Note: Thanks to everyone who is still reading this story, 90 chapters in, and to those who comment, I appreciate it x

I lean the notebook against the clock radio so, when he wakes up, he'll see the message I've scribbled for him: Gym etc. Might be longer than usual – getting the car washed. B. x

The etc covers some things he doesn't need to know about.

:::::::

I've dropped the car at the petrol station where they do a decent carwash by hand; and now I've walked to the greasy spoon cafe that's on the way to the probation offices.

I'm here before Fergus, but as it's only a minute or two before eight-thirty, and I've never known him to be late, I get him a tea when I get my coffee.

True to form, he walks in just as I'm putting our mugs down on an out-of-the-way table where we've sat together before. He sees me, comes over, and we shake hands and take a seat.

"Thank you, Brendan. Let me – "

"No."

"Kind of you." He puts his wallet away. "So, how are you, son? You're looking well."

"You wouldn'a said that if you'd seen me a coupl'a months back."

"When your Steven was in hospital? I'm sure it took its toll on you both. How did he get on this week, with his appointment?"

"It's all good news – seems like he's some kind of walking miracle. They'll want to see him in a few months for another scan, y'know, because that's what they do. But he's... yeah, they're more than happy with him."

"It must be a huge relief."

"I'm pinching myself." The formica tabletop has worn thin from years of getting wiped down many times a day: I trace the veins of its marble pattern with my finger tip. "I'm getting... Getting my head around it, so."

I can feel Fergus looking at me, assessing. Then he says, "If it was up to me, it wouldn't be so long between our meetings, specially when you're having to deal with difficult events."

"Doing it over the phone is fine. It suits me."

"It's not fine. The fact is, me and my colleagues are having to make risk assessments on a daily basis over who to prioritise for face to face contact, because we're so under-resourced. And unfortunately, people like you – who we judge to be a low reoffending risk – don't get the routine support you ought to have. It's not joined-up any more. The probation side saves itself money by cutting back on client contact, but if that means we're not there to spot the signs before someone tips into crime again, it costs other branches dear – the police, the courts, never mind the human cost. And naturally, we're the ones who get it in the neck." He stops. "I shouldn't be getting political."

"Don't hold back on my account."

"No, I shouldn't trouble you with it. You must've caught me on a bad day."

"You ain't even started work yet."

Fergus laughs. "I'll sneak an extra sugar in my tea, see if that helps."

"Anyhow, I'd have Steven to answer to if I strayed off the straight and narrow, so you can relax as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm aware of that," he says.

"I do have a confession for you, though," I say.

I wait, watching his face for signs of trepidation about what the ex-con across the table from him is about to impart: but there's nothing. He just says, "Fire away," and picks up his tea and sips it.

"I've booked a few days away, without asking you first."

Fergus raises an eyebrow. I raise my coffee to him in return, acknowledging that I know that he knows that my attempt at a wind-up didn't work.

"When's this?" he asks.

"January. Going on the seventh, back home on the tenth," I say. "And we're not leaving Cheshire. Out in the countryside, though – same hotel we went to in January this year, after our wedding."

"An anniversary trip?"

"If that's okay with you."

"It is." He writes down the dates in his folder. "I'll need the address of the hotel, please. It'll be on record from last time, but..."

"I'll text it to you – save you from digging it out."

"Thank you. Work is still ticking along, is it?"

I nod. "I'm planning on taking an extra night off each week, once Christmas and New Year are out of the way. Sundays."

"Any particular reason?"

"Practical reasons. Steven can't drive for a year – he didn't do anything to get himself a ban, it's because of the seizures – which means either the kids' mother has to come over from Manchester to pick them up, or I'll drive them there. And if I'm not working, it's gonna takes the pressure off, because I won't have to get to Manchester and back in time to get to the club."

"That makes sense."

"And it's... Since what happened with Steven, I want..."

Fergus helps me out. "I think it's what they call a work-life balance," he says.

"Yes."

"Sounds like a good decision."

:::::::

"And how about the rest of the family, Brendan?" Fergus asks as we get up and leave the cafe. "You're getting along with your sons still?"

"Yeah. They've got a new baby sister – their mum's, with her fella... her husband now, he is – so, yeah, the lads sent us a photo."

"That's very positive, sharing that with you. Any plans for Christmas?"

"Christmas? Christmas has... I guess it's been on hold, because of waiting for what the hospital was gonna say. But now it's... yeah. Full steam ahead."

"Now that you've stopped holding your breath."

"That is what we've been doing – him and me both – holding our breath. That's a good way of putting it."

"You'll have the young ones around, will you?"

"We've got the two young ones from Christmas Eve to Christmas morning. And we've got all four of them for New Year, staying a few days. Gotta figure out the sleeping arrangements – six people in our place, it's..."

"I'm sure you'll manage."

"How about you?" I ask.

"We'll have the children and grandchildren as usual, all coming round for the day." Then he says, "Well, I hope it's a good one for you, Brendan. I'm sure it will be."

"Same to you."

"I'll give you a call next month as usual, but in the mean time – "

"I can phone you any time. I know."

"All the best," he says, and we go our separate ways.

:::::::

I'm not long in the gym, but I work hard in the time I'm there: push so much weight that, when I stop, my arms feel like they want to float up to the ceiling.

I shower while I'm there, as I'm not running home, then when I leave I head in the direction of the petrol station, and make a phone call as I walk.

"Elizabeth ward," says the woman who answers.

"Curtis there?" I ask. I figure that he will be, if he's on the same shift he was on when we dropped in on him yesterday.

"Who's calling?"

"Brendan Brady."

"Can I ask what it's – ?"

"Personal."

Then it sounds like she puts the receiver down on the desk, and I hear her say, "Curtis, a call for you. Brendan Brady. A personal call."

Curtis picks it up a moment later. "Curtis speaking."

"Brendan Brady. You got a minute?"

"Sure. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing work-wise. Nothing's wrong either. We're having a... Steven doesn't know about this. We're having a thing, at a hotel, for him, for... It's gonna be a year since we got married, and our wedding wasn't something we invited anyone to, so this is gonna be kind of a wedding reception, one year on. That's the idea. But it's also – it's mainly – because he's still here. So, family, friends, the people who've been here for him since he got ill."

"So it's like a surprise party? Amazing."

