‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. What’s so different, other than the fact that we’ve made love? You can’t spend the rest of your life running away from situations you can’t face up to. I’m sorry if…’ He saw her shiver in the cold and broke off. ‘This isn’t the place to discuss this. Let’s go home.’
There was no point in arguing with him now, Heather consoled herself, as she meekly went with him to the car.
She would tell him tonight of her plans to return home. She fell asleep on the way back, waking only when Kyle shook her. When she opened her eyes she couldn’t remember where she was. To open her eyes and see Kyle looking down at her made her forget reality in favour of fantasy. Without even thinking what she was doing she reached out to him, checking herself abruptly when the bright arc of another vehicle’s headlights cut through the darkness.
The other vehicle stopped, and then a door opened. A man walked round to Kyle’s door.
‘We’ve brought the tree you ordered, Mr Bennett. Where would you like it?’
‘If you could take it round the back for me, John, that would be fine.’
The look of pain and disappointment she had thought she had seen in his eyes as she withdrew from him must have been nothing more than a product of her own imagination, Heather acknowledged dully as she got out of the car.
‘You go in,’ Kyle instructed her. ‘I’ll go with John.’
She paused for a moment, watching him stride away to help the other man manhandle the large Christmas tree tied to the back of the his small van.
She hadn’t envisaged Kyle involved in anything as ordinary as putting up a real Christmas tree. She had half expected him to ignore that aspect of the seasonal festivities, and instead perhaps settle for some outrageously expensive and chic minimalistic Christmas décor.
‘I thought we’d dress it this evening,’ he told her, walking into the sitting-room later to find her standing in front of it.
This was her opportunity to tell him that she wouldn’t be there this evening, that she was leaving, returning to her own home; but stupidly she found herself agreeing, knowing even as she did so that the greater part of her wanted t
o stay. It was no use telling herself that her behaviour was dangerously close to emotional suicide. Dangerous not because she wanted to stay, but because she wanted to be with Kyle.
After they had eaten, Kyle went upstairs and returned with several large cardboard boxes.
‘I think there should be enough stuff in here. I’ll check the lights and you can sort the rest.’
It was such a familiar and comforting ritual, and one she had shared in so many, many times.
She tried not to think about the first Christmas without Kyle. They had all been subdued, even though her parents had pretended not to be. She had looked in vain for a card from him, believing with all the passionate intensity of her eighteen years that her life could only return to normal once she had some sign from him that she was forgiven.
It was only slowly and painfully that she had learned that that sort of forgiveness could not be bestowed by anyone else, but had to come from within oneself.
‘You’re looking very pensive. What’s on your mind?’
Here was her chance to tell him that she must leave, but foolishly she said nothing, denying that there was anything worrying her.
She watched him surreptitiously as he worked. His hands were strong and sure, and yet careful. He had infinite patience, she reflected, watching him. One day he would marry and have children, she was sure of it, and she was pierced by jealousy at the thought.
The tree was large and it took them two hours to dress it to their mutual satisfaction.
‘Are you expecting many guests for Christmas?’ Heather asked him, as she stepped back to study it from a distance.
‘No, there’ll just be two of us.’
His reply shocked her, her hand stilling as she reached out to adjust a piece of tinsel.
‘Just…but…’
‘You’ve been through a very traumatic time recently. I didn’t think you’d be in the mood for a horde of house guests.’
She blinked, stunned that he should even have considered her feelings. Ridiculously, all she could think of to say was a husky, ‘And I haven’t even got you a present.’
‘You’ve already given it to me.’
For a moment she couldn’t think, much less speak, her breath trapped deep in her lungs, her mind shocked by what she had heard, and then the intimacy of those few quiet words hit her, and with a small cry she rushed past him and up the stairs.