‘Oh, I’m so glad you got it, you’ve wanted one for ages. Is it all kitted out?’
‘We have and it is. You must go and check it out,’ Luisa says enthusiastically.
‘Okay, we will,’ I respond – it seems the least I can do given her hospitality – as Remi starts playing a remixed version of ‘Last Christmas’.
Belle and I look at each other.
‘Noooo!’
‘It’s our song.’ Her face is the picture of every mischievous elf ever existing all rolled into one being.
‘You have a song?’ If Luisa’s ears could physically prick up like a dog when he thinks he’s heard a cat, or an intruder, then they would have.
‘We don’t have a song,’ Belle bites out quickly, realising her mistake.
‘The rave version of “Last Christmas”. We knew it had to happen.’ I laugh.
‘We did.’ She holds out her arm, holds it halfway. Not grabbing me, not forcing me. Then she waggles her eyebrows. ‘You know you want to.’
I guess I do.
GPs should probably prescribe dancing. I had forgotten how much fun it is. How releasing it can be to lose yourself in the music, to just let go. My hair, those damn curls, are sticking to my forehead and I feel as if I’m dripping with sweat but my face is aching from smiling and I just don’t care. Luisa’s living room has taken on a magical quality. The huge mirror behind the decks doubles it in size so it feels as if we’re dancing with twice the number of people in twice the amount of space. I’d found myself double-looking as I caught sight of Belle next to me in the mirror. We have danced and danced and danced. We have danced beside each other, both lost in our own worlds, and we have danced together, losing ourselves in the other’s. It’s been bloody magical and even though my breath is coming hard and fast, I’m exhilarated and so, so happy.
Happy!
‘Wanna grab some water?’ Belle smiles up at me as she pushes her own damp hair from the front of her face. She looks beautiful.
‘For sure.’ She grabs my hand and pulls me through the throng back to the sink where we both take great big glugs of liquid and great big gulps of air.
‘Shall we head out and check Luisa and Remi’s Nordic heaven?’ She nods out of the kitchen window to a little hexagonal log cabin at the end of the garden, all lit up and sparkling with white fairy lights.
‘Good plan.’ I lead this time, my hand seeking hers, my fingers curling around hers as we both clasp each other tight. Our grips speaking of all the affection we hold for each other far better than any words ever could. Or at least I think so, but I’m riding kinda high. We weave through the people in the kitchen, through the open door and out into the bracing cold of the night air in the garden.
We exchange smiles as we reach the door and I’m grateful that whilst I can hear party noises coming from the house, there is no sound at all from the cabin. I fervently want it to be empty. I use my shoulder to push open the door, still holding onto Belle’s hand, and the door opens to the most perfect space. In the centre of the cabin is a fire pit, almost burnt out but with some softly glowing embers lighting up the hut. The rest of the cabin is lit only by a string of muted white fairy lights around the top of the building, which is interspersed with mistletoe. A lot of mistletoe. With the building shaped with its six walls, each point, each bench, has a great big clump of ancient greenery hanging above it. Belle follows my gaze, looks up and laughs.
‘Ha, I’ve known Luisa for years but never thought she’d be planning an orgy in her back garden.’
‘It does look a bit like that, doesn’t it? Like this hut is made for kissing couples.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Belle heads towards the seating opposite the door and takes me with her. Is she going to kiss me? My heart speeds up, galloping even faster than it had on the dance floor. If she leant over now… The thought of holding Belle in my arms, kissing her, feeling the warmth of her against me… I can imagine my hands tangled in her hair, my hands caressing down the length of her body, pulling her close and … I quickly try to gain control of myself. The last thing I need right now is my body showing signs of what I’m thinking and it’s not far off.Whatis going on in my head? I haven’t thought this,feltthis for so long it is shocking to me, but also a comfort, a feeling that an old friend has returned. I know this, I know how attraction works. I had just forgotten how lush it is. I smile as I realise I even use her language now.
‘As much as I hate to thwart Luisa’s orgiastic plans, I’m no longer that girl.’
Of course she isn’t. Belle has always been clear about how she is not doing men at the moment – her words. It brings another smile to my lips and reminds me in a timely fashion of what is likely to be happening in this hut tonight and between us. And that is nothing other than a whole load of alcohol, an overflowing bucketful of mutual friendship, gratitude for all she has bought into my life and a quick reality check for my mounting … um … desire.
Belle.
‘…I’m no longer that girl.’ The words fall out of my mouth as I seek to make Rory feel safe, make him realise that even though we’ve fallen into some dastardly trap set by my best friend – I don’t dare look out the door of the hut, she’ll be at the kitchen windows, looking smug and doing a thumbs-up – that I’m not going to start ripping his clothes off his body just because he’s drunk, vulnerable and … so fucking hot! The way he dances! Someone save me.
I have always believed that the way a man dances tells you a great deal about him sexually and although I remember Rory at one or two freshers’ events – yes, I had clocked him fairly early on – and he had danced well, it wasn’t long before he settled into dull domesticity and wasn’t out throwing shapes with the rest of us. Or if he was there, he would be at the sidelines with Jessica talking about, I don’t know, Hansard or the situation in the Middle East. But tonight, tonight has been a revelation, the boy canmoveand he does so with a fluidity, grace and confidence that makes me think of nothing but him moving over me, under me, beside me, in every single way imaginable.
I lean over and chuck a log on the fire and then make a great show of huffing on it and trying to get it going full pelt again, although making this shed even warmer than it is isn’t such a good idea. The last thing this poor boy needs right now is the sight of me stripping off to cool down. The last thingIneed is thinking about stripping off in front of him. But building a fire is better than giving him even an inkling of what is going through my mind, how much I want to feel his hands between my thighs.
I cannot look at him, not for a minute. Compose yourself, you dirty bitch, I tell myself shrilly.
‘So, I want to talk to you about Christmas,’ he says. I blow on the fire one last time, give myself one last little tongue-lashing and decide I’m better off at this point just trying to have a conversation like a normal person.
‘Uh-huh.’ I pull myself up on the bench and attempt to look him in the eye whilst giving myself a lecture on consent and inappropriate behaviour. I’ve just got Rory to manage to enjoy a little bit of Christmas; best not tarnish that and scar his memories of the season further than they already are by hurling myself across the wooden benches at him like some kind of festive marauding sex-pest.
