Author's note: um, yes, this story does continue, several more chapters in fact. Apologies to Boy George, Queen and Madonna.

Tommy returned five minutes later with the pizza. "Dinner's ready."

He glanced at the television. A cable music channel was playing a countdown of old 80s and 90s tunes. Tommy frowned at the poor quality of the video.

Barbara looked up. "Do you mind this? Or do you want the news?"

"What terrorism, potential war, natural disasters, and bus strikes? No, I think... is that George Michael? This will be far more amusing. I remember people with hair like that."

Barbara took her pizza then slid from the sofa onto the floor and put the platter on the ground in front of her. She quickly cut it into slices, then leant back against the sofa seat and proceeded to pick a slice up and eat it. Tommy felt awkward sitting on his couch trying to balance the platter and use his knife and fork to cut bite-sized pieces of pizza.

"May I join you down there?"

"Yeah, of course. It's your floor."

"Hmm. I've always thought of it as being something to walk on." He felt uncomfortable as she studied the way he kicked off his shoes and sat cross-legged next to her.

"Is this the first time you've ever eaten off the floor?" She gave him one of her biggest smiles, one of the ones that always made her eyes darker, and rather alluring. She did not smile nearly enough.

"No," he replied trying to hide his discomfort. She looked at him, lowering her head but raising her eyebrows. "Yes," he admitted.

"Thought so. It will do you good."

Tommy wondered how she worked that logic out, but he said nothing and emulated her behaviour. When he sat back against the couch and began to eat, he realised it was actually fun to sit back and watch the television while eating with his hands. He looked across and smiled at her. She raised her beer and toasted him.

They finished their meals quickly. Tommy returned the plates to the kitchen, throwing them in the dishwasher for tomorrow. He grabbed two more beers and returned to his lounge. He paused, leaning on the door jamb. Barbara was still sitting on the floor but was now waving her arms in the air and singing along with Madonna.

"I was beat, incomplete, I'd been had, I was sad and blue, but you made me feel, yeah, you made me feel, shiny and new. Hoo, like a virgin, touched for the very first time. Like a vir-err-errr-err-gin, when your heart beats, next to... Oh, Sir. Sorry, I was just... being silly."

"Don't be sorry. It's not silly. You sing beautifully. And what happened to Tommy?"

"I forgot."

He handed her a beer and sat down beside her. Being together like this, she made him feel shiny and new. He grinned at her as images ran through his mind about how he would make love to her. He wondered if maybe she was a virgin. Probably not, but she would likely be as nervous as one. He would be. All his experience with other women in the past meant nothing. Barbara was unique and making love to her would be different. He was not sure how, given the physical act was the same, but he knew somehow that it would be like nothing he had ever experienced before. The only problem was, it was unlikely to ever happen. Barbara would never let him cross that emotional barrier between them.

Barbara cocked her head. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring at me. Do I have bacon in my teeth?"

Tommy shook his head and sipped his beer. "No. No, you don't."

"Then I was right. You think I am mad sitting and singing with the TV."

"Not at all. I sometimes conduct classical music as I listen to it."

"Do you? I always imagined you doing that."

Tommy laughed. "And I always imagined you singing with the radio. So we are even."

"Yeah. Good. I like being even with you."

"Hmm, me too," he replied hesitantly, trying to fathom her meaning.

"I think I've had a few too many of these." She clinked the top of her bottle against his bottle. "Cheers and thank you for rescuing me tonight."

"I should thank you for rescuing me from my melancholic thoughts."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. It was nothing. Just me being too introspective." Her hip bumped him as her body continued its ungainly seated dance. "If you want to dance, Barbara, the floor's all yours."

"Nah, I'm not that drunk... yet. Oh! I love this song! You come and go, you come and go, karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon, you come and go, you come and go-o-o-o. Come on Tommy, sing!"

He shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know the words."

Barbara grunted but continued to sing, hamming it up as Tommy smiled and laughed with her. "So, if you won't sing, what about playing a game?"

Tommy sipped his beer. "What game? If it's some sort of drinking game, remember we still have to go to work in the morning."

"No, it's not, it's simple. When a song comes on, we tell each other what it reminds you of. It can be a person, or when you first heard it, or anything the song brings to mind."

"Like Rorschach but with music not ink?"

