Queenie(45)

I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “Hey, what did Adam say to Eve the day before Christmas?” I stepped into my room and Guy followed, hands on my bottom.

“What? Who are they?” he said, throwing himself into the clothes chair and pushing clean laundry onto the floor as he removed his coat.

“You know, from the Bible,” I said.

“What? I dunno,” he said, pulling his boots off.

“It’s Christmas, Eve.” I smiled proudly.

“Is that a joke?” he sneered, pulling his sweater over his head.

“Well, yeah.” I sat on the bed and pulled my tights off, wondering at what point Guy and I had started this ritual of systematic undressing.

“That doesn’t make sense. Surely he’d say, ‘It’s Christmas Eve, Eve’?” Guy mansplained, walking over to me. “I’m too practical-minded for jokes, Queenie.” He reached down and stroked my leg from calf to thigh.

“Do you want to shave your legs now?” He nodded toward the bathroom.

“Um. Is it vital?”

“I just prefer it. I don’t mind your lady garden being bushy, but I don’t like the scratching on my face when I throw your legs over my shoulders.”

I pulled the rest of my outfit off and wrapped my hair with Guy’s eyes on me the entire time.

“You know the thing I like about black women?” he said, his eyes running from my hair to my feet. “Even when you’re big girls, it sits well. Sits nice on your hips and that. And your arse. You’re lucky.”

I left him on my bed and got into the shower, dutifully running the razor up my legs. When I came out, Guy was asleep in his boxers on top of the covers, lying on his side to face me. I stared at his eyelashes, thinking about how much money I could make if I sold them as a set of fake ones.

I looked at him for a while, remembering my first Christmas with Tom.


? ? ?

I’d never had a conventional nuclear family Christmas. When my dad lived in London, he spent Christmas with his actual family in his other house; I wasn’t welcome, but have always made peace with that given that his wife is an actual living witch. Since I could remember, my mum’s hostel only allowed visitors for an hour at a time, so that option was out. The week before my first Christmas with Tom, I was sitting at the table having Friday fish and chips with Tom’s family discussing how “the little African boy” that they sponsored was doing when his mum reached across the table and put a hand on my forearm.

“You know, you’re more than welcome to spend Christmas with us here in Peterborough, Queenie.”

“Um, is she?” Tom’s brother wasn’t up for it.

“No, don’t worry, I spend it with my grandmother every year!” I smiled.

“Are you sure?” Tom’s mum asked. “We’d love to have you, and we’ve got all your presents here under the tree.”

“Well, she can open them after Christmas?” Adam again. His voice was higher this time. Tom locked eyes with me and nodded.

I looked over at Adam and smiled. “I’d love to be here. Thanks, Viv.”

“Don’t worry about Adam,” Viv said to me later. “He’s just jealous because you’ve taken his brother away.”

“I don’t want to annoy anyone, especially not at Christmas! It’s just that . . . well, your family, it’s what a family should be. I’ve never had that.”

“Well, you’re part of our family now, Queenie,” Viv said. “And you always will be.”

???

Come Christmas Eve, Tom and I were sitting on the last train to Peterborough, Tom squashed into the window by bags of presents on the seat next to him. I sat opposite him with my feet on the suitcase full of his presents just for me. We’d been together for about six months at that point, so not only had I known his parents, grandmother, and brother well enough to choose all of their gifts, but I also felt that after never getting what I wanted, and sick of being asked, I could give Tom a full list of the things that I wanted rather than just hoping for the best and getting something that I’d have to pretend to like.

“Are you excited, Tom?” I asked, leaning across and putting my hands on his cheeks. He didn’t answer.

“Tom, please stop faffing with your phone, it’s Christmas Eve! I need attention, I am excited like a small child.” He put his phone in his pocket.

“Yes, I’m excited too, sorry.”

“Good, you should be excited, because this is not only our first Christmas together but my first Christmas where there will be alcohol!”

“I always forget that your family doesn’t drink.”

“Not a drop, Tom. Not since my granddad had a small sherry in 1961 and called the ambulance because he thought his heart was failing.”

I swapped seats with the bags of presents next to Tom and tucked myself under his arm. “You make me very happy, you know. I know I’m not good at saying it, but you do,” I said, looking out of the train window, watching as the gray buildings thinned out and made way for suburban tranquility.

He lifted a hand to my hair and stroked it. “You make me happy too. I love you.”

“Tom, don’t touch my hair.”

? ? ?

I put a T-shirt on and got onto the bed next to Guy, tucking myself into him. I hated myself for doing it, and him, but of all the anonymous partners, he was the most reliable. And, reliably, he faced away from me as soon as my body touched his. I climbed under the sheets and thought of nothing but Tom as I fell asleep, Guy’s snores providing a steady soundtrack to my sadness.