I went back to work with a pep in my step.
eighteen
HENRY
By the timethe Petersens finally retreated to their wing of the house full of copious rich foods, brandy cream, and countless glasses of red wine that cost more than I made in a week, I felt like I’d been dunked in a cold bucket of water and put through a mangle.
Christmas Eve had drawn to a close, complete with a dramatised retelling of The Night Before Christmas from a local am-dram group, much to the delight of our guests.
I traipsed upstairs twenty minutes past midnight.
My feet hurt.
My back hurt.
And I hadn’t managed to steal a kiss from Amanda since lunchtime. I knocked gently on her door as I passed, but there wasn’t an answer.
Shutting my door behind me, I pulled out my phone only to see a string of messages from my mother. Seeing that it hadofficially tipped from Christmas Eve into Christmas Day, she’d demand a call no matter how late.
I hadn’t talked to my family in a few days, so I stepped out onto the little balcony off my room to FaceTime them. The signal was always ropey in the oldest wing of the house, where my room was located. I shuddered as cold wrapped around me; it would need to be a quick call.
Mum answered first, all pink cheeks and tinsel crown.
Dad shouted hello from somewhere in the background.
One of my sisters, who was the only one spending both Christmas and betwixtmas with my parents, waved something sparkly that looked a lot like Gus Gus, our old sausage dog.
‘You look exhausted,’ Mum pointed out.
‘Well, a merry Christmas to you too.’
She tutted. ‘You need a proper rest. You should come home more often. We miss you.’
‘I know, I’ll be home in a few days. Just?—’
After a few minutes of chatting about the clients and Mum and Dad’s visits with the elder relatives, the picture froze, then pixelated. Cut and reconnected. Cut again.
‘—Henry? Can you hear us? What’s going on?’ Mum, Dad and my sister, Grace, filled the screen.
‘Signal’s rubbish,’ I said. ‘Hang on, I’ll come back inside nd see if it pops in.’
I stepped into the room, half-chatting and half-yelling and set the phone on the desk while rummaging for my charger.
A soft knock sounded at my door, and before I could turn, I heard Amanda’s voice.
‘Henry?’
I spun around. And everything in me stilled.
There she was.
Standing in my doorway in nothing but underwear and bows. Silken ribbons wrapped around her waist and thighs, one even fastened around her throat.
She looked incredible. A seductive Christmas present all ready to unwrap.
She stepped inside, and I steadied myself against the wall, my ability to think having fled my addled little brain.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, looking both coy and like a temptress all in one.
