Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply.

Tommy Lynley drove as far as Bristol before he decided to turn back. His family meant well, but he could not bear another year like the last one. Everyone had been kind and thoughtful, trying hard not to mention Helen. He knew his reaction after her death had been self-pitying and selfish. He was aware that they cared about him, even Peter, but they had been so careful to avoid being happy that it had been a miserable Christmas for everyone. Every gesture had reminded him acutely of his situation, not just the loss of his wife but of his total isolation from everybody.

This year he thought it would be different. As he drew closer to Howenstowe, doubts grew in his mind. He rang his mother to test the waters. Her tone confirmed his fears - his family was too careful with him. They seemed unable to relax and allow him to enjoy Christmas. There was to be no tree, no big presents, and only a small dinner. "And no Tommy," he had informed his mother rudely, "I'm going back to London so you can be an ordinary family."

The following exchange was strained. Neither party uttered accusations or recriminations. They did not need to; they were lurking between their words, unsaid but understood. Frustrated and disappointed, Tommy was tempted to find a pub and settle in with a good bottle of Scotland's finest. Instead, he forced himself to join the queue of traffic heading to the capital.

Christmas Eve was a bad day to be on the roads. At various stages, the motorway had ground to a halt or crawled at speeds below what his speedometer could register. Tommy had cursed his stupidity for having ever agreed to go to Cornwall. This holiday season was rapidly becoming a disaster.

It was almost six o'clock when he reached the outskirts of London. On a whim, he drove past the turnoff to Belgravia and continued to Chalk Farm. He hoped that Barbara might be home and would like to join him for a drink at the pub. Barbara listened and never judged. She understood him like no one else, and he knew she would salve his conscience for abandoning his family by telling him that he had to do what was best for him, not others.

He found a parking spot just up the road from her flat. The air was nippier than he thought. He had dressed casually for his drive in old, slightly faded jeans and a comfortable, thin, blue jumper. Tommy pulled his anorak from the back seat and lifted the collar around his neck. He felt under-dressed even for the pub. He doubted his best friend would mind.

He knocked confidently at the door. When he heard a loud curse from behind it, he wondered if he had done the wrong thing turning up unannounced. He was about to leave when the door swung open with great gusto.

"Yes? Oh! Sir! What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Barbara."

"Why aren't you in Cornwall?"

"Well, I..."

"Has someone been murdered? We're not on call."

Finally, she drew for breath long enough for him to answer. "There's no crime. May I come in to continue the interrogation?"

"Oh, sorry. Yes."

She stood back, and Tommy squeezed past her into her flat. It was unusually, and unnervingly, tidy. His policeman's quick eye detected recent vacuuming of the carpet. The odour of bleach and citrus met his sniff. Barbara had spent the day cleaning. "Your flat looks nice."

"I gave it its annual clean today. Do you want a drink?"

"I came to ask you to the pub for a drink and maybe dinner."

"Oh."

As they walked towards her tiny kitchen, Tommy could smell chicken roasting. On her table, there was a setting for one. She had a small plastic tree as a centrepiece, decorated with red tinsel and a tiny star. A wine glass sat with a paper serviette with what looked like Santa, folded and fluffed inside it. Beside her knife was single Christmas bonbon. Barbara was about to have her Christmas dinner. "I've interrupted you."

Barbara stood awkwardly. She glanced from Tommy to her table and back. He noticed her face flush and felt like a voyeur caught watching a private ritual. "I'm sorry, I should go. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's just a silly thing I do. Are you hungry? I cooked a whole chicken and plenty of vegetables."

"I don't want to disturb you."

She did not look at him. "It'd be nice to share it with someone."

"I'd enjoy that too." Tommy gave his sergeant a broad, tender smile. He was honoured to be invited into her moment. He knew Barbara was embarrassed by his discovery of her little Christmas, but to him, it was a symbol of her strength and defiance rather than the sad ritual of a lonely woman.

"It should be ready soon." Barbara sounded relieved. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Beer?" Tommy wanted to enjoy his evening. Whisky would send the wrong message.

Barbara retrieved a bottle from her refrigerator and found two matching glasses. Tommy opened it and poured while she set a second place at the table.

"Cheers!" They clinked glasses and took a sip before Barbara frowned. "Why aren't you at Howenstowe?"

Tommy explained more openly than he had intended. He surprised himself by talking about wanting to move on and needing to be seen by his family and others for who he was, not just as a grieving widower. "I don't even know if it was grief or guilt," he concluded.

"It doesn't matter. You're right. You need to look forward, and your family should see that." Barbara looked puzzled. "What?"

Tommy put his arm around her and hugged her into his shoulder. "You always understand. Thank you."

"Damn!" she cried. Lynley jumped back, afraid he had offended her. "My chicken!"

