Christmas wasn't going to be as great as Jo expected.
Sure, when she woke up she couldn't help but grin at the sack of chocolate coins Zaf had left outside her door. But then the phone call came – her Mum had to be taken back into hospital overnight, so no family Christmas dinner. Jo slumped on the sofa with a cup of coffee and texted Ros.
Ros rolled over and cursed for not turning off her wretched mobile phone. She did, however, feel a twinge of remorse as she read the message. Jo's mum's illness was getting worse, and Ros couldn't help but feel sympathetic for her friend. Perhaps a phone call would comfort her a little.
"Hey, Jo. Merry Christmas and all that. I got your message; I was just calling to see if you're okay."
"Yeah, I'll be fine. How's your day been?"
"I'm still in bed, actually," replied Ros.
"Still recovering from the party?" joked Jo.
"No, but I reckon Zaf is. How is he?" Ros asked.
"Dunno. He's gone out..." Jo tried to disguise her disappointment.
"I'm sure he'll be back for the Doctor Who Christmas special," said Ros. Jo smiled – she was probably right about that.
"Have a good day, and thanks." Jo hung up the phone and looked at the clock. She would go and visit her Mum and check to see everything was okay.
After calling Jo, Ros decided she might as well get up, shower, dress and walk around outside. She had always liked cold weather; the way it chilled your skin and bit your face; the way the wind chased broken leaves furiously; the kiss of a snowflake on your cheek. Ros bundled up in a coat and clacked across the pavements to a secluded spot with straggly trees, sitting down on a bench.
She thought briefly of Adam's suggestion to come round for dinner. Sure, he was drunk at the time, but he had texted her the next day confirming that he had been sincere. Ros felt uneasy. She might just cancel, fake an excuse, go to a bar. She wanted to see him; secretly craving a distraction from the loneliness that had been digging its claws into her ever since leaving Six and her father behind. Then again, Ros knew she'd better get used to it sooner rather than later. She didn't do friends, anyway, and in this line of work that was probably for the best. Her rejection of the offer would also give Adam the opportunity to spend time with Wes. Yes, she was definitely doing the right thing. She pulled out her phone and texted Adam.
...
Adam had gathered Wes into a hug the minute he stepped through the door. He was spending Christmas with Fiona's parents, as Adam had explained that he didn't quite feel ready for the responsibility. As usual they had been so kind and understanding and Adam was going to spend the whole day with his son, including a lovely Christmas dinner. Unfortunately he had just received Ros' rebuff of his offer to join; apparently she had work to finish that couldn't wait. He tried to ignore the fact it saddened him a little that he wouldn't get to see her, instead focussing on the fact that he was so happy to be able to spend time with family.
Family. The word was one Adam felt he wouldn't really use again after Fiona had died, and yet he felt an indescribable happiness as he saw Wes' face light up.
"Has Santa been good to you?"
"He got me a train," said Wes.
"That's so cool!" said Adam, grinning. It made him so happy to see his son having fun and not thinking about his Mum.
"Santa has been wonderful this year," said Fiona's mum, Sandra, with a sly wink to Adam when Wes wasn't looking. "I'm so glad you could be here," she added. "No work to do?"
"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow," replied Adam, warmly shaking the hand of Fiona's father, Clive.
"Merry Christmas, son," he said, handing Adam a mug of steaming hot chocolate.
"Thanks," said Adam, feeling choked. Fiona's parents were close to him, but Clive had never referred to him as his son. Adam sipped the hot chocolate. Another perk – having a kid meant sugary treats.
Talking of sugar, Adam couldn't help but smirk from the memories of his party and the disgusted look on Zaf's face when he sobered up and drank some coffee with more sugar than should ever been consumed. He wondered how his friend's Christmas was going.
...
Zaf restarted his car, hit the accelerator, swore, scraped the windscreen wipers, shouted, slammed his hand on the dashboard, yanked the wheel, tried everything. But it was quickly becoming clear that his car wasn't going anywhere – so no family reunion.