"You're invited. I don't know if it's something there's rules against – fraternising with patients – but he's not your patient any more, is he."

"I hope – in the nicest possible way – he never will be."

"Me too. So what it is, is a lunch, and then an evening thing so's people can let their hair down. Saturday the seventh of January, it's happening, and it would mean a lot to Steven if you were there."

"Oh. Thank you." He sounds surprised, and uncertain.

"Anyways. It's not me that's organising it, so if you wanna think about it, or ask anything before you decide, I'll give you my friend's number so you can call her. Hang on." I stop walking, and find Anne's number. "You got a pen?"

"I've got my mobile here, I'll put it in my contacts. What's her name?"

"It's Mitzeee."

"That's the Mitzeee, isn't it? Ste told me she was a friend of yours."

I read out her number, then I say, "I've told her you might be calling." Yesterday afternoon, that was: I managed to sneak a word with her when she phoned up to find out how Steven had got on.

"It's really nice of you to ask me – I'll have to check my shifts, and..."

"Course. So, yeah, that's it, that's all. I'll let you get on. And you can tell your colleague there, this wasn't that kind of personal call."

"Ha, oh, don't worry, she knows."

:::::::

Since he's started back at work, Steven has been coming to the club with me, rather than waiting at home till it's time to come in for his shift. Generally he either chats with the staff, or gets ahead with his prep, but tonight he's used his extra time for a meeting he's set up with a rep.

When I spot the guy leaving, I go in to the kitchen.

"How'd it go?"

"Really good, yeah. It's good prices he's given me, for everything really. I mean, we don't need new plates or dishes yet, but we will do if it keeps getting more busy, cos sometimes now I nearly run out of clean ones by the end of service. And baking sheets, which I do need, so I've ordered a couple off him tonight."

"It was worth meeting him, then."

"Definitely." Steven is cutting out thin circles of pastry as he talks. "And Amy phoned for a chinwag as well."

"That's who you were talking to when I brought your rep in?"

he nods. "I was telling her about when the lads are coming over the New Year, and, you know we were gonna have to go out and buy a fold-up bed or something?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Amy said they've got one they can lend us. We've seen it, it's the chair in the corner in their front room, next to Marmalade's little bed."

"Futon type'a thing, yeah?"

"Yeah. I never even knew it was a bed, but she says you just fold it out. We can pick it up nearer the time, she said, when we're over there fetching the kids. So that's one less thing we've got to think about."

"Good. Good of her."

"We'll let the lads sort out between them who gets the sofa and who gets the futon bed, eh?"

"Leave it to them, yeah."

"Here, Brendan, you know me empanadas?"

"I think of little else."

He laughs. "Well, that's another thing I ordered off the rep. Cos, you know I do different ones – I do the normal one plus the veggie one, yeah, and when I'm making them, like this – " He folds one of the pastry circles in half to contain the filling he's piled on to it – "I crimp the edges with a fork for the meat ones, like you'd do with a pie or whatever, to seal it. But for the veggie ones I do little 'V's all round with the edge of a fork, just so I'm double-sure they don't get mixed up, only it takes twice as long, all that faffing around. So whatsisname, the rep, he can get little, like, cutters made up. Not cutters, but like cutters, made of metal, and you can get them to make any words you want. A stamp – that's what he called it. So he's gonna do me one that says 'V' – like, a row of 'V's, I can't remember how many – and one that's got 'V's with a little plus sign all round, and that's for the vegan one. Cos I'm doing a vegan one as well, or thinking about it anyway."

"So you stamp around the edge, yeah, instead of using a fork?"

"Exactly. I showed him what size I do the circles, so he knows the right, like, curve to make the things. So it's quite expensive, right, but it's gonna save time, cos it'll just be two or three presses for each empanada, so it's worth it. And they are popular, me empanadas. They're the most popular thing we make, right, which is why I'm working on a new one."

I listen to him chatting away, and it's just work stuff, but I'm aware that something has altered since we came away from the hospital yesterday. There are no ifs, no caveats in these wee plans he's making: no fear that makes him hesitate from looking to the future. It feels like he's getting back to normal.

:::::::

Thursday morning, he's up by the time I get back from my run, and he's dug out his old box of Christmas decorations. It on the coffee table, where he's rooting through it.

"Alright?" I say.

"Nice run?"

"Grand, yeah."

"You're all wet. I knew you'd get caught in the rain."

"Yep. What you up to?"

"Seeing what we've got. I reckon we're gonna need some new decos, you know, specially if we're getting a real tree. Cos some of these are alright, but some of them are well manky."

"They looked okay in your flat."

"But they won't here, will they. We'll have to buy some more."

"Okay."

"And when are we gonna get the tree, Brendan? Should we wait a bit, as it's real, in case we get it too soon and it dun't last? Cos it's got to look nice still when the lads are here, eh?"

"Should be okay, should last a month alright. Maybe we'll go and get it at the weekend with the kids?"

"Or," he says, "Me and you could go and get it next week."

"Yeah?"

"Cos then it'll be a surprise for them, won't it? We can decorate it, can't we, then they'll see it when they come the next weekend, all nice with the lights and that."

"Course, yeah, if you want."

"Just us, like."

"Just us."

"You're dripping."

"I'll get a shower, get changed. Then we can go and see what decorations we want from the shops. Good."

:::::::

"Cafe after this?" he says while the shop assistant is scanning the shopping-basketful of tinsel and baubles and lights we've picked out. "Keep us going till we have our tea."

"You read my mind."

"That's a hundred and four pounds ninety-eight, please," the girl says.

"Blimey," Steven says to me when we've left the store. "I told you we should've went to the pound shop."

"No," I say. "Unless you want to throw it all out in January and buy new every Christmas."

"I don't, no. We'll put them all away after, and then we'll remember every year when we get them out."

"Remember what?"

"That they was the first ones we bought together."

"Getting all sentimental, are you?"

"Shut up. I know you, Brendan, right. How long have we just spent in that shop while you stood there deciding what ones you wanted to get, eh? So don't pretend you'll be happy binning them."

"So they're an investment," I say, and when he gives me a sceptical look as we walk along the street, I wink at him.

:::::::

Ed and Margaret have just left the cafe as we approach it.

"Oh no," Margaret says, "We keep hoping we'll see you inside, so we can treat you. Ed, go back in and pay for Ste and Brendan, will you?"

