All I Want for Christmas: a hilarious and heart-warming romance Page 19

  ‘That’s a lot of boxes,’ Alfie remarks, pointing to the back of the room as he trampolines.

  ‘It really is,’ I reply. ‘I have a lot of stuff.’

  ‘Can Nick take me to the zoo tomorrow?’ he asks, dive-bombing someone’s expensive leather jacket. ‘They have gorillas and a penguin beach!’

  ‘Not tomorrow, bud,’ Sarah replies, finding Alfie’s coat. ‘Nick is moving away, remember? That’s why his things are boxed up. This is his goodbye party.’

  Alfie stops bouncing and slinks off the bed. ‘But I don’t want him to go,’ he mumbles. ‘I want Nick to stay.’

  I sit on the bed beside him and help him with his little coat.

  ‘Do you know what’s even better than a zoo?’ I ask. He shakes his head, glumly.

  ‘A farm. They let you feed the animals and ride on tractors and I hear you can even cuddle baby rabbits. When you come to visit me, we can all go together!’

  His face suddenly lights up. ‘Do they have penguins?’

  I laugh. ‘No, but you can race goats. Do you have good running shoes?’

  He nods enthusiastically. ‘Mum! Can we go, pleeeasse?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she replies. ‘Honey, go and say goodnight to Matt, we need to get home.’

  As he scurries off to find Matt, Sarah smiles. ‘You’ve done your homework, I see.’

  I grin. ‘Of course. I’m not just moving there for the shiny new job; their epic farm scene was the determining factor. Who doesn’t want to race a goat?’

  Sarah finally finds her own jacket and slips it on.

  ‘Better get the little guy home,’ she says, moving in for a quick hug. ‘Take care, Nick.’

  ‘You too, Sarah.’

  As she turns to follow Alfie, she hesitates at the bedroom door.

  ‘He’s not the only one who doesn’t want you to go, you know. I’m really going to miss you, Nick.’

  ‘We’ll still see each other,’ I reply, smiling and hoping it masks my sudden urge to cry. ‘I mean, you’re Matt’s girlfriend. There’s no way he—’

  She steps closer, her face now visibly upset. ‘Is that all I am, Nick?’ she asks. ‘You just see me as Matt’s girlfriend . . . nothing more?’

  ‘Well, we’re friends too. Right?’

  She doesn’t reply, but her eyes never leave mine. My heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest.

  ‘Are we? You really think we are friends?’

  What is she asking me? I search her face for a clue, but she’s searching mine just as intensely in return.

  ‘Sarah, I don’t know what—’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ she replies, her voice trembling. ‘I need to know, Nick. I need to know, before you leave, if I’m just a friend or—’

  My mind is racing. Does this mean she feels the same way? What the fuck is happening?

  Sarah steps forward again and I gulp. I find my hand reaching out and touching her face of its own accord. She is openly crying and she has never looked more beautiful. She is literally breaking my heart right now. All I want is to hold her, but . . .

  ‘I . . . Sarah . . . I don’t know what to say . . . I’m sorry. I don’t understand . . . I can’t . . . Matt—’ My voice breaks on the last word.

  ‘My hat!’

  Alfie’s voice surprises us both and I snatch my hand from Sarah’s face, stumbling back against the bed, as Alfie and Matt burst into my bedroom.

  ‘I forgot my monkey hat . . . Mum, why are you sad?’

  I feel my face begin to burn as Matt stands in the doorway, watching Sarah surreptitiously wipe away her tears.

  ‘Everything OK in here?’ he asks. His face is unreadable, his voice emotionless.

  Sarah nods. ‘Just me being silly. You know how I get with goodbyes.’

  ‘She’s trying to blackmail me with tears,’ I quickly respond, ‘but the lure of the bright lights of suburban Oxford is just too powerful.’

  He pulls Sarah in for a cuddle. ‘Don’t get upset over this fool. He’ll be back annoying us before you know it.’ His tone is jokey, but his expression is blank, and his eyes haven’t left my face. I feel like they are burning through me. Does he know? Has he finally realised that I have been pining after his girlfriend for nearly as long as I’ve known her?

