Chapter Three
At lunchtime, I sat in the staff canteen, eating spaghetti Bolognese, and doing my best not to drip the sauce on my tie. Around me, the talk was of Christmas: making plans to go Christmas shopping, to take kids to pantomimes, and to hold or attend parties.
When was the last time I had gone to a party? Apart from the office variety, of course.
I was just wondering that myself. I tried not to jump when Mike appeared next to me, gazing with interest at my lunch.
Christ, I’d never been the jumpy sort, but this was ridiculous. Will you not do that? I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed my reaction. Fortunately, my co-workers were all engrossed in their conversations.
Thank God. Because how in the hell would I explain what I was seeing?
Instantly, Mike’s face fell. I’m sorry. I’ve not quite got the hang of making my entrance gently.
I regretted my outburst. I didn’t mean to yell, even if it was inside my head. It’s just that… You have to admit, this is a strange situation.
Mike nodded. I get that. And I promise, I’ll only be here until I’m finished.
Yes, but until you’ve finished what? That’s the part that worries me. You’re obviously here for a reason, and you won’t tell me yet. Then you keep making remarks about cute guys. I couldn’t resist. As if I’d listen to you when it comes to men.
Mike blinked and he gave me an indignant glance. What does that mean?
I remember the guys you used to look at.
Mike smirked. I looked at you, didn’t I?
And I’m probably the most normal man you ever looked at.
Mike’s eyebrows reached higher. Oh really? Give me an example of someone who wasn’t normal looking.
I folded my arms, my lunch forgotten. Let’s see. What about that guy at the awards dinner you took me to? You remember the one. He wore a kilt.
Mike frowned. And what’s wrong with a kilt? He grinned. Kilts are sexy.
Nothing’s wrong with kilts. It was the way he couldn’t keep his hands out of his sporran that brings him to mind. I tried not to smile.
Mike coughed. Okay, he was a little… self-obsessed.
He was obsessed with something, all right. Then there was the guy who collected beer mats.
There’s nothing wrong with collecting things. Mike set his jaw.
I agree. But when he told you he’d covered every internal wall of his flat with beer mats, that should have set up a warning signal.
Mike studied the table. Do you miss me?
My stomach clenched. That’s not fair. Don’t ask me that. Besides, if you can see into my head, you already know the answer.
Mike lifted his gaze and looked me in the eye. I didn’t expect you to give up on living when I went.
I couldn’t do this. Not today.
I got to my feet, picked up my tray, and headed to the drop-off point. I slotted it into a space, then walked out of the canteen. My heart sank as I approached my desk and Mike was already there, his expression sorrowful.
I know what today is. That’s why I am here. Well, part of the reason why I’m here. He regarded me calmly. It’s time to let me go.
I stared at him in amazement. I thought I already had.
Mike shook his head. If that was true, then there’d be some sign of Christmas around the flat.
I know you, Andy. I remember the big kid you always became as Christmas drew nearer.
And I think that magic, that joy of Christmas is still inside you somewhere.
You’ve let yourself push it away, someplace way down deep, out of sight.
I blinked. So what does that make you—the ghost of Christmas present?
Mike’s sad smile hadn’t altered. You need to let me go, and start living again. Because what I see isn’t a life—it’s existence.
I couldn’t think of a single word to say in reply, because he’d nailed it.
Mike gave a slow nod. You know I’m right. And I don’t expect you to jump in with both feet, not after this long. So why don’t you start small?
There was that thought again, the one that said he had something particular in mind. What do you suggest?
Mike didn’t hesitate. After work. There’s a coffee shop on the way to the Tube, isn’t there?
They’re advertising Christmas drinks. You know, coffee with flavourings.
Plus, they have mince pies and stollen. So why don’t you stop there on your way to the Tube and have a Christmas coffee?
Sit in a warm space, with music playing, and do something… Christmassy?
I gazed at him thoughtfully. And if I agree to do this, does that mean you leave me alone for the rest of today?
Mike bit his lip. For the rest of your workday, yes.
The implication was that he’d be around later, but right then I was happy with the thought of several hours without him. Trying to concentrate on my work, not knowing if he was suddenly about to appear…
Yeah. I didn’t need the distraction.
Okay. I’ll do it. What harm would one coffee do?
Mike beamed. Thank you. And before I could utter another word, he did that slow fade again.
I waited, convinced he would suddenly reappear without warning.
Nothing.
I took a deep calming breath and got on with my day.
I stepped into the shop’s warm interior and was immediately hit by the aroma of coffee and spices.
A rush of memories overtook me, and it was a good thing Mike wasn’t there, because they hit me hard.
