The tree twinkled in the glow thrown out from the fire, the tiny glass baubles that sat in amongst the strands of coloured beads scattering light around the small room giving it a magical feel like she'd never seen. Elsie stood back and admired her handiwork with the uttermost satisfaction.
"There's something missing," came a deep voice from behind her.
"What?" she huffed as her brow furrowed into a frown, unwilling to accept it was anything other than perfect.
"This," came the reply, and from above her head appeared a small parcel wrapped in red tissue paper and tied elegantly with a bright green bow.
She held out her hands as Charles lowered it, expressing surprise at its lightness as it was placed gently down. She turned it over one or two times, trying to guess what it was, but curiosity soon got the better of her and she pulled at the ribbon, the paper then falling open to reveal the treasure. Inside sat a beautifully crafted angel, with a cherubic smile, gold tipped wings and an embroidered dress to match.
"I saw her sitting in a shop window in Thirsk," Charles explained, moving to stand alongside her, "And I rather thought she'd look much better on our tree."
"Oh, Charlie," was all she could bring herself to whisper as she stepped forward and nestled it amongst the topmost branches.
She turned to look at him, eyes shining. He wasn't a man to indulge himself in showy gestures of his love but every now and then, when he did something at all, it was all the sweeter for it. Leaning in, she kissed his cheek before turning back to admire the now perfect tree.
"I suppose ee should make a start of the supper," she said after a time with great reluctance, "And we need more coal brought in."
"Can't all that wait?" Charles asked, his question causing her to jolt in surprise.
"Well, I don't want to do it either," she said witheringly, "But you'll be the one moaning later when you're cold and hungry."
"Can we just sit down?" he said, his head nodding towards the sofa, "Enjoy the tree and the fire together?"
He moved to carry out his own suggestion, the cushions depressing as he sat. She watched in some amazement as he patted the space next to him in encouragement for her to join him. But she hesitated, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Oh, come on," he insisted, "I just want a moment with my wife. Is that too much to ask?"
Bemused, Elsie acquiesced and went to join him, smoothing the back of her skirts as she lowered herself self-consciously, feeling very much watched. But she pushed the nervousness away and instead delighted in the sparkling warmth that radiated from across the room. She wasn't naive. She knew it was a modest affair, sitting at four feet tall, five at a push. The decorations had been hurriedly gathered on a budget smaller than she might have liked. Maybe it wouldn't impress anyone else, but it was their tree in their own home and really what could be better than that!
And if that joyful thought wasn't enough, her delight only increased as she felt Charles lean towards her and proceed to lift her hand gently from her lap and surround it with his own. She shot him a sideways glance and smiled as their eyes met, almost unable to suppress the girlish giggle she could feel rising up at the accidental romance of it all. She shifted a few inches to the right and rested her head against his shoulder and sighed.
"I meant what I said, Elsie," he said, his voice low and considered, "I am looking forward to a Christmas spent with just the two of us. I won't deny it will be different and that's always unsettling, but overall I think we deserve to have at least one where we get to do exactly as we please."
"My, my, Mr Carson," she teased, "We'll make a radical of you yet."
Ignoring his harrumph, she moved, swinging her legs up onto the sofa and tucking them under herself so that he had no choice but to move his arm to hug her tightly. Her head slipped down to his chest, her own arm snug around his waist, and she could hear the strong, regular beat of his heart, the solidness of his love and support summed up in a comforting sound that, combined with the heat provided by the fire, had her drifting off into a light doze.
By the time Elsie woke, the flames that frisked and frolicked in the grate had died down so that all that was left was the intense glow of embers. It took her a moment to realise she was alone, the object beneath her head now a cushion which whilst softer was far from able to provide the high level of comfort as her husband. She took a moment to stretch, encouraging her limbs to catch up with her brain which was already thinking not only about where Charles has gotten to but also how she was ever going to make supper as the hour was surely very late by now.
She stood, straightened her clothes, gave the tree a smile of satisfaction, and headed for the kitchen. As she approached, a rich, sweet smell caught in her nostrils; onions frying in butter, accompanied by the dull but regular sound of something being chopped. She stood and watched from the threshold, chuckling at her pinny tied around his waist but enjoying the quiet hum of a melody as he concentrated on his task. But eventually she had to speak.
"Can I do anything?" she asked, stepping in the room.
"What? No," he exclaimed, turning in surprise at her sudden appearance, "It'll only be a few minutes."
"What is it?" she asked, head gesturing towards the pan on the stove.
"Oh, um, nothing much," he replied, switching his attention back to the cabbage he'd been slicing, but not so fast that she didn't miss the flash of embarrassment across his face.
"Well, it smells delicious," she said truthfully, and went to sit down at the table.
It was laid as precisely as she expected, knives and forks gleaming and sitting alongside neatly placed napkins and perfectly positioned wine glasses. There was a bottle chilling in an ice bucket on the dresser, filled with water rather than ice. One advantage to it being winter was that it came out of the tap icy cold, which was considerable discomfort when washing first thing in the morning but did ensure that on the rare occasion they had white wine, it could often be served at right temperature, or close enough. As she contemplated the scene he'd created, she couldn't help but let out a contented sigh.
She was brought around from this reverie by the crashing of plates and the mild cursing that usually signalled that dinner was about to be served. And it wasn't long before Charles had joined her at the table, a generous portion of steaming bubble and squeak in front of them both.
"Sorry," he said, slightly shamefaced, "I'm sure you had something better planned."
Elsie shook her head. "If you can't enjoy a plate of good old rumbledethumps on a winter's eve then when can you," she replied, picking up her fork and getting stuck in.
"Rumblede...what?" he asked, confused.
"Rumbledethumps," she repeated, reaching for her wine, "You English might call it Bubble and Squeak but any Scot worth their salt would know it as rumbledethumps."
"My exotic wife," he said in a low, jesting tone that had her laughing in response.
"Oh yes, Charlie. I'm known far and wide for my exoticism!"
The meal continued in this vein, their familiar and loving teases intertwined with an exchange on their plans for the next day which amounted to a lazy start before the challenge of producing a Christmas luncheon worthy of them both. And as their plates were scraped clean, they were both as resolved as the other to have the very best of days.
Elsie encouraged him back to the sitting room, dismissing his mild protest to help clear the table and start the washing up with a look, one that he duly obeyed. The meal had been simple enough that order was restored to the kitchen in quick order, and so it wasn't long before she was on her way to joining him.
His back was turned towards the door as she entered, his broad frame blocking the light from the rekindled fire. He appeared to be inspecting the photograph frames on the mantelpiece, but when he turned it was immediately obvious what he was up to. Concealed in his hand had been a bundle of greenery which was now being held aloft, the twinkle in his eyes encouraging her to join him underneath.
"And what is that?" she asked coyly, her nerves beginning to tingle with excitement but not quite ready to acquiesce.
"A lucky find," he offered suggestively, taking half a step towards her.
"Well, I've always thought luck is made rather than found," she replied.
"As I tend to," he agreed, taking another tiny step forwards, "But then you agreed to marry me and it rather changed my view on it."
Whether it was the love embedded deep within this declaration or her wish to be kissed into submission over being talked into it, they'd never know as she rushed into his embrace and their lips collided. Her enthusiasm had Charles rocking back on his heels as he fought to keep them both upright, the mistletoe dropping to the floor as he employed a second arm to the task.
Elsie could feel herself pressing against him, wanting to feel his reaction to her. She had half a thought that this was too much, too daring even after their last encounter, but it was fleeting. He clearly didn't care and so she resolved that nor would she. And when his kisses diverted from her lips, brushing briefly against her ear before burying against her neck, she simply melted.