The snow had compacted around his wheels and the doors were frozen shut. When had finally managed to get the bloody door open, the heating had packed in and the car insisted on staying put. He was parked a good ten minutes away from the flat, and the snow was now falling harder. Zaf got out of his car, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck and shoving his hands in his pockets. He had heard on the radio this morning that most public transport had been halted because of the extreme weather conditions, and now his own private transport wasn't playing. He headed back into the warmth of the flat and called his mother to give the bad news.
Jo was nowhere to be seen. He had sneaked out early after leaving her some chocolate coins to try and get his car started, ready for the trip to Croydon. Zaf never tired of driving in his pride and joy - the sleek Nissan Skyline he had saved for years to buy, and, to his surprise, had spent nearly an hour trying to revive.
Zaf decided to make pancakes – his personal, instant solution to feeling down. He had devoured two with maple syrup and one with lemon and sugar before Jo arrived back, and Zaf immediately noticed that something was wrong.
"What is it?" he asked, getting up from his seat to console her.
"My mum's been taken back to hospital," Jo told him. Zaf wrapped her in a hug - nothing else was needed in that moment. Well, apart from offering her some pancakes.
"No family Christmas dinner," said Jo, tucking into a pancake topped with ice-cream.
Zaf half-laughed. "Me neither. Car's not moving."
"That's such a shame," said Jo. "I guess you're stuck with me."
"Oh, it's a pleasure Miss Portman. Do you want your present now?" Zaf said.
"I'll go and get yours too."
Jo felt a massive smile on her face when she opened the tiny box and saw the glimmer of two beautiful gold earrings, grabbing Zaf into another hug.
Zaf slipped on the jacket that Jo had bought him and strutted around the kitchen, making her laugh. The jacket was lovely; but not as lovely as the person who had given it to him.
"I think we shall have to opt for a pub roast dinner," commented Jo.
"Sounds good to me. Shall we see if anyone else is up for it?" asked Zaf. He reached for his phone and began to text.
...
Malcolm heard the harsh vibrate of his modern mobile phone on the mahogany counter and sighed. He liked technology and computers and software, but only at work. It seemed ridiculous to spend all of his life in front of a screen when they were books to be read at the weekend.
Colin had bullied him into buying a mobile phone years ago, saying it was ridiculous that a man whose entire life revolved around technology didn't own one. Malcolm didn't see the point, really – he saw his colleagues nearly every day and would visit his mother regularly. It seemed that texting was the cooler substitute for conversation nowadays, and he bet only a few even remembered what letter writing was.
So, Malcolm shunned the use of his mobile whenever possible, and Colin had always wound him up about it. He was usually a shy young man but had known Malcolm for enough time to allow his suppressed shred of deviousness to make an appearance now and again. He texted him some of those little irritating smiley face things, texted him spam about winning a holiday abroad, texted him when they were sitting next to each other, and every single time Malcolm would end up rolling his eyes with a smile.
Nowadays, Malcolm didn't pick up the mobile phone that he had been bought one Christmas because the texts wouldn't be from his friend anymore.
Then the bloody ringtone went off. Malcolm snatched the thing up and reluctantly pressed 'Accept'.
"Morning, Malcolm. Wishing you a very happy Christmas." Zaf's voice was chipper as usual and Malcolm smiled.
"And to you, Zaf."
"Jo and I were planning an impromptu pub roast Christmas dinner meet-up. Fancy it?"
"Most definitely." Malcolm didn't have to hesitate. He exploited the Thames House canteen at lunchtimes and was on first-name basis with every worker at the local fish and chip shop. He possessed many skills but cooking was not one of them, particularly an edible or enjoyable Christmas dinner.
"Great. I'll text you the address," replied Zaf.
