X-mas Eve
...
Monday 24th December
It's late. Very late, in fact. So late there are only a handful of lights still on in the rows of houses they slowly but steadily pass as they meander, hand in hand, from one street to another. It's not dark though, not at all. True enough, the sun has long since set and while there are surely stars twinkling away high above them, they are sadly hidden from view by the heavy London light pollution and the low lying clouds that are threatening more heavy, fat white flakes, but the world around them is eerily well lit by a combination of street lights and the reflective nature of the thick fluffy drifts and layers of snow that are not just coating, but heavily blanketing just about everything around them.
A record snowfall, that's what the newscasters have called it. London – and indeed most of the country – hasn't seen the like in many, many years now, and accordingly, and really quite predictably, everything and anything seems to have ground to a complete and utter halt. There's very little to be done about it, and with more of the stuff scheduled to arrive in the next few days, the best thing to do seems to be to enjoy it and make the most of it while it lasts. Hence the late night walk.
They round another bend and stop to admire the rather spectacular efforts that have gone into creating not just one solitary snowman, but a whole family of them – clustered around the junction, they are waving merrily at each other from each corner of the crossroads. Further down the road a row of them stand side by side, neatly lined up like Russian nesting dolls; the biggest over a foot taller than Boyd, the smallest just eighteen inches or so. Each is an exact replica of the one before it; coal black eyes, carrot noses and wide, happy smiles.
Clearly there is some sort of competition happening in this neighbourhood, because the next avenue contains a remarkably well carved Wallace, Gromit and Shaun, as well as Paddington Bear and Puss in Boots. At the end of the road a normally grassy island is now home to Winnie the Pooh, Eeyore, Tigger, Rabbit, Piglet and Roo. Incredibly, Owl is even there too, perched on a branch of the single, straggly and rather forlorn tree, a wing wrapped around the trunk for balance.
Christmas lights twinkle merrily at them from windows and doorways as they make their way across the frozen road for a better look. Boyd automatically tightens his grip on Grace's hand, holding on to her as they navigate patches of ice hidden within the unploughed landscape.
"The detail is incredible," muses Grace, as she examines Tigger, looking up a good few inches into the grinning face of the bouncy tiger.
"Mmm," Boyd agrees, crouching down to inspect Piglet, his gloved fingers still securely wrapped around hers. They continue on, saying very little but taking in the peace and quiet, the unexpected stillness of a city frozen to a standstill. It's a different world around them, one they are far from used to but are enjoying nevertheless.
Snow crunches under their feet, the sound distinctive and agreeable. Their breath fogs in front of them, forming soft clouds that hover in the dense, still air. It's so quiet they can hear their own breathing, the rustle of their heavy winter clothes as the snow deadens other noises, absorbing much of the sound of late evening.
They pause again to stare in wonder at the perimeter walls and front gate of a corner house that has been given a new façade; a snowy makeover of castle walls, complete with sculpted battlements and a drawbridge. Beyond the walls, standing proudly in the middle of the front garden is a fully armoured knight sitting astride a life-size and ready-to-charge warhorse. Behind them a banner rustles as a single gentle gust of wind picks at the edges of the old sheet, revealing the fierce, roaring lion that has been painted in brilliant yellow edged in scarlet and secured to an old broom handle. There are other details too; plastic crossed swords and a shield hang between the Christmas lights and the decorative wreath adorning the front door, and just visible peering around a large fir tree is the side profile of a snowy archer, his wooden longbow trained steadily on the pair of them as they stand there in admiration.
Crossing the road again they turn into another street, taking a long and circuitous route back by wordless agreement and this time entering a world of safari animals. They pass an elephant staring down a cheetah, a family of meerkats standing watch outside a community centre and a lioness playing with her cubs beneath a large, commanding oak tree. They are moving on from an enormous and very imposing hippo when Boyd feels his boot snag and glances down, discovering that his lace has come loose. Snarled in a complicated knot, it will require that he removes his gloves in order to achieve the dexterity needed to remedy the situation.
"Careful," he murmurs to Grace, as she lets go of him and moves to look over the nearest garden wall at the small heard of deer populating the snowy lawn. He feels her smile, knows she is quietly amused by his protectiveness. He says nothing, just crouches down and goes to work on the stubborn boot, fingers immediately bitterly cold without the heavy insulation of fleece. It's an irritating and fiddly task, compounded by the frozen nature of the snow-covered lace, and it takes a lot longer than tying a shoe normally should. By the time he finally stands up and jams his thoroughly icy hands back into his gloves, he's not only annoyed from the inconvenience, but also distinctly chilled from the few minutes of inactivity. He glances to his left and frowns, turning slowly as he scans the immediate area for his missing companion.
She's wandered down the street and is looking up at a lamppost, which has been transformed from a dull, steel grey pillar into a majestic and incredibly regal giraffe, complete with big, pointy ears and large, expressive eyes that are calmly surveying the street, keeping a steady watch over the rest of the menagerie.
Boyd stops where he is, his gaze fixed on Grace. The light spilling from the lamp is falling down around her, highlighting the wonder on her face and the calm, quiet happiness in her eyes. Thick, lazy snowflakes are tumbling from above, drifting slowly in the slight hint of a breeze that's picking up. They swirl gently around her as she stands staring up at the giraffe, mesmerised by it. In the soft glow of the streetlamp he can see strands of hair defiantly poking out from under her woolly hat, can see the way she shivers and huddles her shoulders against the cold. A snowflake comes to rest on the very tip of her nose and he watches as she laughs, swiping it gently away.
It's a ridiculously adorable moment and suddenly he's struck with the sudden, overwhelming temptation to just ask her. To finally get an answer.
He doesn't.
She has no idea, he realises, as he watches her; no idea how beautiful she is, how truly captivated by her he is. Briefly he allows himself to wonder what she would say if he told her, if he did just ask her, but then he casts the thoughts aside, wishing instead that he had a camera so he could freeze this moment in time.
The chill of the breeze on his neck brings him out of his thoughts. He adjusts his scarf, tucking it more thoroughly around his neck and strides towards her, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her snugly against his chest. He rests his head beside hers and takes a few moments to examine the truly impressive work that has gone into the giraffe, but mostly he just enjoys the feeling of her as she leans back into him, her hands tucking themselves over his and squeezing gently.
"All right?" he asks quietly, tilting his head to kiss her cheek.
Grace turns in his arms and looks up at him, her fingers sliding effortlessly up his body, locking comfortably around his neck. "Mmm," she smiles up at him, "Are you?"
Her smile is infectious. It warms his heart as he gazes down at her, as she stands on tiptoe and steals a kiss from him. Her lips are icy, but still soft and inviting, and when she pulls back he's smiling too.
"Yes," he replies simply, because he is. He absolutely is.