Derek’s face puckered as though he’d bitten into a mince pie and got a mouthful of cloves for his trouble. I stared down at our joined hands then looked up at Callum.
The touch receptors in my palm activated the sensory neurons, the sensory neurons shot messages along my spine and up to the thalamus, and the thalamus sent a signal to the somatosensory cortex to confirm that he was, in fact, holding my hand.
‘Is this OK?’ he mouthed, turning his body away from his parents.
I nodded and he squeezed gently.
‘Sorry I’m late, room for a wee one?’
I heard Rory’s voice, I felt the jostling of people moving on the other side of me, but I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from the hand wrapped around mine and resting easily on my thigh.
‘Welcome everyone.’
At the front of the hall, someone climbed the stairs to the small stage and, around us, everyone stood. Callum found his feet first but it took me a moment to remember how my knees worked. They could straighten as well as bend! It was a Christmas miracle! As ourhands dropped to our sides, his grip loosened around mine but instinctively I held on tighter, not ready to let go. His body stayed straight but his head turned slightly in my direction. With the smallest smile, he squeezed back.
‘How pleased I am to see so many faces carried over from this evening’s service.’ A minister dressed in a white gown over a black cassock cast a stern look across the crowd. ‘And more than a few extras as well. Perhaps you’ll decide to join us in the church next year, not only for the carols and mince pies.’
‘And perhaps I’ll chop my knob off and plant a tadger tree,’ Rory muttered and Joel barked out a deeply inappropriate laugh.
‘Nothing says Christmas more than a passive-aggressive telling-off from a vicar,’ he murmured in agreement as the elder McClays eyeballed the pair of them.
‘I can’t believe they brought her,’ Callum whispered right into my ear. ‘I’m sorry, do you want to narwhal?’
‘No,’ I replied, moderating my grip on his hand. Not so loose that he’d think I wanted him to let go, not so tight that he’d consider a restraining order. ‘It’s fine. This is all fine.’
A pianist struck up the first chords of ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ and the whole crowd cleared their throats to sing.
‘It’s certainly working,’ Callum added when Derek looked over at us again. ‘Dad’s got a face like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle.’
Sucking in my cheeks, I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I’d forgotten myself for the past few hours. Or rather, I’d forgotten who I was supposed to be. I was not Laura Pearce, I was Caroline Skarsgärd.Demanding, selfish, some might even say cunty and not in the good way, and above all else, she did not stand for her boyfriend’s parents interfering in her relationship.
‘If he likes the hand-holding,’ I whispered into Callum’s ear, ‘he’ll love this.’
I lifted his arm and draped it over my shoulder, nuzzling into his body, wrapping my arms around his waist. Callum stiffened for a second before relaxing into the pose and gripping my upper arm possessively, pulling me in even closer. My body sang at the contact, every inch of me alive and alert.
‘What happened to no touching?’ Desi hissed into my other ear right as everyone launched into the carol.
‘Piss off,’ I replied with a blank smile. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
But I didn’t. I had no clue. Two drinks and a few skipped stones and all my self-imposed safety measures were out the window. I wanted to be as close to Callum as humanly possible, I wanted more of the delicious feeling that consumed me whenever he was close. The dopamine rush, the pounding heart, the prickling skin, ultra attuned to every move he made. I was addicted. When he also began to sing ‘O Little Town’, quietly as if embarrassed, his deep, rich baritone rumbled through his body, the vibrations passing through him and into me where our bodies touched. I softened into him, never wanting to break the connection.
It was deeply stupid, I knew that, no need for Desi to keep digging her fingers into my ribs and standing on my foot. At that moment, no amount of needling could’ve made me break contact by choice. When we met, I’d agreed to pretend to be Callum’s girlfriendbecause he needed it. Now I was pretending to be his girlfriend because I needed it.
The next hour passed too quickly. Even if someone had offered me a million pounds on the spot, I could not have named a single carol or reading. I was completely consumed by Callum’s physical presence. The warm scent of his hand-knitted woollen jumper cut clean by the botanical hit of deodorant every time he moved. With his arm still resting over my shoulders, his hand roamed freely. Sometimes squeezing my bicep, sometimes combing through my hair, once, only once, stroking my cheek. Every touch hit like another glass of whisky, running through my bloodstream, loosening my grip on my senses.
To anyone who dared risk a glance at the pair of us, we looked like any young couple in love, swooning, smitten and incapable of keeping our hands off each other. Only we knew the truth.
But what was the truth?
After the minister thanked everyone for coming and attempted a second hard sell on next year’s church service, the tightly packed rows of people broke ranks, some milling over to the tables of mince pies and hot drinks, others sprinting straight for the door in search of hard liquor. Our unlikely group all stood but made no move in either direction.
‘I don’t know about you but I’ve got a mouth like Gandhi’s flipflop,’ Rory announced finally. ‘Mulled wine, anyone?’
‘Bloody love a mulled wine,’ Joel announced. ‘Svetlana dearest? Come with?’
‘Just one second, my angel,’ Desi cooed back. ‘I’mdesperate for a slash and Caroline needs to come with me.’
Without asking, she laced her fingers through mine and yanking hard on my arm.