Barbara dashed to her oven and using oversized mismatched oven mitts, pulled the bird from her oven. The smell was homely. Already Tommy's Christmas was better than most of his others since he had been a child. Barbara looked for a bowl then quickly washed it before arranging her pieces of roasted potato, pumpkin and parsnip on it and slipping it back into the oven. Tommy watched as she put the carrots into a frying pan over a low heat and drizzled them with honey. With surprising ease, she glazed them then added them to her plate in the oven. Barbara poured the glazing juices to the roasting pan then added some flour and water. A few minutes later she had a fragrant gravy. She opened her cupboard and twisted her mouth while she searched. Her shoulders rose in a shrug before she selected a large white coffee cup.

"I don't have a gravy boat. I usually just serve straight onto my plate then pour some gravy over it."

Tommy felt a surge of affection for his friend. Her unpretentious way of trying to make an effort for him touched him deeply. Her solution was unconventional yet practical. "Your coffee cup will work perfectly."

"Do you want to carve?"

"If you like." Tommy felt he was being honoured. That was quickly dispelled.

"When I do it, it looks like it's being cut up with a hand-grenade."

He expertly carved the meat onto another plate while Barbara set him a place at the table and uncorked a bottle of white wine. She went to sit, then jumped up and retrieved the vegetables and gravy. With everything crammed onto her small table, Barbara smiled. "A real Christmas."

"For both of us."

Tommy poured the wine. "To you and to Christmas."

Barbara's face went red. "You better try it first before you thank me."

They laughed then Barbara handed him the bonbon. He found the tab. "One, two, three!" A satisfying pop and tearing of paper made Tommy grin stupidly. It was a simple gesture, but it felt strangely intimate.

"Why did Cinderella get thrown off the football team?"

Tommy shrugged. "No idea."

"She ran away from the ball."

"That's terrible."

"Since when were bonbon jokes good?"

"Fair point."

Barbara unfolded the silly paper hat and plonked it on his head. "I'll take the toy."

Tommy was surprised that the meal was genuinely delicious. "Thank you I enjoyed that very much. I'm glad you cooked extra vegetables."

"I always cook enough for two meals. I usually reheat it tomorrow."

"I'm sorry. You should have said."

Barbara covered his hand with her fingers. "Don't be. This was the best way to spent Christmas Eve. Fancy pudding? It's only one I bought."

"That sounds wonderful."

They continued to chat about their memories of Christmases past as they finished the bottle of wine. Barbara told him about the good Christmases before Terry had been born and then those before he became ill. She spoke fondly of laughter and presents and a loving family. Tommy told her about his Christmases as Howenstowe, even confessing to the year he accidentally burnt down the tree when he was playing with his dog and the over excited labrador had jumped up and pushed it over into the open fireplace. Tommy had extinguished the flames, but the top half of the tree was a charred ruin. He had lifted it back into place and pretended nothing had happened.

"My father was not impressed. He took away one of my presents. When I told him what happened he lectured me on responsibility and about never blaming people or animals that I am responsible for protecting, for their actions. Ultimately it is my failure to direct them or look after them."

Barbara smiled at him in a way that raised goosebumps on his arms. "Is that why you never blamed me for anything even when I was wrong? Because you can't control me?"

"I don't try to control. I try to look after people - my tenants, my family... you. But I fail miserably."

Barbara put her hand in his again. "No. No, you don't. You do an excellent job of caring and protecting people. Did you ever get your present?"

"Yes, it was the year before my father became ill. He gave me this watch on New Years' Day and told me that at sixteen, I needed to start being responsible. I often wondered afterwards if he knew he was ill."

Barbara examined the watch and the inscription. "It's lovely. What does it mean?"

Tommy slipped it back on his wrist. "It's Latin for 'compassion with thought'."

"You took his words to heart."

Tommy swallowed hard. The reminder about his father hit him harder than he had expected. He smiled then changed the subject. "The wine's gone. I'll help you wash up. Do you have any more beer?"

After putting everything away, they settled on her couch. Tommy knew it was late, and he should probably leave, but he did not want to spoil the moment. Over several beers, they continued to exchange stories about their childhood. At one point Barbara even found a dusty old photo album and showed him pictures of her in school concerts and at the beach. They laughed, they reminisced, and they shared sadness and joy. Without thinking, Tommy put his arm around her and pulled her close to him. Their conversation tailed to a silence they both understood. He rested his head lightly on hers and closed his eyes. Turning around and returning to London had been the right decision.

Guilt slowly ate at him. His watch said it was after eleven. He had enjoyed a beautiful evening, and his mother would be fretting. "I should go," he said reluctantly.

"You can stay if you'd like. It's..." She left her sentence unfinished.

"Yes, it is. I'd like that. I don't want to be alone again, but I should ring mother and apologise."

"Can you do that here?"

"Yes."

"I can go into the other room."

"No, stay."

Barbara moved down the couch while Tommy fished his phone from his pocket. His mother answered on the third ring. "Mother?"

