Chapter 18 December 18th
After making Dec’s birthday cake and wrapping Debbie’s gift, I spent last night preparing for this evening.
Cleaning, tidying, unpacking more boxes, changing my bed, then preparations for dinner.
I got up early, ran, checked on Mr. Percival, who checked on the cake, and then I trudged to work in yet more snow later than usual.
It’s got to the point people have no choice but to get on with life, since the white stuff is here to stay for the foreseeable future.
The first white Christmas in twenty-five years.
I remember the last one so vividly. Dad leaving wet, muddy footprints around the house, Mum fighting her urge to whip out the mop.
The absolute magic of waking up on Christmas morning to a winter wonderland.
I so desperately wanted that for Noah. He didn’t even get to see it snow in his short life.
I fall back against the elevator wall, seeing him in my mind’s eye sitting in the window on Christmas Eve, searching the sky for Santa’s reindeers.
I see him setting out carrots and mince pies.
That one Christmas when he was just old enough to start to understand.
Magical. My lip wobbles, and I quickly get it under control as the doors to the elevator open and whoops of joy and delight snap me out of my daze.
Everyone’s here as early as me? Just because it’s Secret Santa day? My God.
I pull my shoulders back and head down the corridor armed with my divorce papers. Wrapping paper’s being tossed aside, and bodies are doubling over to cope with the power of their belly laughter as they reveal their gifts and showcase them.
“Can you put these though the postage machine?” I ask Meredith when I arrive at her desk, sliding the envelope across to her.
“First class.” I turn around, pause, then turn back.
“Actually, send them Recorded Delivery.” I want to know that Dominic has received and signed his much-loved divorce papers.
“Sure.”
Something catches my eye by her keyboard, and I frown. “Meredith, why is there a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms on your desk?”
Her lips press into a straight line as she reaches for them and slips them into her top drawer. “Secret Santa was trying to be funny.”
“Or massively insensitive.”
“It’s fine. I still have a sense of humour. What happened to your face?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
“To what?”
“The door.”
Meredith sits back in her chair, and I’m quite sure I don’t like the way she’s considering me.
“What?”
“The door?”
“Yes, the door.”
Nodding mildly, she picks up her pen. “The door. I may have used that a few times myself.”
I recoil so much, it takes me back a few steps. “He was physical with you?” I murmur, moving in closer and checking the vicinity.
“He had anger issues. I blamed myself for a long time.” She laughs, low and without humour. “You know, I used to beg him not to leave me. It only happened a few times, but each time it did, somehow I concluded it was my fault.”
“Oh, Meredith.”
She waves a hand flippantly, and it’s wholly inappropriate. “I just hope you’re not in the same situation.”
Compelled to ease her mind, I lean forward on her desk. “The truth is, I got mugged.”
“What?”
“Well, they didn’t take anything, as someone scared them off, so I guess it was more of an attack.”
“Camryn!”
“It’s fine, I’m fine. But if anyone asks, a door did it.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
“No.” It’s now my hand flapping flippantly, dismissing her. “It would be a waste of time. There was no one around, and it was dark.”
“You said someone scared them off.”
“She was yelling from a window, and I doubt she saw anything useful. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Have you?” she asks, tilting her head, her face all kinds of stern.
“I have.” But have I? Because, really, it was only the snow that made the street so deserted.
I’ve never walked the streets of central London and felt vulnerable.
Could I give up walking everywhere? Do I want to?
I shake my head and bring myself back to the present.
“Now, then,” I muse, lifting my chin, my eyes on Meredith’s top drawer. “Any suspects?”
The fleeting blush that creeps onto her cheeks tells me she’s wondered. And, perhaps, has a few ideas. “Maybe.”
I waggle my eyebrows and leave Meredith to continue pondering that. “I’d like updates.”
“Camryn,” she calls. I stop and look back. “Phillip’s really pissed off.”
“Is he causing you problems?”
“It’s fine, I’ve moved out. Staying with my parents, but I just thought I should warn you.”
I don’t tell her I can handle scumbags like Phillip, as it would be demeaning. So instead, I smile and nod, making my way back to my office.
But I don’t make it anywhere near because a crowd has built up, the noise horrendous. Still no Thomas. “Is he in?” I ask Crystal.
“Not yet,” she replies, distracted, as Debbie emerges from the pack, a stupid grin on her face.
She does a little twirl. “They’re fabulous!” she sings. “Where on earth did you find them?”