"No," says Steven, "You're alright, you haven't got to pay for us."

"We've been trying to," she says, "Ever since your Brendan paid for us, that first time we saw you after you'd been in hospital. We've just not got the timing right."

"Well, make it nearer Christmas then, eh? We're sure to all be in here, in't we, having a rest from all the shopping."

"Alright," says Margaret. "And we won't take no for an answer – we're treating you, and that's that."

Steven nods, and gives her a smile. Then he says, "We've been shopping today, look. That's why we're late." He shows her his carrier bag and then takes the other from me, and he and Margaret peer into each in turn, examining the contents.

"It'll be special for you, this Christmas," Ed says to me as we stand waiting for the two of them to finish their chat. "Same as it was for us, after Margaret had her illness. It never stops being special after something like that, you'll see."

:::::::

On the days when one or both of us have a night's work ahead of us, we treat our afternoons at home as our evenings, and now that it's winter and the daylight hours are short, the illusion is helped along by the early fade in to darkness outside our windows.

This is when, side by side on the sofa, we watch TV, or he messes around on the laptop while I read. He'll nudge me to show me something on the screen; I'll read a line or a few paragraphs from my book out loud if I think it'll interest him; we talk: until he goes off to make our main meal of the day. I'll give him a hand with that, or if it's more trouble for him to tell me what to do than to do it himself, I'll just keep him company while he cooks.

More often than not, we'll eat in front of the television and then, when it's time, we'll rouse ourselves again to get ready to go to work.

Sometimes I go for a sleep instead of sitting with him. He doesn't like that, though.

This day – Thursday – he's found something to watch, and he's sitting waiting for me.

"I'm gonna go and get my head down for half an hour," I say from the doorway.

"Aren't we gonna watch this?"

"I'm not that bothered about this one, Steven. You can tell me about it, okay? I need some shut-eye."

He shifts himself along to sit in my place at the end of the sofa. "Stay here, though," he says, and he pats his thighs.

"What? You want me to sit on your lap? I don't think you've thought this through..."

He laughs. "Don't be daft, you'd squadge me. I'll turn the telly down, so you can have your kip here."

So I go and lie on the sofa, my head in his lap, and close my eyes.

"The fuck's squadge, anyways?"

"It's worse than squidge, but not as bad as squash."

I open one eye, squint up at him, and shut it again. "Never mind squadge, I'm not even convinced squidge is a word."

"Yeah it is. Or am I thinking of squish?" He laughs. "Now you're gonna tell me squish in't a word either."

He's got one hand resting on my chest; the other plays absently with my hair.

"I don't even know," I say.

"Well, it is, cos I just said it – squish – and I couldn't say it if it weren't a word, could I. That's proof."

I smile. "QED."

"No, it'll be S. Then Q, U... S? H. Something like that."

"I love you."

"Why?"

"Because."

He watches his programme with the sound down low, and I drift off to sleep.

:::::::

Friday night, I'm getting ahead with counting the cash take, when Steven texts me.

Finished work now where are you xxx

I hadn't realised it was that time already.

Office. I'll come see you off.

I mark where I've got to in the counting, and then as I'm about to put it away, he messages again: Stay there I'll come xxx

I sit back down, and continue.

A minute later, it's Maria who comes in.

"From Members," she says, and puts her cashbox down on the desk. "Give you a hand?"

"No, it's okay, I'm ahead of the game. Good night upstairs?"

"One of those nice, bubbly nights, yeah. Hasn't felt crazily busy, but the card payments are already up on last Friday, and we've got a couple of hours to go yet."

"Alright, sexy?" Steven has burst in: the smile on his face disappears instantly when he sees that I'm not alone. "Oh. Erm... I was just... I've finished now, anyway, so I'm just gonna..."

His hand flails behind him, trying to find the door handle. He's flustered.

"I'd better get back upstairs," Maria says, then as she moves past Steven, she says to him, "Nicest greeting I've had all night, by the way."

"Oh, I weren't... Oh."

The music from the club swells louder when Maria opens the door, and dulls again as it swings shut behind her.

I get up, walk around the desk.

He backs away.

We're playing.

"Brendan, right, I never knew she was in here, or I wouldn'a – "

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Don't know." He swallows.

He's carrying his coat draped over his arm in front of him: resists at first when I try to take it, then lets me. I reach past him with it, and hang it on a hook on the back of the door; feel the heat coming off him now that there's barely a space between us.

"Don'tcha?"

It's no more than a beat, before he's kissing me. Arms looped round my neck. Ready to hop up and cling with his legs round my waist as soon as my hands are on his arse to give him a lift.

Couple of steps, and his back is pressed against the door, and the music thrums through it, through his bones, to me.

His hair smells faintly of what he's been cooking.

"Can we?" he says in to my mouth.

"No. No."

I hold his waist and he unhooks his legs from around me and stands.

"There's no cameras, is there?"

"Just the one over the safe still – just covers that end of the room, behind the desk."

"Well then – "

"I gotta work, though, Steven. Nice though that was..."

I kiss him again. Then I get my jacket from the back of my chair and put it on, and he puts his coat on.

"Your hair's all standing up at the back," he says. "Come here. That's it, you're respectable now."

"Let's get you off the premises, before you land me in trouble."

He gives me a Who? Me? look, and I laugh.

:::::::

The picture of us on the wall at the head of our bed has been swagged with tinsel and tiny lights – blue – which glow like fireflies in the dark of the room.

He stirs, and my eyes adjust.

"You're home," he says.

"You've been busy."

"I've been asleep." Then he sees where I'm looking, and he says, "Oh, that? I did it when I got in. D'you like it?"

He pushes the cover back, turns around on the bed to face the picture, and kneels there, looking up at it.

I walk to the foot of the bed to look at it straight on.

"Looks good, yeah. Us and the decorations."

He laughs softly.

I get on the bed too: kneel behind him on the mattress. He twists round to give me a kiss.

"You've had your whiskey," he says.

"And a shower."

"That'll be why you're dressed in a towel, then."

"Nothing gets past you."

I rest a hand on his hip, and kiss the side of his neck just inside the collar of his pyjamas, where he's ticklish. He squirms, and I hear a sharp breath of a laugh, hissing between his teeth. I leave him be, at least in respect of his neck. Try stroking my hand up his side, briefly, pushing his top up a few inches as I go so I'm touching bare skin: see how he takes to that.

