Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Back at the shelter, Felicity found Penguin Man – ‘It’s James, call me James’ – some dry clothes and he dripped off down the corridor to change while Felicity tended to the tiny kitten in the nursery, padding around in a pair of Andrea’s threadbare welly socks while her own dried on the radiator. Their tiny patient had recovered a little body temperature under the heat lamp but was still disturbingly quiet. Felicity mixed up some milk powder, then gathered her up to her chest and began to feed her some droplets from a tiny syringe while she contemplated the strangeness of the night so far. It was only then that she realised something. It was five past midnight.
‘I guess we should say Happy Christmas,’ she said, looking up at Penguin Man – ‘Honestly, call me James’ – as he approached. He was now dressed in a pair of her black tapered-leg running trousers and a white T-shirt that was several sizes too small and certainly enhanced the, well, sheer broadness of the man. He ran his fingers through his short, blond still-damp hair and made a face.
‘Do we have to?’ he said.
Hmmm, that’s interesting. I wasn’t expecting blond, thought Felicity.
‘Don’t tell me you were all dressed up with nowhere to go?’ she said, gesturing to the carrier bags that now contained the sodden remnants of his alter ego.
‘Ugh. Not exactly.’
‘Care to expand on that?’
Penguin Man let out a long sigh. ‘Well, let’s just say that when your niece has her birthday on Christmas Eve it becomes very difficult to refuse the invitation. It’s become a ‘Thing’ in our family. If a kid’s birthday party wasn’t bad enough, this year she decided she wanted fancy dress. Only… guess who forgot to tell Uncle James?’
He paused and Felicity found she was listening a little too intently and tried to hide it by focusing on the kitten in her hands. As she did so, it shifted position, clearly wanting some more milk. A good sign.
‘It was so late that this was the only bloody costume they had left in my size. Okay, that’s not quite true, it was Penguin Man or Wonder Woman,’ he said, with a lopsided grin, ‘but I just couldn’t pull off those tiny pants.’
She smiled a little too broadly at this, as a vividly detailed image of pulling off his tiny pants appeared in her mind without so much as a by your leave.
‘I just realised I don’t know your name,’ he went on, studying her face with a faint expression of amusement, as if he had guessed her thoughts.
‘Oh. Ugh, it’s Felicity. I know. It’s awful. People always think I must have grown up in the Pony Club or something. My brother got it worse. He’s Tristan. I think our parents had ideas above their station.’ She was babbling now. Take a breath.
‘I like Felicity,’ said James, still looking at her steadily.
‘Er… thanks, I think. At least someone does. So, um, why all the festive grumpiness?’ she asked, scratching around for a distraction.
‘Because I hate fancy dress. And I bloody hate Christmas. That’s why,’ he said quietly, dropping his eyes to the kitten in Felicity’s hands.
‘I hate Christmas too!’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself. It wasn’t the sort of information she normally divulged to any old person, but to find a fellow Scrooge on Christmas Eve of all nights was just too perfect.
He stared back at her. Eyes wide.
‘I bloody hate it,’ she said, on a roll now. ‘That’s why I’m working here tonight, in fact.’
‘Seriously?’ said James.
She nodded vigorously. ‘I work in here every year. Keeps me busy. I hate everything about it. Every bloody thing. I hate the food and the presents and the stupid tree and the Christmas jumpers that say things like, “Touch my baubles” and “Champion Sprout Hater”, and I hate the rubbish television and the music and the shopping and everything.’
‘Everything?’ said James, taking an involuntary step back.
Felicity realised she may have come on a tad strongly. ‘Okay, well not everything everything. I quite like mince pies. And those big tins of Quality Street. Oh, and the fact they always show Die Hard on Christmas Eve. That’s really the only saving grace.’
James looked at her earnestly, his eyes looking more blue than grey now against the white of his T-shirt. She stared across at him and they held each other’s gaze.
‘I bloody love Die Hard ,’ he said, quite sincerely.
For a second something like lightning crackled between them. It was Felicity who was the first to look away, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. She looked down at the kitten again.
‘Then there’s only one thing for it. She shall be called Holly. Holly McClane,’ she announced, holding the kitten aloft.
‘Perfect,’ said James, smiling from ear to ear. She liked his smile.