“Find what?” I ask, passing her and pushing my way through the mob.
“Oh come on, I told you who you were buying for.” She follows me, shutting the door behind us.
“Secret Santa got them for you, Debbie.”
“Fine.” She holds up a gift bag. “You’ve not claimed your present from under the tree.”
“I don’t do gifts.”
“You bought mine,” she points out.
“I didn’t have much choice, Debbie. You fixed it so I had to buy for you, and you’re one of the only people around here that I wouldn’t want to upset.”
Her ample bosom swells. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Shut up and hand me the bag.”
She chuckles and slides it open, then helps herself to a chair, getting comfortable.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching you open your gift.”
“Oh no.” I stand and round my desk, helping Debbie up. “I draw the line there.”
“God, you’re such a Scrooge,” she mutters, shrugging me off and continuing to the door without my assistance. “I’m going to show off my fancy tights.”
“You might need to hand out some sunglasses,” I call as the wood comes between us. Sighing, I eye the bag dangling from my fingers and take the plunge, pulling out something heavy wrapped in tissue paper.
My first gift of any kind in three years. How pitiful.
I unwrap it and stare down at the jar in my hand.
And I don’t feel anything. Not amusement, not insult.
Nothing. Swinging the door open, I call Debbie, stopping her muscling her way through the crowd still blocking the corridor.
I hold up the jar of Humbugs, and she pouts. “The budget was twenty quid, right?”
“Right.”
“I want to file a complaint.”
“To be fair, they’re quite fancy Humbugs.”
“Who drew me?”
“Thomas.” She doesn’t hesitate, and I laugh. What a joke. I spend my working life trying to control his spending habits, and he couldn’t even meet the poxy twenty-pound budget? “Next year, please spare me the inevitable dig.” I slam my door and glance at the clock. Not at the time, but the date.
December eighteenth. I take a breath and swallow hard. For the first time, I know I won’t spend the day in desolate loneliness, where no one else around me feels the same agony and grief. Dec’s the only thing that might get me through tomorrow.
By lunchtime, the noise has finally died down outside my office. I’ve watched my phone between emails, waiting for it to ring, beep, vibrate. Give me anything from Dec.
Nothing.
A knock sounds, Thomas’s signature knock, and I look up in surprise. He’s sought me out voluntarily? “Come in.”
He pokes his head around the door, obviously nervous. I don’t know whether it’s the Humbugs or the fact we still have things to discuss. “Where did you disappear to in such a hurry on Friday?”
“Humbugs?” I ask, holding up the jar.
His smile is more of a grimace. “Can you carve out an hour for me this afternoon?”
I’ve never seen my boss look so serious. “I can do now.”
“I’ve got a one o’clock with the lawyers.”
The lawyers? “Anything I should kn—” My phone rings, and I forget where I am and what I’m doing for a few moments.
“You take that,” Thomas says, backing out. “Say two?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, shutting the door as I scoop up my phone and answer Dec’s call.
“Lunch?” he says.
“Lunch and dinner?”
“I miss you.”
My heart soars as I rise, kicking my heels off and stuffing my feet into my boots. “Normal place?”
“On my way.”
I can’t walk fast enough across Leicester Square, every inch of me buzzing to see him.
Dec rounds the corner as I’m approaching, his shoulders hunched, his hands in his coat pockets and his scarf circled a few times around his neck.
The moment he spots me, his face lights up, his eyes sparkling with flecks of silver.
It sends my knees weak and my heart fluttering so madly I’m sure I could take flight.
Opening his arms, I walk straight into them and snuggle into the shelter and heat of his chest. “You’re freezing,” he mumbles into my hair, his hot breath burning my scalp.
“I don’t feel it.” Anticipation’s kept me warm, and now Dec is. He cups the back of my head and pulls it back, his eyes falling to my lips.
“Will you feel it if I kiss you?”
“Always.”
His lips are on mine in one hitch of my breath, his hot tongue exploring my mouth so softly.
I hum, huddled close to him, swallowing his moans and absorbing his body pushed against mine.
I would happily stand here in the snow and spend all of my lunch break kissing him.
Catching up. He sucks my tongue gently and releases, keeping me close but pulling his head back to look at me. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I reply, smiling.
His eyes fall onto my cheek, checking the mark. “Still sore?” I shake my head and let him tuck me into his side and walk us on. “Tell me about your day,” he says, guiding us across the road toward St. Martin’s Lane.