He unbuttons his top and takes it off.

Good.

Then he hooks his thumbs either side of his pyjama bottoms, starts to push them down, but stops and looks round, and tugs at the towel round my waist. I untie it, throw it aside. His Christmas lights are enough to show him what he wants to see, and it's evidently satisfactory, because he pushes his pyjamas down to the crooks of his knees.

Commando, he is.

I grab the lube. Use it first to give myself a hand, vigorously enough that he can hear what I'm doing.

"Fucking hell," he says.

I imitate him, "Fookin' 'ell."

"Shut up."

I give his backside something between a pat and a slap.

Before I'm finished squirting another blob of lubricant on to my fingers, he's leant forward from the hips to grip the top of the headboard with both hands, braced.

He flinches at the first touch because the lube is cold, so I rub my hands together to warm it up, and then he's fine, pushing back against my hands like a cat being stroked.

"You like this."

"Yeah."

"This?" My thumb, I give him, in and straight out again. "More?"

"Yeah."

Both hands on the cheeks of his arse. Both thumbs pressing at his ring. Breaching it. Easing in. Gently – very gently – stretching it. He makes a long, low sound.

"Want something else now?"

"Mm."

"What?"

"A fuck."

"A fuck, please."

"Please."

I hold his hips; lean forward and kiss between his shoulder blades. Then I straighten up. Trail the tip of my cock down his crack, and then slide inside him. His warmth swallows me whole.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Yes."

I reach for his dick. His pre-cum mixes with the lubricant left on my hand, to slick my grip on him.

His spine is almost horizontal but his head up, still looking at the picture. As he moves, blurry dots of blue light spark through the tips of his hair and skit over his back, as if they're testing what he is, not daring to land.

I pull out.

"Turn round. Turn over."

He tuts, but does what he's told, and once he's on his back I pull his pyjama pants the rest of the way off so I can get between his legs, and then I kiss his mouth, and then I look in his eyes, and then I fill him again till we're finished.

"D'you know what today was?" he asks before we go to sleep.

"Tonight, you mean?" I say. Is it not just me, then? Is he counting as well?

"Tonight, today, what ever. D'you know, Brendan?"

"Tell me."

"The ninth."

"Okay."

"So it's exactly a month till my birthday, and our anniversary."

"I didn't know that, Steven."

"Well, now you do."

I can feel him smiling when we kiss goodnight.

Tonight was night fifty.

I pull Steven close.

:::::::

It's been a full-on weekend with Leah and Lucas, consisting mainly of finding ways to tire them out, because their pre-Christmas excitement has kicked in.

We don't say it out loud, but when Amy and Simon come and get them at around four o'clock on Sunday – earlier than usual, because they're on their way home from somewhere, so it makes sense to pick the kids up en route – I think we're both grateful for the respite.

"It'll be better next weekend," Steven says, "You'll see. They'll be bored of being hyper by then, and just taking it as it comes."

"The calm before the storm?"

"Something like that, yeah."

:::::::

The kids having left early, it means Steven will be on his own from the time I leave for work, until I get home in the early hours.

He's knocked back my suggestion that we see if one of the Lomaxes can come over. "I don't need no one here, Brendan, alright?" And later, when I'm taking a long time to get myself out of the house, he says, "For god's sake, Brendan, go. You're already late for work. I'll text you. And I won't be staying up late, anyway, after the kids had us running around all day. Go on."

"Okay, okay." I put my coat on over my suit, kiss him. "If you need me, just – "

"I love you, right, but you're annoying me now."

"I love you too."

:::::::

I send Anne a text when I've been at the club for an hour or two. I'm at work, he's home alone. First time. Call him if you got time... BB

Will do. Xox

Later, she phones me. I'm in the kitchen, checking in on Pearl, so I excuse myself and go out in to the delivery yard.

"You spoke to him?" I say to Anne.

"Yes, had a nice long catch-up – literally just finished now. He's fine."

"Okay. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. We were overdue a proper chat in any case, him and me."

"You didn't tell him I asked you to call him?"

"No, and he didn't ask. He's smart though, so he probably guessed, but he certainly didn't let it bother him. It was lovely."

"You say that a lot – you and Steven, you both do."

"Say what?"

"'Lovely'."

"Do we?" A pause. "Where are you? I can usually hear music when you're on the phone at work."

"Out in the yard."

"Aren't you freezing?"

"It's so warm inside, it's good to get out in the air. Ain't too cold a night anyways."

"I'm just thinking if I've got any news for you. Oh, I've not heard from Nurse Curtis yet. Hopefully he'll get in touch, but maybe he won't if he can't come. He could be working on the seventh. Or he might feel a bit funny about coming to someone else's family party."

"Could be. It would be good for Steven, though, if he came."

"Ste mentioned him tonight, funnily enough. He said Curtis used to sit with him and chat while he was having his drug infusion, or if he was feeling panicky or upset. Just helped him calm down, and listened to him if he felt like talking. He said it was lovely seeing him the other day."

"What else did he say?"

"I'm not going to spill all his beans, Brendan."

"Is there anything I should be worried about?"

"No. He seemed fine about being on his own tonight. He said he wants someone with him when he's got the kids, like last night, because he doesn't want Leah and Lucas to worry about having to cope on their own if he had a fit. But that's not because he thinks he's going to have a fit, as I'm sure you know."

"I know, yeah. It's about wanting the kids to feel secure, till they're used to the idea that he's better and they can stop worrying."

"They're lucky, those kids. They've got good parents – and that includes you, mister."

"Anyways..."

"Anyway, I won't be up again until after Christmas, so I'm sending my prezzie up for you and Ste and the little ones."

"Not visiting your sister?"

"She's coming down to stay with me in London – just her and her little girl, because her boyfriend's going home to Scotland."

"I thought you had a houseful?"

"Not any more. Carl and Jason and Bobby flew back to LA yesterday, so it's just me, Nicky and Seth here now."

"No Richard..?"

"We don't live together. I'm not that sort of girl."

"Course you're not."

She laughs. "Obviously he stays over, but I haven't moved him in here yet. Specially while I had all the Costellos squeezed in, vying for the one and only bathroom every morning. Ah, I've just remembered what I wanted to ask you. It's about Seth – I was wondering if he could come to the party? To the evening do, if not the lunch. He'd love to see Declan, and Paddy and the kids as well, and it would give him something to look forward to, with Jason gone."