  ‘I know,’ she replies, sniffing. ‘It’s just hard to find a good babysitter these days.’

  She laughs and I smile, but inside I’m dying. We’re both lying to Matt’s face and I couldn’t feel any shittier if I tried.

  Sarah leaves swiftly after, Matt walking her and Alfie downstairs, leaving me to go back to the party where I find Harriet and Noel sitting at the table. Harriet’s on the apple juice as she’s breastfeeding.

  ‘I’m going to have to admit defeat,’ she says reluctantly. ‘My nips are leaking like crazy. You alright? You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. ‘Just a bit overwhelmed. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Travelodge up the road,’ Noel replies. ‘Mum’s there with Iris. Pop by tomorrow before we go and you can meet her.’

  ‘Your mum?’

  ‘Iris,’ he replies, laughing. God, my brain has officially turned to mush.

  ‘I’m driving up to Oxford in the morning, but I promise I’ll come and visit soon,’ I say, hugging them both. ‘I appreciate you coming through to see me, though. Means a lot.’

  ‘Well, we wanted to meet Matt’s girl too,’ Harriet confesses mischievously. ‘That was worth the train journey. She’s so sweet, I’d never have believed it! Didn’t think I’d see him this happy ever, after . . . well, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s found a good one,’ I reply, flatly. ‘There’s hope for us all, eh?’

  I see Harriet and Noel to the door and wonder when the rest of the party will fuck off, too. As much as I appreciate everyone coming to send me off, I just want them to go. I need to leave now.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Waking up with a hangover is vile enough, but combined with guilt and confusion, I think I’m just about ready to be put down. I pull my pillow around my head and sigh deeply. I should never have had that bloody party. I should have just left. No fuss. No sentimental bullshit. No reason for Sarah to—

  ‘Van will be here at ten,’ I hear Matt yell from the hall, his tone unusually icy and flat as my pillow springs back into shape. Fuck. My mind races back to last night; his face when he saw Sarah and me . . . Sarah’s face as she asked me how I felt about her . . . fuckfuckfuck. The irony that I decided to leave London to avoid this very thing happening isn’t lost on me.

  My phone informs me that it’s 9.35am, leaving no time to shower, so I drag myself up and throw on some clothes, manoeuvring round the boxes which are ready just to chuck in the removal van. Matt stays in the living room, boundaries set firmly in place by his oversized headphones while I quickly use the bathroom and grab some breakfast, though in the end I barely touch it. Even without the hangover, I’d be in no mood to eat. Everything just feels wrong.

  By the time the van arrives, Matt’s barely said two words to me. This isn’t the final-morning, ‘Goodbye, London’ send-off I’d hoped for. I can’t bring myself to ask him what’s wrong because we both know the answer already and then I’d need to lie to him again. Tell him what he saw was nothing and that he’s reading too much into it. God, I’m such a coward, but I’d rather leave for Oxford with my best friend mad at me, than with no best friend at all.

  The annoyingly upbeat movers bring down my bedroom furniture, while Matt and I deal with the boxes and bags that have been cluttering up my room and the hallway for the past week. At least he’s helping me move and not just throwing my bags from the window with a loud fuck you. I give my bedroom a final once-over; it looks so stark now: furniture gone, pictures taken down and packed away, eve
ry trace of me removed and crammed into cardboard boxes. It’s almost like I was never here.

  We trudge downstairs and step outside, the morning sun instantly warming the top of my head while I drag the last three bin bags to the van. On a day like this, Matt and I would normally be nursing our hangovers in a beer garden somewhere. My stomach twists as I wonder whether that will ever happen again.

  ‘All set then?’ Matt asks as the removal men close the van doors. ‘If you’ve left anything, I can send it on.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply, trying to remain as chipper as the knot in my stomach will allow. ‘I think I’ve got everything.’

  He nods, shuffling from foot to foot while his hands remain firmly stuck in his pockets like a kid who’d rather be anywhere else but here. I’ve known Matt for eleven years, but I’ve never felt like such a stranger.

  ‘Ready when you are, pal.’

  As I wave at the driver, signalling I’ll just be a second, Matt takes the flat keys from his pocket, jangling them as an indication that he’s also ready to go. ‘Have a safe trip.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll give you a call later, maybe?’