"Tommy. Is anything wrong?"

"I rang to apologise for my phone call. I know you all mean well. It's just..."

"That you thought we were smothering you."

"More that you were forcing me to live in the past instead of the present."

"I'm sorry. We thought... Where are you know? You could still come down."

"I'm with Barbara."

"Ah, that's where you should be, Tommy. Happy Christmas son. And give Barbara my best wishes for her Christmas too."

"I will. Happy Christmas, Mother."

Tommy rang off and pondered his mother's meaning. He dismissed it as meaning his mother wanted him to have company. "Mother says Happy Christmas."

"Thanks. You look relieved."

"I am. Did we finish all that beer?"

Two hours later they were finally tired. "We should get some sleep," he said.

"Yeah..." Barbara stared at him. "Will you be alright on the couch?"

"Perfectly. Good night, Barbara."

"Goodnight, Sir."

He woke to the smell of fresh coffee. "Good morning. Merry Christmas, Barbara."

"Morning, Sir. Merry Christmas. Fancy a coffee?"

"I'd love one." Tommy sat up. His back felt like it was severed in half. "I haven't bought you a Christmas present yet, but first thing when the shops re-open, I'm taking you to buy a new couch."

Barbara laughed. "Are you planning on sleeping there often enough to justify that?"

"Probably not."

"I can only offer you toast for breakfast."

"That will be fine. Thank you for letting me stay."

Barbara looked away. "It was... comforting to know you were out here."

Tommy smiled then accepted the coffee. He draped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "So what do you normally do today?"

She pointed to a pile of books. "Sit and read. Maybe watch an old film on TV. Nothing exciting. What will you do?"

"I feel like starting a new tradition."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something slightly crazy and different but memorable."

"What have you always wanted to do?"

"I don't know."

"Well, Sir, if you don't know, who does?"

"Do you know what I would like for Christmas?"

"No."

"Just for today, call me Tommy."

Barbara looked stunned. "I..."

He tried his best smile. "Please."

She took a deep breath. "Okay... Tommy. Just for today."

His name had never sounded sweeter. He put his arms around her and hugged her. "Thank you."

"There's something I've always wanted to do, Tommy. Today would be perfect."

He leant back and looked at her. She had a mischievous, impish grin. "Yes?" he asked suspiciously.

"Let's have showers and breakfast first."

Tommy felt oddly at home using Barbara's shower. She put out a fresh cake of soap and new towel while he fetched his overnight bag from the car. Although he had adjusted to it, Tommy hated living alone, and the familiar smell of Barbara's shampoo and was strangely comforting. "So what do I wear?" he called through the door as he towelled off.

"Something old. Your jeans and a shirt, but not a good one."

Tommy was even more intrigued. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

Half an hour later he was heading towards Kent. "Where exactly are we going?" he asked.

"Greenwich."

"Greenwich?"

"Yes please."

Following Barbara's instructions, he parked near the observatory. On Christmas Day they were the only car there. "I don't know if you can get in," he said looking at the locked gate.

"We don't need to. Come on."

He locked the car and followed her around the fenceline. They stood for a few minutes looking out over the park towards the river. "It's beautiful up here today. Not too cold and nice and clear."

"Yes."

"So?"

Barbara looked at him seriously. "I've always wanted to roll down the hill."

"Roll down the hill?"

"Yes, you know, lie down and turn over and over."

"I know how to roll down a hill! I used to do it as a child at Howenstowe."

"I've never done it."

Tommy began to laugh softly. "Are you sure this isn't illegal?"

"Possibly. Do you care?"

"Not really. I'll race you." Tommy knelt down then lay on the grass. It smelt fresh and earthy. "Come on, lie down."

Barbara lay down with next to him. "You go first."

"Okay." With that, Tommy levered himself onto his elbow and twisted. Over and over he went down the hill, gradually picking up speed.

"Woo hoo!" Barbara hooted with joy as she followed him down the hill.

"Faster!" he yelled.

As his elbows and knees hit divots and bumps, Tommy knew that tomorrow he would be bruised and sore. He could not have cared less. For the first time in years, he was having genuine fun. He rolled to a stop at the bottom and lay on his back looking at the sky.

"Argh!"

Barbara had not seen the bottom and crashed into his side. Her momentum rolled him, and for another three rotations, they tumbled together, limbs entwined in a bizarre embrace. When they stopped, she was lying on top of him. Blades of grass protruded from her unruly hair, and her face was smeared with grass stains. Her eyes twinkled as she laughed. Tommy put his hand behind her head and pulled her closer.

"Time to banish the ghosts of Christmases past and start some new traditions," he murmured, pausing for a moment to give her time to object. She did not pull away. They both stared at each other as they silently discussed the consequences. Slowly her face drifted towards him. Tommy tightened his embrace then kissed her softly.

"I like our new traditions, Tommy. Do you want to roll down again before we go home?"