"I don't see why not. Came on holiday with us, after all."

"Thank you. That's what Cheryl said too when I mentioned it to her, but we wouldn't invite anyone without asking you."

"I need to get back to work now, Anne."

"So I haven't got time to tell you what Ste told me about your love life? That's a shame. Bye, then."

"Anne?"

She's laughing. "Well, the word 'amazing' kept coming up. As do you, apparently..."

"I'm gonna go now."

:::::::

It's a cold Monday morning. He's put gloves on and his hood up as soon as we've got out of the car.

We've driven to this place just out of town, which we saw signposted on Saturday as we headed off to collect the kids.

Ours is the only car here today, but judging by the churned-up mud and grass we have to walk across to get from the parking area at the entrance to this park, to the fenced-off patch where the Christmas trees are, it must have done good trade over the weekend.

Rows of them, there are, from a couple of feet tall, to a height higher than the ceiling of our flat.

"Never knew there was a kind of Christmas tree that doesn't drop its needles, back in the day, " I say, "This is the kind of progress I can get on board with."

"How d'you mean, dropping its needles?"

"The needles used to drop out, off'a the branches, soon as you'd had it in the house a few days. Don't tell me you've always had this kind over here? It was another trick the English played on the Irish?" I put on a posh English accent: "Let the Irish keep buying the needle-dropping trees. They'll be so busy picking pine needles out of their socks until Easter, they'll have no time to think about an uprising."

"I don't know what you're on about," he says.

"Don't worry about it. You like the accent, though, yeah?" We smile at each other. "Let's go choose our tree."

As we walk past the ranks of trees, Steven says,"I don't know about dropping or not dropping, anyway. Cos I've never had a real one before."

"Never?"

"No. We didn't even have one at all, one year, cos me mum didn't look for it in the cupboard till Christmas Eve, and then she remembered Terry chucked it out the year before." There's no self pity in the way he talks: it's just a matter of fact. "And then, me and Amy, well, we wouldn'a gone and got a real one. We just got our normal one out every year, because we needed all our money for the kids' presents."

I touch his back, and we stop. "These are the five-foot trees, so the sign says. The size we wanna go for, yeah?"

"That's what we thought when we measured, innit. What do we do now?"

"Just have a look at them, see which one you like best. Come on."

They all look the same at first, and I think Steven thinks I'm winding him up; but after a minute or two of going from one to the next, we're seeing the differences.

"See, that one's a bit, like, spindly."

"Takes one to know one."

"Oi!"

I laugh. "Joking. Seriously, though, it's easier to hang the decorations if it's spindly."

"I like the bushier ones. They look sort'a cuddly."

"Word of advice: don't cuddle it."

We carry on looking.

"I like the smell," he says.

"Yeah. That's what you remember, your whole life."

He looks around to make sure we're alone, then he kisses me.

"I'll remember all of it, Bren."

:::::::

We've bought a tree that's not too spindly and not too dense. It's been fed through the machine that encases it in netting for transporting, and we've angled it on to the back seats of the car – its tip poking out of the rear passenger window – because it was easier than lashing it to the roof.

"Can we decorate it today?" he asks, as we pull up outside our building.

"Course. Night off, ain't it, so we can give it the attention it deserves."

Between us, we get it carefully out of the car, then I shoulder it, he brings its stand, and we head upstairs.

:::::::

At Steven's suggestion, we don't do anything else until we've had lunch. I reckon he's thinking this will fall into the category of DIY, in which case he doesn't want me getting hangry.

We've decided where the tree is going, so we put the stand in place and secure the tree in it, as per the instructions given to us by the fella who sold it to us. He had on a woolly hat and light-up antlers, which presumably meant he was qualified to advise.

I get the Stanley knife from the toolbox, and cut off the netting. We stand back and watch as the branches slowly unfurl.

"We never thought about how wide it was, did we," Steven says. "Cos it's, like... wide."

"Yeah, it is pretty wide."

We look at each other, and burst out laughing.

"It's so wide," he says. "Was it like that when we picked it?"

"It's as broad as it's tall, almost. Reckon it grew in the car?"

"I reckon it did, yeah."

"Could cut the ends off some of the bottom branches, I guess," I say.

"I s'pose so, yeah. Or we could leave it like it is. I mean, it's only gonna be a problem when the lads are here, because of fitting the bed in."

"We can work it out. Shove the sofa over when they're here, make room somehow."

"Yeah. It would be a shame to start cutting bits off him, when he's just doing his job of being a Christmas tree. Right, I'll fetch some water to put in the stand."

I clear away the net and the odd bits of twig and fallen leaves that were caught up in it. I only hoovered this morning, and now it needs doing again.

Steven comes back with the watering can, and waters the plant.

"I thought that was for the tree," I say.

"Don't want Planty getting jealous, do we."

"Oh, no, we can't have that."

Then Steven says to the plant, "Have you seen your new friend?" and adds in a stage whisper, "Don't mention how wide he is – he's a bit sensitive."

He throws me a glance to check my reaction. I roll my eyes, and he laughs.

:::::::

He's found a TV channel that's playing nothing but Christmas songs. Occasionally he sings along to one of them as we work.

Luckily one of the strings of lights we bought is a long one – long enough for this tree – and we supplement the new baubles with as many of his old ones as he deems worthy.

There's one thing that has a place on the very top of the tree in spite of its condition. It's a cardboard fairy covered in glitter: Leah's creation apparently, from back in the day. I remember it from last year, on his old tree, in that flat where – three years before that – we had first made our home.

"Official switch-on?" I say.

"Get a local celebrity in to do it, shall we?"

"I'll make some calls."

"Shame Mitzeee in't here – we could've asked her to do the honours."

"She ain't cheap. Or so she claims."

He laughs. "Or you could do it. Wait a sec, though." He goes and turns out the main lights in the room, then stands by the table lamp, ready to turn that off too. "You've found the switch, yeah?"

I crouch down and find it at the end of the wire. "Yeah, I've got it."

So he turns off the lamp, and I flick the switch for the tree lights.

I straighten up, go and stand with him. Look at the tree, then look at him.

"It's magical," he says.