  ‘Sure,’ he replies, shrugging. ‘I’ll be around.’

  I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to sink any lower, but it now appears to be somewhere near my knees. He turns and retreats towards the flat.

  ‘Matt! Please, we can’t just leave things—’

  He stops and turns to face me, rubbing the back of his neck. I can’t tell whether he looks angry or confused but as he moves swiftly towards me, I steady myself, prepared to accept whatever’s coming my way. Matt throws one arm around me and pulls me in with a hug that feels almost threatening at first – but slowly he brings around his other arm and it becomes something more tender.

  We stay like that for a few seconds before Matt pulls away, sniffing loudly and dabbing his eyes with sleeve of his hoodie. My own glistening eyes cause him to smile reassuringly. He slaps me playfully on the arm, giving himself a shake.

  ‘You take care, Nick, you hear me. Don’t be a stranger.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I assure him. ‘God, this is all so weird. Can’t believe I’m actually doing it . . . wish me luck?’

  He grins and backs up towards the door. ‘Nah, you don’t need luck; you’ll crush this.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  ‘You still need a haircut though . . .’

  I laugh and swivel around, giving him the finger as I climb into the rental car parked behind the removal van. I’m aware that I’ll be stuck on the motorway in wall-to-wall traffic for the next two hours, but I honestly don’t care. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Matt and I are good. Thank God, we’re good.

  It’s nearly 1pm by the time we reach my new flat in Headington and I’m so grateful that, from the outside at least, it looks exactly like the pictures provided by the letting agents. A small brown-brick, one-bedroom, ground-floor flat in a modern development about five miles from my new office. God, my new office. I feel a rush of excitement, quickly followed by a jolt of anxiety, because for the first time, I’m on my own. No roomies, no bill sharing, no passive-aggressive fights over the washing up – just me.

  Collecting the keys from a lockbox by the door, we quickly unload the contents of the van into the flat, which apart from white goods is completely unfurnished. Once the movers leave, I wander aimlessly from room to room, wondering what the hell to do next. Even with my bedroom set in place, it’s just so empty. The thought of turning this blank canvas into a home is a daunting one, but it’s clean and newly painted, and once the living room furniture I’ve ordered arrives, I’m sure it’ll feel less of a mammoth task. Probably. Jesus, I’m thirty-one and I’ve never been accountable for every single thing in a flat. Fuck, I’ve never even had to buy a spatula. It was always just . . . there.

  I open up Spotify and shuffle some music while I park myself on the edge of my unmade bed. I can do this; I just need to be organised. Make some lists. Find the nearest supermarket so I don’t starve to death. It’s not rocket science – people do this shit every day.

  As I begin to unpack my clothes, I hear ‘Without You’ by David Guetta playing in the background and it stops me in my tracks. This was the song I danced to with Sarah at Matt’s birthday party and for a second, I’m back there, laughing and drinking and falling for her. Christ, if things were different, maybe . . .

  I let my thoughts trail off as I sit back on the bed and put my head in my hands. Whatever happened last night, whatever feelings exist between us, it’s over now.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Everyone, this is Nick. Nick, meet everyone.’

  I raise my hand and greet my new colleagues, feeling horribly overdressed in my dark blue suit. Even my boss, Joseph, is wearing Converse.

  He takes me around the room, introducing me to at least thirty people I won’t remember the names of in half an hour, except for office manager Sigita, a Lithuanian woman with pink hair tips who was incredibly helpful when it came to short-notice flat hunting and sorting out my contract.

  ‘So, this is the main hub,’ he informs me, ‘but we also have quieter offices to work from at your disposal, just through the doors to the right of reception. We prefer to work as a team here – hierarchy and closed-door policies in this type of environment can be counterproductive. Meeting rooms at the back here, as well as the kitchen. Coffee?’

  ‘Please,’ I reply, my head spinning slightly as I try to absorb everything. I’m not used to the people I work with being this approachable, especially management. Please don’t let there be some weird catch, I’m almost looking forward to wearing jeans to work tomorrow.