Memories of weekends spent Christmas shopping, and breaks taken in coffee shops just like this one, the two of us content to sit in the window and watch the world pass by.
It was only then that I realized what lay behind my avoidance of coffee shops at this time of year. Self-preservation is a powerful force.
The queue wasn’t huge and there were several empty tables.
My first thought was to leave, but I’d promised Mike.
I joined the queue and peered at the menu board behind the counter, trying to decide what I was going to drink.
Eventually I chose a salted caramel latte.
That would have been it, except the mince pies looked so delicious that I couldn’t resist. I took my tray containing the mince pie and the tall glass, and turned to find a seat.
I almost dropped the tray. In the time it had taken me to reach the cash desk, every table in the coffee shop had become occupied. In fact, it looked like every seat was taken.
How is that even possible?
“Excuse me?”
I glanced in the direction of the voice. The speaker was a guy dressed in a brown leather jacket, a cream scarf wrapped around his neck. He gestured to the empty chair facing him. “If you don’t mind sharing a table, you can sit here.”
One last glance around the coffee shop revealed it to be the only empty chair in the place. I gave him a polite smile. “It’s okay. I’m sure there’ll be a space soon. But thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose. But seeing as this place suddenly got really busy, you might have a wait. You’re not gonna bother me.”
He had a point. And he was right about the speed with which the place had filled. I pulled back the chair and sat down, before placing my mince pie and latte on the table and leaning the tray against the table leg.
The guy smiled. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna bug you and make small talk. I’m just here to enjoy my coffee.”
And there was my silver lining. I said nothing but gave him a polite nod. The latte was too hot to drink, so I started with the mince pie. The flavour burst upon my tongue as I bit into the sweet pastry. I rolled my eyes. “God, that’s good.”
The guy opposite me laughed. “And that’s the other reason I come here. Their mince pies are delicious.” He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve already had two.”
In spite of my decision not to chat, I had to smile. “I promise I won’t tell.”
I relaxed into my chair and took a better look at my surroundings.
A decorated tree stood in the corner of the coffee shop, covered in little white lights and gold tinsel.
A gold star sparkled at its summit. The little white lights were repeated, around the door, the counter, and surrounding the menu board.
“It certainly feels like Christmas in here,” I murmured.
“I must admit, I can’t stand it when the Christmas decorations go up on the first of December. I always wait to put up mine.”
I blinked. “Me too. My parents always used the rule of twelve days before Christmas, to be taken down twelve days after, on Epiphany. I guess some habits are hard to break.”
The guy’s eyes widened. “My parents were like that too. I mean, it’s not like they’re going to run out of Christmas trees, right?
” He laughed. “Although, there was this one year. I’d meant to buy a tree earlier, but my time kept being eaten up.
Before I knew, it was Christmas Eve and I had no tree.
I trudged up the hill to my local florists where I knew there’d been trees standing outside.
He had one tree left. It was very tall and very thin, and even when I was looking at it, I had the feeling it would be too tall for my flat. ”
“And was it?”
The guy snorted. “Put it this way. Before I chopped two feet off its base, it was scraping the ceiling.”
I chuckled. “Now you know why no one wanted it.”
The guy nodded. “That was also the year my cat decided to climb it. One minute the tree was standing, the next, there was tinsel and smashed baubles everywhere, and my cat doing her best impression of ‘who, me’?”
I took a sip of my latte. “Hence why I don’t have a cat—or a dog.” Except that wasn’t quite true. Mike had never been keen on pets, and I went along with it.
I just hadn’t gotten around to getting one since he’d gone.
The guy gave a sad smile. “I don’t have a cat anymore.”
There was something in that smile that touched me. “Did she run away?”
“Remember that really bad snow a couple of years ago? When it lingered for three weeks or more, and we felt like it would never go? She’d gone out on early morning manoeuvres, and I guess she was moving a little slower, because a car hit her.”
My heart went out to him. He’d clearly loved his pet. “I’m so sorry.”
The guy shrugged. “It had been a bad time all round. Losing Miski was just one more blow.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, that’s enough. I promised to leave you alone, didn’t I?”
“I liked your Christmas tree story,” I said truthfully. Then I caught my breath as a familiar figure faded into view. Mike gave me a cheerful wave, standing behind the guy’s chair.
You made it then.
Before I could think of a response, a sudden breeze from the open door caught the guy’s napkin, sending it fluttering to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, and I couldn’t hold in my gasp as Mike moved in, his hand wrapped around his dick—and smacked it on top of the guy’s head.
What the hell?