:::::::

Tuesday morning, we're both awake, so we have a coffee in bed before I head out. It would be easier if he was asleep, because Gym etc is more easily got away with in writing than anything I say to his face. I get away with it by making a show of taking my gym bag and my water bottle, and saying very little.

I know where I'm going. Straight to the department store, and pick out all the Jo Malone products he uses, in the flavour he likes. They gift-wrap them for me, which helps, and then the girl there says, "Have you seen the limited edition Christmas bottle of cologne in this scent?"

I don't think he's had the cologne before. So I get that for him as well. Then I go and let myself in to the club, and lock the packages away in my desk drawer in the office.

Then, on to the gym, and then home.

He doesn't greet me when I get in, so I think maybe he's gone back to bed.

He's not there. The notebook is lying on the bed, though, so I can't miss it: Gone to get us some brek. Back sooooonnnn xxx

Makes me smile. Makes me worry.

Fortunately I don't have time to go through too many scenarios in my head, before he walks in the door.

"Miss me?" he says.

"That's the first time you've..."

"I know. I won't say it weren't weird at first, being out on me own. But I did it, Brendan. And I survived, so you can stop looking at me like that." He holds up one of the bags he's carrying. "I've bought croissants an' all."

:::::::

The days are rushing towards Christmas now.

The club is busy every night, from opening to closing, on both floors. The kitchen is busier than it's ever been, and Steven even has to borrow one of the bar staff at times to lend a hand in there.

Our days are full as well.

Some mornings, when I'm out running or what ever, he goes out too – even if he's asleep when I leave – just to get used to it, he says.

We're only getting small things for the kids this year. Books, clothes, sweets and so on, just so they'll have things to unwrap here before we take them to their mum's on Christmas Day. It's what he's agreed with Amy, because their main present is a bicycle each, which he's given her half the money for.

They're mounting up, though, these small things. Whether he buys them on his morning excursions on his own, or we get them when we're out shopping together, the bags of presents stashed in our wardrobe seem to increase by the day.

Another thing increasing is the number of baubles on the tree. Every time I look at it, there's something new: a glittery panda one day, a King Neptune the next. A couple of unicorns. A string of iridescent hearts that reflect the colours of the rainbow lights around them.

One night when I come back from work, there's a Christmas wreath on the front door of the building, and I wonder which of our neighbours has put it there; until I get upstairs and there's an identical one on our own flat door, which tells me it must have been Steven.

The gifts from Anne arrive one day – the one for us is a picture, going by the size and shape of it – and Steven says, "We've not got anything for her yet, have we."

"Doesn't matter. Won't be seeing her at Christmas anyways."

"Grinch. What about perfume? We've still got time to post it."

"You can't just buy any perfume for a woman. They like what they like, you can't just guess."

"She wears Stella."

"Stella?"

"It's a perfume."

"How do you know she wears Stella?"

"She had it with her in Brighton. I had a sniff. It's what she wears, Brendan."

"You're full of surprises, Steven."

:::::::

In the department store, going to buy Anne's perfume, we walk past the Jo Malone section and the girl there remembers me and opens her mouth to say hello. I shake my head at her, and she gets my meaning.

Steven attempts to loiter, but I keep him moving.

That's not the only close call. Another morning when I'm meant to be out for a run, I'm in the men's outfitters as soon as they unlock the door.

It's the place we got Steven's suit – the one he was meant to wear for our wedding – and it's the same guy who served us before, too. Old school. So I tell him what the suit was that I bought before – the designer, the size of the jacket, the size of the trousers, all gleaned from unzipping it from its suit bag one morning when Steven was in the shower – and I ask what they've got in the same size. He tells me my best bet is to get one by the same designer, because the fit is more likely to be the same. So I stand there as he searches the rails, and he comes up with a choice of two. One is black, too similar to the one Steven has got. The other one is a little heavier, and textured: more suited to the winter months, and less formal. On most men it might look bulky, but on him it won't.

I pay for it. The assistant folds it carefully into a box, and slides the box in to a bag.

As I step outside the shop, Steven is walking along the pavement in this direction. I jump back inside – almost knock the guy flying.

"I'll come back for it," I say, and give him the suit. Then I open the door again, go out slowly in the hope I can get away without getting caught: only Steven is looking in the window of the deli next door, and I've got no time to do anything before he sees me.

"Brendan."

"What are you doing here?" I say.

"Just seeing what they've got. What are you doing here?"

"Just running... Saw the... In the window, the suits. Thought I might get one, a new one, y'know."

"But you didn't, though."

"Gonna wait for the sales."

:::::::

One night at work, I get a text from Amy, asking if she can call me about Steven's present. I message back, Okay, and head for the office so I'll be able to hear her if she calls straight away; which she does.

"Amy," I say.

"Hi. I just wanted to check. I know Ste's mentioned before that his radio at home – the one in the kitchen – needs new batteries all the time. I was thinking of getting him a new one – one that plugs in – for Christmas, but if you've bought one, then I'll think of something else."

"No, that's a good idea. He'll love that."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Okay."

"I'll let you get on," she says.

"Yep."

:::::::

Steven was right about the kids: they're good as gold the last weekend before Christmas.

When they come in and see the tree for the first time, they prove Steven right about the magic: their faces light up with it.

Later, I come in to the room and find Leah looking up at the tree again, with her dad sitting on his heels beside her to look up at it too. I stop in the doorway, eavesdropping, and hear her say to him, "I'm gonna make a new fairy, cos I can make a much better one now."

"You can if you want," he says, "And the new one can sit next to this one, yeah? But this one... D'you remember when you gave it to me, Leah, when you said bye bye to me when Mummy took you home, that Christmas Eve? It was the best, best thing I had that Christmas, right, so it's always gonna be on the top of every Christmas tree we ever have, every year for ever."

Two Christmases I missed when I was away, and that must have been one of them. I wonder what he did then, after the children had gone.

:::::::

In the following days when Leah and Lucas phone up and chat on about what they've been up to – their school party, the end of term – they're not hyper, just excited.

"Has he been yet?" I say to them when we've got them on speaker.

"Who?" they both ask.

"Father Christmas."

"No," Leah says, and she laughs.

"He can't come till Christmas Eve," says Lucas.

Afterwards I say to Steven, "They believe, or not, d'you think?"

"Leah might not, but she won't say so, will she."

"Humouring us, you mean?"

