Blythe’s stomach plummeted but she slapped a smile on her face for Arthur. ‘Of course, Arthur. Merry Christmas.’ She gave him a hug as he came inside. Her mum went into hostess mode, taking Arthur’s coat and showing him through to the living room. Blythe leaned out of the front door and scanned the road in both directions – not a soul about. She shut the door and turned to see Greg watching her.
‘It was always a long shot,’ he said. ‘Try not to let it spoil your Christmas.’ He opened his arms and she stepped into them. Greg gave the best hugs. The sort of hug that told you however crap things seemed they would turn out okay.
‘Thanks for being my dad,’ she said.
‘It’s been an honour.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Let’s see what I can make with the bottle of absinthe I won at the fayre. Although I warn you now, it may taste like antifreeze.’
Despite everything, Greg was able to make her smile.
But as they went into the living room the doorbell buzzed twice, making Blythe’s heart leap.
She raced to open the door, not caring if she seemed a bit too keen. An unsure-looking Sam greeted her. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey,’ she replied, not too certain what to say knowing that merry Christmas was the last thing he’d want to hear. ‘You went for option two then.’ He nodded. ‘I need to warn you that option two includes Greg reading out all the cracker jokes and laughing at every one. Are you sure you’re ready for this?’
Sam gave a weak smile. ‘Not entirely but a prize is a prize.’
‘You’re letting all the heat escape,’ called Greg from the living room doorway. ‘Let the lad in!’ Blythe stepped out of the way and Sam edged furtively inside.
‘Come in,’ said Blythe, taking Sam’s coat and hanging it up.
‘Hi Sam, don’t mind me,’ said Blythe’s mum, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she passed. ‘I’m juggling dinner after three sherries—’
‘Four!’ shouted Greg. ‘Don’t worry, her cooking is better if there’s alcohol involved.’ She gave him a swipe.
Blythe went into the living room, where Arthur was admiring their Christmas tree. Sam hovered in the doorway. His vulnerability was endearing. Blythe was conscious he was a flight risk and was unsure how much festiveness he’d be able to handle. She was thinking through how best to ease him in when Greg intervened.
‘Get that down you,’ said Greg, handing Sam a glass.
‘What is it?’ asked Sam.
‘Probably best you don’t know,’ said Greg. ‘Right, you and Arthur are behind on the present opening. You’d best catch up.’ Greg reached under the tree and handed Arthur two neatly wrapped gifts.
‘Ooh, thank you,’ said Arthur, sitting down to open them.
‘Here you go,’ said Greg, passing Sam one of the bright red stockings from the mantelpiece.
‘For me?’ Sam seemed surprised.
Greg showed him the tag hanging from it which read,Sam – Nice.
Blythe saw Sam swallow hard. He downed his drink in one, winced and took the stocking from Greg. Sam stared at the label before peeking inside. ‘Are these all for me?’ he asked.
‘It’s not much really,’ said Blythe. ‘Just a few things I saw that made me think of you, and the usual stuff you have to have in stockings.’
‘I don’t know what the usual stuff would be… but thank you.’ Sam reached in and began pulling things out.
Arthur gasped. He’d just unwrapped a framed photograph of him and Murray. He shook his head, his eyes full of tears. ‘But it was only last night that—’
‘I did a last-minute dash around the supermarket for a few things. That frame was one of them,’ explained Blythe. ‘And the picture is from last Christmas when you and Murray were on car park duty together. I just printed it out.’ It was a lovely picture of the two of them laughing.
Arthur held the frame to his chest. ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed, through happy tears.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Blythe, feeling a little choked herself.
‘Here,’ said Arthur, passing her a present.
‘Thanks,’ she replied, ripping off the paper. She loved opening presents. Inside was Murray’s little wooden bird. ‘The kittiwake.’ A lump of emotion caught in her throat. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