"I guess so. But aren't most of those ink tests about sex?"

Tommy laughed again. "I don't think they are supposed to be, but a lot of people have sex on their minds."

Barbara looked at him. "Yeah, they do."

Tommy felt his ears tingle. Had she read his earlier thoughts? Surely not. "I don't think I will have many associations with 80s music," he said trying to divert the conversation back on track. "Pop music was never my thing."

A new song started. "Rubbish. Everyone has heard it and has some connections to it. See this one? Another One Bites the Dust. It always reminds me of all the crappy Sergeants and DIs I was partnered with who couldn't put up with me."

"But not me? I'm still your partner, so I don't count."

"Yeah, you are. And you're not crappy. You're won... definitely not crappy."

She smiled at him in a way that made him want to lay his head on her shoulder. He must be a tad tipsy too. She waved her hand asking him for his association to the song. "Er, it always reminds me of my failed relationships."

"But not me? I'm still your partner."

"Yeah, you are." This time they both laughed at the parody of their earlier conversation.

For the next half hour, and two more beers, they sat against the sofa and exchanged stories about what the songs meant to them. Some were funny stories. Others were about times at school or their friends. When the music became softer and more romantic, Barbara blushed and struggled for stories. Tommy was relieved - most of the songs reminded him of how he felt about her at different times.

"Another beer, Barbara?"

She shook her head. "I shouldn't. Oh to hell with it, one more, and then I should say goodnight."

When he returned from the kitchen, Barbara had turned off the television and was sitting close to the fire, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and her chin on her knees. She stared at the dancing flames.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she said accepting the offered beer. "They played a song that reminded me of Terry. I know I'm a bit drunk, but I don't want to think about that and spoil the night."

Tommy sat next to her. He wanted to put his arm around her and hold her, but instead, he sat as she did. "I understand. Some music reminds me of difficult moments or sad times in my life too."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, but Christmas is always hard, even after all these years. And tomorrow will be worse because I'm going to have a massive headache."

"There's aspirin in the drawer of your bedside table if you need it."

She turned her head and gave him a wry smile. "What are you saying, Tommy? That I can't handle a few beers?"

"Not at all. I'm just trying to be a good host."

"You are. I had a great evening."

"Me too."

"It started horribly, but it ended... It was worth getting wet. I wish we didn't have to work tomorrow. I know it's only a half day, but still."

"Me too. It would be perfect not to go back until the New Year."

"What time will you leave for Cornwall?"

Tommy was becoming mesmerised by the fire. He had told Barbara he was going to Howenstowe because he had not wanted her to worry. After tonight he owed it to her to be honest. "I'm not going this year. People were too nice. It was fake and made me feel quite isolated. I'd rather be alone here."

She looked at him with such sadness that he had to look away. He did not want her pity.

"Yeah, I get that. People mean well, but this time of year is the loneliest for people like us."

Tommy looked at her again. What he mistook for pity was understanding and empathy. Barbara always had a brave face, and always seemed to cope far better living alone than he did, but he could see in her eyes that loneliness was no stranger. She had once told him she dealt with it by finding something else. Maybe this year, he could be that something.

"What about you, Barbara? What are you doing for Christmas?"

"Me?" Barbara gave a short laugh. "Oh, I splurged this year. I even bought a frozen turkey dinner and a small pudding with some custard for Christmas Day."

"And a party hat?"

"Didn't think of that."

"Come here instead."

"It's not that bad, Tommy. You don't have to feel sorry for me."

"I don't. Not in the least. But what's the point of both of us being alone in separate houses when we can be alone together?"

Barbara frowned. "Did that make sense?"

"More or less. But I mean it. We can go to your flat tomorrow after work to get your clothes then you can come over here. Why don't we have Christmas Eve dinner together and spend Christmas Day doing something different? Otherwise, you know me; I would probably just listen to music, read and slowly get very drunk. And on Boxing Day, we could go on a picnic."

"Boxing Day? A picnic? You want me to stay until Boxing Day?"

"Why not? Say yes, Barbara. Think of it as community service if you have to."

She frowned then lowered her head. "I don't have to. I enjoy spending time with you."

"Then you'll come?"

Barbara hesitated then nodded. "Yeah, why not?"

"No reason. No reason at all." Tommy put his arm around her shoulder and smiled when she leant into him slightly.