Unintended

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make this so miserable.”

He shook his head. “I asked. And I’m sorry if I made you think of all those bad times.”

“Don’t worry about it. Something about this time of year brings it all back anyway.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it does. So, what does Christmas look like for you this year? Any plans?”

“Kind of. I always spend Christmas Eve at my friend Keely’s house since the divorce. She and her husband have a few friends over late afternoon until early evening. Sort of a mini party, but quite low key as they have kids they want to put to bed early. I always sleep over at theirs so I can watch the little ones open their gifts in the morning.”

A small pang of longing washed over me as it always did when I thought of how Christmases should have been for me. With my own family. The first Christmas Eve I spent with them after… after. It was soul-destroying in so many ways, but at the same time, I took some comfort in being around such a happy unit, even if it wasn’t my own. There’s always magic in seeing children enjoying Christmas, and that was why I always went there. In a strange way, it helped.

“Do you spend Christmas Day with them too?” Ash asked, and I shook my head.

“Nope. Once the gifts are done, I go to my mum’s and have lunch with her. Which is… nice. I guess.” At Ash’s questioning look, I smiled. “I love spending time with her, but I wish she would take me up on the suggestion of going out to eat. It’s such a lot of work to make Christmas dinner for just the two of us. I guess I don’t see the point when we’re only going to eat it then fall asleep in front of the Queen’s speech.”

Ash laughed, and the sight of his smile warmed me. He should smile more.

“Sounds okay to me,” he said. “Food and a nap. Can’t go wrong there.”

“What do you do at Christmas?” I asked.

The smile faded slowly from his face and he sighed. “I haven’t really celebrated Christmas in a long time. Not like I used to when I was a kid. Mum always made a fuss back then. But when she moved away, I spent most of them working or on my own. Now, with Natalie… I don’t know. Her parents live near London and they wanted us to go there. Well, they wanted her to go there. They don’t approve of me.”

“Why not?” It wasn’t like they’d given birth to a princess.

“I work in a bar. They think I’m not good enough. They forget that Natalie only works in retail, and barely that. Her parents are also not exactly in the big leagues. Her mum’s a hairdresser in a local salon, and her dad is a builder. And there’s nothing wrong with any of that, I just don’t see how they expect me to be bringing in a six figure salary when they definitely aren’t.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I said she could go without me, but that led to an argument about how I never want to do anything with her, which is obviously not true.” That bleakness began to cover his eyes again. The tiredness that always came when he talked about Natalie. “So, we’ll just be at home in the flat, I guess. I somehow managed to get Christmas Eve off, the club is closed on Christmas Day, and I am back in on Boxing Day. God knows what we’ll do but…” he trailed off and shrugged.

That was no kind of life. From the sounds of it, there wasn’t even a Christmas lunch planned for them. Maybe just a day when she wouldn’t break his spirit any further.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, as if sensing my thoughts. “I have to be.”

As bad as I felt about lying about where I was going, or to be precise, why I was going there, I felt better for doing it. I didn’t know what it would be like to spend that much time with Evie because, until then, we’d never really had a lot of time to talk. When we went to Birmingham, we had nothing but time to talk, and before going, I wasn’t sure I could chat for that long. I had wanted to go with her because… I’d felt like she was someone who wasn’t judging me. She’d seen a bit of what Natalie was like, so I didn’t feel like she wouldn’t believe me when I told her how bad she could be. And I knew she had been through stuff of her own so maybe, just maybe, she’d understand.

In the end, we’d talked more about Evie’s past and her divorce. When she told me they’d lost a baby, it put my own issues into perspective. I was just some loser who let his girlfriend walk all over him. Evie and her ex-husband had created a life, and then it was gone. Evie had lost a child and her husband, and the fact that she had the strength to get through all of that… it was pretty amazing to me.

I didn’t mind that we’d talked more about her than me. And some of the time, we hadn’t talked about either of us, just general talk about music and movies. I liked being in a room with someone and knowing that I didn’t have to watch what I was saying. I mean, I still did, out of habit, but she made it easy for me to be more like myself.

But it had to come to an end. We both had to go home, and with Christmas so close, we didn’t make any plans to see each other again. We’d agreed we’d message each other if we saw a tour announcement for a band we wanted to see, but Evie also added that I could message her if I needed someone to talk to. I knew I probably wouldn’t but it was cool of her to offer.

I felt like I had to keep those two parts of my life separate. Natalie and Evie. Not just for the obvious reasons. I appreciated Evie’s kindness, but I didn’t want to always be dumping my crap on her. If

I messaged her over every bad thing that happened, she’d be reading messages from me every day of the week. I liked that she was there for me, but I wanted, needed, for her to be an escape. Someone outside of my day to day life. I wanted to talk to her about things I loved, not my miserable life.

The few days until Christmas Eve went by quickly. Natalie had been her usual confusing self. Sweet one minute, bitchy the next. Situation normal. I’d worked the night before Christmas Eve, so I didn’t wake up until midday the next day, and when I got up, Natalie was sprawled on the sofa, talking to someone on the phone. With limited seating options, and less space than usual because of the Christmas tree, I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, placing my cup on the table. If Natalie wasn’t there, I’d have put the TV on, but God forbid I disturbed her call, so I sat quietly, hearing her voice but not really listening.

After I’d been there for a few minutes, quietly drinking my coffee, Natalie stood up, letting out an excited squeal, and as she did, she jumped up and down. The speed of her movements made me jump and I shuffled away from her a little so she didn’t stand on me.

That was my first mistake.

She looked down as if she’d only just noticed I was in the room, and as she continued giggling and talking on the phone, she began to pace. She stood on my thighs, walking across them then around the table. The only thing protecting me from the stab of her thin heeled ankle boots was my PJ bottoms, and they were only made of thin material. I winced as she circled around again, once more walking across my thighs.

I wasn’t in the mood for her shit, and I picked up my coffee cup, readying myself to stand and get out of her way before she bruised my legs. This was far from the first time she’d done this—used me as a human carpet—but she didn’t usually have shoes on.

As I started to get up, she dug her heel into my thigh as hard as she could, forcing it, and me, back to the floor, then walked over me again. She didn’t look at me or break her conversation. I breathed out slowly, trying to pretend I didn’t feel anything. Not mentally or physically. The physical pain, in that moment, was a lot harder to ignore because, every time, she walked in the exact same spot, making a bigger indent into my pyjama trousers, and I hated to think what state my leg was in underneath. It was throbbing, but I didn’t move.

Ignore it. It’ll be over soon.

It was all I could ever do to get through whatever she chose to do to me. I slipped back into that vacant part of my mind. The one I lived in most of the time when I was in the flat. The one I went to when I was around her, because it was easier than asking myself the same questions over and over again.