"Thank you, Zaf, for thinking of me," Malcolm added, hearing the loneliness in his voice as he spoke those words but glad to have said them anyway. Friendship was something he had lacked in life, the loss particularly vicious now that Colin was no longer with them, and he was touched that even his younger, cooler colleagues seemed to appreciate him.
"Pleasure, Malcolm. See you later."
Malcolm ended the call and reached for the mug of piping hot tea beside him, optimistic that this Christmas might not be the lonely affair that he had anticipated after all.
...
Harry too was enjoying a Christmas cuppa, and accepted Zaf's offer of a pub roast. He had spent a lovely Christmas Eve dinner with Ruth and wondered if she too would be joining. It was funny, really, how they would be talking about matter of national security by day and by night be quarrelling good-naturedly about the best holiday destination. She loved the necklace that he had given to her, fastening it around her neck straight away and producing a marvellous bottle of Scotch for him with that shy smile of hers.
Harry's house wasn't very Christmassy, apart from a small fake tree in the corner that he put up habitually. He couldn't risk a real fir as his dog, Scarlet, would eat the pine needles and try to fight the shining baubles. Apart from the lack of Christmas spirit, his house was pleasantly arranged and comfortable. He had old sofas and rugs; bookshelves on every available wall space; wooden floors and marble kitchen counters. It was the place where Harry could leave the grumpy, overworked office man and potter around in the garden, read books, watch some telly.
Harry pulled on his slippers and opened a window, allowing a crisp chill to race through the air.
...
Ruth was tidying. She was an organised person, and Christmas Day seemed as good a day as any to sort and dust her books.
Her home phone trilled and she patted dust from her knees as she got to her feet, secretly hoping it might be Harry. He had taken her to dinner last night and it had been wonderful. It seemed silly, that it had taken them all of those years to finally overcome the obstacle of their awkwardness, stubbornness and innate British-ness in order to go out for dinner, and that when they managed to do so it had been simple and enjoyable.
Ruth was surprised, but still pleased, to hear Zaf's voice. He asked if she wanted to meet with the other for a pub roast dinner and she said yes a little hesitantly. Ruth was perfectly content with sitting at home, a steaming bowl of soup on her desk and a book in her lap. But she decided to try and be a bit more festive. Yes, dinner with friends she could manage.
...
By 7pm Wes was curled up asleep on the sofa. Adam patted his son's head and rose, reaching for his coat.
"I'd better be off," announced Adam, a little sadly. "Today was lovely – thank you for everything."
He headed back onto the street, pulling his phone out of his pocket and reading a text from Zaf. Adam had already eaten Christmas dinner, but he could join the others for a drink. He just had one more good deed to complete.
Be there in twenty minutes. Adam hit send and walked briskly to his next destination.
...
Ros irritably pushed aside some cushions and pulled herself up from the sofa to answer the doorbell. She had made a luxuriously warm bed on the sofa where she was contently drinking whiskey and watching mindless TV, and was pissed at having to leave it to answer the door for some bloody carol singers. She was, however, pleasantly surprised to see Adam.
"I thought you were with Wes all day?" she asked.
"He crashed on the sofa. He's only nine; he can't cope with late nights and whiskey like some people." Adam gestured to the empty glasses stacking up on Ros' table.
"Yeah well, it's my idea of Christmas spirit."
"How come you weren't going out with the others?" Adam asked.
Because I didn't think you were going to be there, she thought.
"I didn't really feel like it," she replied with as much coolness as she could muster.
"I'm heading down there now for a drink – please join," Adam persuaded.
Ros considered for a moment. She wondered if the atmosphere between them would be awkward after their brief kiss after the party but he seemed to be cool about it, and the fact that the others would be there too would help to alleviate potential embarrassment. Although, Zaf had walked in – he had probably told all to Jo by now. There seemed to be something more than flatmates between those two.
Adam was wearing that charming smile that he brought out for special occasions, and it coaxed Ros to agree. He smiled, slipping his hand into hers as they left her apartment.
...