Page 84 of All I Want for Christmas

‘...How did the woman drown? Domestic?’

‘You mean, did it happen in the bath?’ She shrugged. ‘Um, good question – I don’t know yet.’

‘It all sounds very sad.’

‘Yeah.’ She was holding her glass, but only now did she realize it was empty. Research was thirsty work.

‘Another?’ he asked, holding up the bottle hopefully.

She met his gaze, those soulful eyes – guileless. Kind. Nice. What was a little penny-pinching compared to arrogance, ruthlessness, emotional vacuity and obsession with power?

‘Sure,’ she smiled, settling back in the chair. ‘Why not?’

They staggered along the streets, puddles reflecting Christmas lights, bursts of conversation falling through opening and closing doors as they passed by restaurants and bars. It was late, the moon thin but bright in a dark sky. There was a sense of festivity in the city, as if no one was ready to go to bed. But Darcy was. They passed a couple kissing in a doorway, and she looked over at Aksel hopefully. They had finished the bottle of wine, then another one too, nibbling only on olives for ‘sustenance’, and she felt giddy as the cold night air hither. She felt playful and loose-limbed, all her tension from the day gone at last. Max Lorensen was just a footnote in her day now.

Aksel’s smiles had grown increasingly lopsided. He was a sweet drunk, clearly unable to hold his drink and swaying a little. An Uber sluiced closely past – too closely – on the narrow street. Vaguely it crossed her mind that she was walking on the outside of the pavement, when etiquette dictated he should be on the traffic side. Not that that stuff mattered, she knew. It just would have been nice...

‘Fuck, it’sfreezing,’ Aksel slurred, pulling the collar of his padded jacket tighter around his neck as they reached the end of the street and were hit by the wind at the intersection. They stood at the lights, waiting to cross into King’s Square.

‘I know,’ she groaned, hoping he’d take the opportunity to pull her in to him. But he didn’t. The man was blind to hints. ‘D’you want to wear my scarf?’ she asked, pulling it from her neck and looping it around his before he could reply.

‘You’re sure?’ he asked as she tied it for him.

‘Yes...’ she slurred, looking up at him. ‘You can keep it. I don’t want it back.’

‘Why not?’

The lights changed and they crossed the road together.

‘I just don’t like it,’ she said dramatically. She was definitely drunk. ‘It’s yours now.’

‘Won’t you get cold?’

‘...There are always other ways to get warm,’ she said provocatively, sidling closer to him and slipping her arm between his so that their bodies were pressed together. She stopped walking. There was clearly no point in being subtle with him. ‘Kiss me.’

‘Here?’ He looked surprised by the command. They wereopposite the extravagantly lit Hotel D’Angleterre, the square bright with festivity, a huge Christmas tree shimmering with lights in the middle. The front beams of the traffic moved around them slowly, other lives moving past her on the way to other places, other destinies. She had a feeling of life pulsating around her but somehow not touching her, as if a force field kept it back, and she suddenly felt a desperate yearning to be touched, to be kept awake all night. She wanted to be reckless. Thoughtless. Free from responsibilities. She spent her days with the dead – but was she really any more alive?

He leaned in and kissed her, uncertainly at first. His lips were cold but she quickly warmed him up and she felt his arms move around her, drawing her closer.

It was a good kiss. Not the best she’d ever had. Not like the one with –

She put her hands in his hair and traced his lips with her tongue, tasting the wine they had both drunk. She pulled back. ‘Call an Uber and take me home,’ she whispered, slurring in his ear.

He seemed to wilt a little. ‘...M-my place? Or yours?’ he asked, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

‘Yours.’

The car came within four minutes and she was in his bed within eleven. It was unmade, navy sheets, pants and socks on the floor. ‘I wasn’t expecting this to happen,’ he apologized as they staggered into his room, shedding clothes.

‘Even better,’ she smiled, unhooking her bra as he began kissing her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling her body submit to pleasure. She was starving hungry, drunk and lonely, and he was a good man. A nice man.

It would have to do.

Chapter Eighteen

The city had woken up dusted white. Snow was falling; fat, dry flakes of the sort that stayed perched on her nose for a few moments before body heat worked its magic.

Body heat.

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