  Coffees in hand, Joseph takes me into meeting room two and begins my induction.

  ‘So . . . I know we ran through the job spec at your interview,’ he says, gesturing for me to sit, ‘but I wanted to dive a bit deeper into what we do here.’

  ‘Of course,’ I reply.

  ‘A home isn’t a luxury,’ he begins, taking the lid off his coffee. ‘It’s a basic human need. We work with a diverse group of people, from rough sleepers to people in shelters to families being threatened with eviction, and everything in between. We deal with landlords, the local council, the police, social workers, the Addictions Advisory Service, the NHS, and many other organisations who specialise in dealing with the homelessness crisis we have in Oxford.’

  ‘Sounds like something I can really get my teeth into,’ I reply. ‘I’m excited to get started.’

  ‘Glad you said that,’ he says, handing me two files. ‘It’s all hands on deck at all times. While you’ll mainly be working with Martin Goodwin, our main charities’ legal adviser here, it’s important you get to grips with the meat and the bones of what we do.’

  Taking a sip of my coffee, I open the first file. Maria Cooper, twenty-nine, two kids. Eviction notice from her landlord.

  ‘Landlord is a real piece of work,’ Joseph informs me. ‘I think her rental agreement is worth having a look over, as well as his dodgy letting practices.’

  I nod and open the next file. John Parker, seventeen.

  ‘This kid needs help,’ Joseph says, before I’ve even begun to read through. ‘Both parents are addicts, and he’s been crashing on floors for the past year. Got caught with a tiny amount of weed, an amount that they wouldn’t bat an eyelid at if it was a student carrying it, but they still arrested him. Due in court on Wednesday.’

  My face drops. I’m not a barrister. Does he expect me to go to court? Fuck, I think I’m way out of my depth here.

  ‘Don’t stress too much,’ Joseph says, obviously noticing my expression. ‘Christina and Gordon, who you just met, have about fifty years of court experience between them – everything from criminal to civil cases and beyond. Use them, learn from them, pick their brains. They’ll do the same to you, believe me.’


  I breathe a small sigh of relief and smile.

  ‘No two clients are the same here, Nick, and we need everyone to pull together to make this work. It’s the most challenging, affecting, mentally draining job you will ever do, and I guarantee the most rewarding. So . . . you ready to help change some lives?’

  I smile and nod enthusiastically. Goddamn, his speech was impressive. I feel like a superhero. Alfie would be proud.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ‘Nick, I have a Matt Buckley for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Briony,’ I reply, placing my phone on speaker. I’m in the back office, halfway through my lunch, and I’m ravenous. I haven’t stopped since I got in at 8am.

  ‘Hey, mate,’ I say, biting into my BLT. ‘You well?’

  ‘Why aren’t you answering your phone?’ he asks sternly. ‘I’ve been texting and calling.’

  ‘Calm down, Dad,’ I reply, chuckling. ‘I’ve been in a meeting all morning. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s Alfie’s birthday next week and he’s insisting that we go to that farm you told him about. Do we need to book tickets or anything? I don’t want to leave it too late.’

  ‘What farm? I don’t remember telling him . . .’

  Do you know what’s even better than a zoo? A farm. They let you feed the animals and ride on tractors and I hear you can even cuddle baby rabbits.

  ‘Ignore me,’ I continue. ‘I totally remember.’

  Matt laughs. ‘Seven weeks in Oxford and you’re already losing your mind. Shit, I need to run, my client’s just walked in. Send me the link to the place and mark the date down in your diary.’

  My chest tightens a little. ‘I’m invited?’

  ‘Of course!’ he replies. ‘Alfie insists. Think he misses you. No idea why, but he’s been having sleepovers in your old room. Anyway, catch ya later.’

  Matt hangs up and I slump back into my chair, cursing under my breath. I wasn’t prepared to see any of them again, not yet. I thought that time plus fifty-six miles would equal a speedy emotional recovery, but it’s been harder than I thought. If Alfie’s been sleeping over, they must be getting serious. Suddenly I’m no longer hungry. Fuck, even the thought of seeing Sarah again makes me anxious, but it would look suspicious if I don’t go and I’m not giving Matt any reason to doubt me.