,’ Callum said, brushing my damp hair back to cup my face in his hands. ‘Everyone’ll be wondering what’s happened to us.’
He smiled, pupils dilated, dimples appearing in his cheeks as his goofy grin spread ever wider. I dropped my phone on the bed and my hands covered his hands. I had to be touching him at all times.
‘They’ll live,’ I told him. ‘Probably something good on the telly, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Sound of Music.’
‘Mum doesn’t let us watch TV on Christmas morning. She still forces us all to go to church first then it’s no telly until after lunch.’
‘That’s a denial of basic human rights,’ I gasped. ‘I’m so sorry for your suffering. But you’re right, we should make an appearance. Also, I’m bloody starving.’
‘Wait.’ Callum rushed across the room to the fireplace. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
He looked almost shy as he unhooked one of the stockings and held it out in front of him.
‘You said your mum always filled your stocking,’ he explained. ‘It’s not much, it’s just—’
Without taking it from him, I cut him off with a kiss.
Stars exploded, fireworks shot off and I didn’t even care what was inside the stocking because I knew what was inside his heart.
He was a good man. A kind, sweet, considerate man, and the thought that he had ever believed himself to be anything else ate me up.
‘Thank you,’ I said, standing on my tallest tiptoes, arms looped around his neck.
‘You don’t even know what it is yet,’ he replied, a glassy, happy glow in his eyes. ‘Could be a lump of coal.’
‘I’m sure there are plenty of people downstairs who will tell you that’s all I deserve.’
Releasing my grip, I took the stocking and stuck my hand inside to find three small packages. Callum took the stocking as I pulled out the slightly larger of the three and tore open the wrapping paper. Inside was a great big bag of Swedish candy.
‘The food of your homeland,’ he grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I made sure it’s vegan.’
‘So thoughtful,’ I laughed and he held open the stocking for me to pull out the second gift.
‘Ah, that’s in case you decide to leave the spa and go into business for yourself. I don’t know if they’re the proper ones but at least there’s something to get you started.’
Two palm-sized smooth, rounded rocks, so dark they were almost black, tumbled out of their loosely taped wrapping paper and into my hand and my smile stretched so wide, my cheeks ached.
‘Are these for massage or for when I decide to become a world champion stone skimmer?’ I asked, testing their pleasing weight in my hands. ‘Because I could go either way right now if neurosurgery doesn’t work out.’
‘Multipurpose tools for the multitasking woman.’
He bit back a smile as I tore the wrapping paper from the final gift.
Inside was a blue velvet pouch and I tipped the contents out into my palm to reveal a small silver pin.
Callum took it from my hand and fastened it to my jumper, pulling the fabric away from my body to make sure he didn’t scratch me.
‘It’s a Luckenbooth brooch,’ he said, closing the fastening and sliding it into place. ‘Two hearts intertwined with a crown on top and a thistle in the middle. It’s a traditional Scottish symbol. To remind you of this week.’
‘As if I’d ever be able to forget it,’ I told him, pressing his gift to my heart. ‘When did you do all this?’
‘Yesterday. When Desi was trying to look up that bagpiper’s kilt and I went back to the car to put money in the parking meter.’
‘I assumed you were too embarrassed to be seen with us.’ I was still staring at the brooch. It was beautiful. ‘Thank you so much, but I feel terrible, I don’t have anything for you.’
His eyes glittered. ‘I’m sure you can come up with something.’
‘We should go downstairs before they come looking for us,’ I whispered as he pulled me close, without even the slightest desire to share him with anyone else ever.
‘We should show our faces for ten minutes or so, but I think we’ve both got migraines coming on today.’
My entire being buzzed with happiness as we moved as one towards the door, our steps in sync. It wasn’t until we walked out of my room and onto the landing I was convinced the rest of the world did in fact still exist.
‘Callum,’ I said, slowing down before we reached the stairs, the grim spectre of reality lurking at the bottom. ‘What are we going to say?’
‘What do you mean?’
He was still beaming, glowing even, not a trace of concern on his happy face.
‘About this?’
I raised our joined hands between us. Callum shrugged.
‘Why would we say anything? As far as anyone else is concerned, nothing’s changed.’
He pulled me on and I followed, still floating, only now there was something less than appealing hovering outside my blissful bubble. Why say anything? Wouldn’t we have to eventually? Unless I was about to legally change my name and retrain as a massage therapist.
‘At last.’ Derek slapped the sides of his armchair when we walked into the family room. ‘Good of you to grace us with your presence.’
Desi shot me the filthiest look, Lizzie let out a breath it appeared she’d been holding in since I’d last seen her, and Joel and Rory, side by side on the sofa, looked up from their phones for a second. Then looked back down.
‘Coffee?’ Callum asked and I nodded. He squeezed my hand before letting go, a silent promise to return while I made uncomfortable eye contact with my best friend, then quickly flicked my attention to a bowl filled with Cadbury’s Roses in the middle of the coffee table.
Wait, no, Roses and Quality Street. True decadence.
‘Then we’re doing presents!’ Rory called when he disappeared. ‘So don’t take all day.’
Presents.
I tore my eyes away from the bowl of untouched sweets and peered under the tree. Mounds and mounds of beautifully wrapped presents.
‘We really should wait for Elsie,’ Lizzie said, worrying the hem of her knee-length tartan skirt. ‘She’ll be done with her rounds soon.’
But Rory was already under the tree, sorting the gifts into piles.
‘She said not to,’ he barked. One pile, two piles, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. ‘Get real, Mother, we all know she’s no intention of coming back.’
Eight piles of presents. Eight people currently in the house.