"More like playing along."

"Fair enough. And Lucas?"

"I actually think he does believe. I hope so, anyway."

"I hope so too."

:::::::

I'm off to the barbers.

"You gonna keep your hair like it is, though?" Steven says before I leave the house.

"I think so, yeah. You got an opinion you'd care to share?"

"Yeah, I'm used to it like this now. And Brendan, tell them, with the beard, you only want – "

"Just a trim. I know."

"Good," he says.

"Might pick up a bottle of beard oil while I'm there."

"No, don't," Steven says, and when I frown at him, he says, "They don't sell your one, do they. No one does, except Brighton."

"I need it, though. I've run out."

"Right, stay there."

"Mm?"

"Sit," he says, and shoves me towards the sofa. "Stay there, right?"

"Right."

I stay put. I don't know where he goes off to, but evidently he's got a hiding place, because he comes back a minute later with a bottle of the Brighton beard oil.

"It was gonna be for Christmas, but you might as well have it now, seeing as you need it."

"Yeah? Thank you. Come here." I pull him down and give him a kiss. "Listen, Steven, you don't have to get me anything else. What ever you've got me or you're getting me, I don't want you spending money. You only just spent hundreds on my birthday present. Anyways, I've already got what I want for Christmas, okay?"

"Me."

I laugh. "Yes, you."

:::::::

Friday is the night before Christmas Eve, and Steven's last shift. I go and see how he's got on at the end of it.

"All done?"

"Just, yeah. And I've made some bits and pieces in the fridge ready for Pearl when she comes in tomorrow night, just so she's not flat out from the minute she she gets here."

"She'll appreciate that."

It takes me longer than usual to walk him out to his taxi, because he gets stopped and given hugs by various members of my staff.

:::::::

Saturday: it's Christmas Eve.

The kids' time with us is shorter than for a usual weekend. Amy took them to visit her mother when they finished school yesterday, and they stayed the night there – wherever that is – which means they won't be with us until noon, she estimates. At least she's bringing them, though, to save us the journey.

And it also means we've got the morning to ourselves.

"We'll go to the cafe, won't we," Steven says, when we're in bed with a cup of coffee. "Ed and Margaret will be there – she said they would be, anyway. I bet they'll stay there, waiting for us to come in, even if it's hours."

"They're that sort of people. Made a promise, gonna stick to it."

"We won't make them wait, though, eh? Finish this, then we'll go."

"In a hurry, are we? Better share a shower in that case, to save time."

He gives me one of his looks. And then, in the shower, he gives me one of his handjobs.

:::::::

After I've gone and got dressed, I find him in the living room, writing a Christmas card.

"How d'you spell Margaret?" he asks.

:::::::

Margaret prods her husband as soon as we walk in, and he turns round in his seat to see us, then gets up and comes to meet us at the counter.

"No point telling me what you want, with all the lattes and cappuccinos and funny milks – you tell Christine yourselves, so I don't get it wrong," Ed says, then he says to the woman who runs the place – name of Christine, apparently – "I'll pay for these gentlemen today."

"No problem," says Christine.

So we order our coffees, and Steven says we're having mince pies today, so we order those as well, and Ed pays up.

"Alright if we join you?" Steven asks Margaret when we go looking for a table.

"Course it is," she says.

The table's not meant for four people, but I grab a couple more chairs, Ed and Margaret budge up, and we sit down.

Between Steven and Margaret, there are no lulls in the conversation. I throw in the occasional word when called upon to do so.

"Fifty-three Christmases on the trot, this'll be," Margaret is saying. "Never apart, not once."

"This is only our second one in a row, cos Brendan was – " Steven stops himself. "He was away for a bit."

"What matters is, you're home now," Margaret says, and she pats my hand.

:::::::

The Lomaxes arrive, bearing gifts and drinks, and ready to spend the evening with Steven and the kids.

"It looks gorgeous in here," Leela says when they come in and see the decorations. "Aw, even your plant's got lights on."

I wink at Steven.

"Wish I could stay and partake," I say, "But work calls."

:::::::

We've called last orders at eleven. Some of the punters aren't happy – this club used to stay open till one o'clock on Christmas morning – but if they didn't read the signs on their way in, or check it out online, it's their fault, not mine.

Most of them are okay with it, being just as keen as my staff are to get themselves home. Any case, it was my decision: close at eleven on Christmas Eve, and stay closed for the next three nights; because sometimes things happen that make you focus on what matters.

Before the last punter is out the door, we've started the clear-up. There's not much cash left to count, as Maria and I have been getting it done throughout the night, so it gets done quickly. Everyone works fast, and they're all away in their cabs in record time, each with a bottle of champagne to go home with. Kingsley, Harry and I are the last to leave. I shake their hands: "Enjoy the break, lads."

I walk home briskly in the cold. Glance at my phone on my way up the staircase in our building: 12.02. Christmas Day.

I come in to the flat quietly. The living room light is on and before I've taken my coat off, Steven has appeared and I get a second's sight of him – he's in the dressing gown – before his lips hit mine. I hold his head in both my hands: where his hair is short it's as warm as skin. His hands are on my waist, lightly, inside my coat, outside my suit jacket. We kiss, keep kissing, and when we stop my eyes stay shut and I can feel his breath on my lips and I kiss him again.

And then I look at him. The hall light is off and the light from the lounge silhouettes him.

"Happy Christmas," he whispers.

"Happy Christmas, Steven."

I take off my coat and jacket, then I pick up the bottle of champagne I've brought in with me, and follow him into the living room.

"How was your night?" he says. We can talk above a whisper now we're in here with the door closed; we could probably even talk at normal volume without the kids hearing, but somehow we don't.

"Good, yeah. Chased the punters out, cleared up double-quick, got all the staff in their cabs by ten to, so."

"Nicked that from work, did you?" He nods at the champagne bottle.

I put it down on the coffee table, and we sit.

"Au contraire. It's yours. Gave one to all the staff though, so don't go thinking you're getting special treatment."

He smiles. "Ta. We can have that with out dinner tomorrow then, eh?"

"If you want, yeah."

He's got two tumblers all ready here with ice in, along with the bottle of Southern Comfort the Lomaxes brought with them. He pours us one, and we clink glasses.

"Happy Christmas," he says again.

"Same to you." I sip my drink. "How'd it go with the clan? Alright?"

"Yeah, it was quite nice actually. They didn't stay long – well, I texted you when they'd gone, didn't I, so you know. There's prezzies under the tree for the kids, but they opened one prezzie while they were here cos it was pyjamas from Danny and Sam, so they've got them on now. I knew that's what they were getting cos Sam rang me to ask what size. They look dead cute, you'll see in the morning."

The drink is going down nicely. It's not my usual choice but it's warming, and the lights from the tree are reflected in my glass, and in his glass, and in his eyes.

"Santa Claus been yet?" I say.

"No, not yet. I had a listen, 'bout twenty minutes ago, and they was asleep but Lucas was fidgeting, so he probably would'a woke up if I'd done the Santa-ing. Give it another try after you've had your sarnie, eh?" Then he laughs and gets to his feet. "Which I've not even given you yet. Won't be a sec."

He's back in a couple of minutes.

"Thank you." I take a bite of the sandwich: it's got ham sliced thick, and a mustard dressing, and he must have only just now added the tomatoes – cut so thin you could read through them – and the baby lettuce leaves, because they've not had a chance to go soggy. "Jesus, this is good."

"Good." He smiles, and he chatters away while I eat. "I've done really well since the kids went to bed, me. I've done all me prep for our dinner tomorrow – all the veg and that, all ready in the fridge, and the beef's all foiled up, so all I've got to do is whack it in as soon as we get back from Manchester. And I've made the veggie option for our Leah – don't let me forget to take it, or Amy'll kill me."

"Okay."

We finish our drinks and I finish my sandwich.

"Right," says Steven, "I'll get these cleared up, and do you wanna go and listen if the kids are asleep?"

He heads for the kitchen. I go and stand outside the kids' door and listen and, once my ears are attuned, I can tell from their breathing that they're fast asleep now. Steven appears and I nod, and then we go to our bedroom where their two paper sacks of presents are stashed.

"Who's doing this?" I say.

"You do it. Here, put this on." He takes off the dressing gown and helps me on with it. "Cos then if they do wake up they won't see your white shirt, will they. Hang on a sec." He darts off, and comes back with a Father Christmas hat, which he puts on me.

"Seriously?"

"In case they wake up."

"Why have we even got a Father Christmas hat in the house?"

"Dunno. It was just in the box with the decos. You know, me old ones." He grins up at me. "Suits you."

"Course it does."

"Right, so, the mince pie and the drink are on the windowsill, so you should see them alright. He's having Southern Comfort this year, and it's only a little shot glass, cos Lucas said Santa better not get drunk before he's been round all the other children."

"Makes sense."

"So, drink the drink, and then you've got to eat the mince pie, cos you can't just pocket it, cos you've got to leave crumbs on the plate, right. And then you've just got to take the carrot, and then you're done."

"Ain't gotta take a bite out'a the carrot? That's something I guess."

"No. Cos Rudolf doesn't come in, does he – he's parked up on the roof. Santa's got to take the carrot to give him."

"Course. Stupid of me."

I kiss him, then he hands me a sack in each hand, and we go quietly to the kids' room. We both hold our breath and listen outside the door, then Steven holds it open and I go in. I put Leah's sack on the floor next to the foot of her bunk, then I reach up and put Lucas's on the end of his. He's still small enough that his feet don't reach the foot of his bed, so he won't kick the bag in his sleep.

I locate the drink and knock it back; take a bite of the mince pie so crumbs fall on the plate, then eat the rest of it; pick up the carrot as instructed, and retreat.

Steven closes the door and we smile at each other, mission accomplished.

:::::::

He's in bed with the lights out when I come in after my shower. I get out boxer shorts and a T-shirt to put on, but he lifts up the cover for me to get in, so I just discard my towel and get into bed, and I kiss him. He smells good, and when I glide my hand up his back underneath his vest, his skin feels ridiculously smooth.

Normally on a Saturday night when the kids are here, we don't do anything much; but tonight it feels impossible not to.

I put a hand on his shoulder to lie him back, and now when we're kissing, I'm half on top of him, and his hand finds my cock and opens and closes around it in time with our kisses, slow.

"Yeah?" I breathe to him.

"Yeah."

I sit back and he sits up and I pull his vest off over his head, push his pyjama bottoms down from his hips, then he wriggles them off while I get the lube out from the drawer. He lies back again, knees bent and splayed out to the sides, and I touch him underneath without lube on my fingers first, and then with. He holds his balls out of my way, plays with his dick with his other hand. I turn my fingers inside him, press his sweet spot; his breath catches.

When I'm in him I kiss him. When my mouth leaves his as I move, he chases it, wanting me to muffle his sounds as much as he's trying to keep them down himself.

I go slow and his fingers curl on my flanks with each long thrust, over and over.

His muscles clench when he's got me deep – I don't know if it's thanks to those exercises he says he does, but he's got skills like no other – holding me there, and his kiss moves from my lips to my cheek, and then he whispers in my ear, "Brendan, I won't break."

So I reach up and switch on the Christmas lights on the picture, so I can see his face and its every reaction, and I take his hands and press them to the pillows, and I go a little faster, and my eyes are locked on his, and I go harder till I'm jolting his body. His lips are tight closed, making his sounds into a series of Mm, mm, mm, and he comes before I do, hot on my belly, and when I come it's like I'm giving him everything I have, and the blood-rush roars in my head and we both cry out. And then – gradually – the room stills.

When we've cleaned ourselves off and I've binned the wipes, he says, ever practical, "Tie the plastic bag up, cos the kids'll probably be in here in the morning, won't they."

"Before we know it."

I wrap the plastic bag around itself so its contents are hidden, so curious minds won't be wondering what we've been doing that required all those wipes, then I hide the lube and the rest of the pack of wipes away in the drawer again. Steven puts his pyjama bottoms and his vest back on; I put on my boxers and T-shirt and switch off the lights, and we get back into bed.

"I love you very much," he says.

I stroke his cheek with my thumb.

"That's a coincidence there, Steven."

"Mm?"

"Because that's how much I love you too."

I hear a breath like a smile. He turns away so we can sleep like that, his back against my chest, with my arm held around the front of him. I press my lips where his scar is, but I can't even feel it through his growing hair.

He sits up again and strips off his vest, and then he settles back where he was, only now there's nothing between my hand and his heartbeat.