Page 31 of Christmas Spirit
They sat in silence for a minute, or two, or three, Roland didn’t know or very much care. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so comfortable and he was happy just to luxuriate in it.
“Sorry, got to do this,” Georgie said, jumping up from the sofa they were sharing. “There,” he said, turning the Santa model that sat to one side of the fireplace around, so it faced the wall.
“Why did you do that?”
Georgie’s face reddened, and his lips lifted in a sheepish grin.
“It kind of gives me the creeps. Stupid, I know, but it’s like it’s looking at me. Here, let’s have some more of these.”
Georgie held out a large plate, stacked with sweet Christmas treats, to Roland.
He knew what Georgie meant. The plaster model had a lifelike quality about it that was just the wrong side of comfortable. He even thought it had smiled, when he and Georgie had been settled in front of the fire.
Ridiculous.
“Thank you,” Roland said, picking up a couple of the little cakes. Mince pies, stollen and lebkuchen he recognised — he’d overseen the baking of all three at the Manor in recent weeks — but the other things he’d never come across.
“What are these?” Georgie held up one of the miniature cakes studded with sharp, tangy berries and rich marzipan.
“I don’t know. Scandinavian in origin, I suspect, but I’ve never come across them. Delicious, though.” He took a bite, and sour-sweetness danced on his tongue.
“We’re not going home for Christmas, are we?”
They had fallen into another comfortable silence, and Georgie’s stark words were a sudden jolt.
Home. It had been a long time since he’d had a home, in the true meaning of the word.
He’d had one when he had been a kid, he’d dreamed of one with a man he’d stupidly, blindly, believed had been his soul mate, before Hell had been unleashed… Roland shuddered. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, think about those dark and desperate days. A house. Yes, he had a house, a beautiful heap of bricks and mortar, but that’s all it was. He cleared his throat.
“No, I don’t think we are. Nicholas said the roads are closed, and I don’t disbelieve him. I’ve never seen such a heavy snowfall, or not in this country. And the car’s damaged. It’s drivable, but it’d be far from safe in these conditions.”
And I don’t want to go, because as strange as this place is, I’d rather be here.With you.
The thought ached to become words. But he couldn’t say them. He was the Executive Chef, Georgie was the kitchen boy, and he’d been down that path once before. He’d vowed never to tread it again.
He might not have had anybody to worry about him, and be concerned that he had not turned up to take part in the Christmas celebrations, but Georgie had people who were worried that he wasn’t with them — didn’t he?
“What are — or were — your plans for Christmas?”
Georgie had been about to take a bite from a Santa decorated gingerbread man. The biscuit rested against his lower lip as he stilled.
“I was supposed to be flat sitting,” he said, putting the biscuit aside. He focused his attention on the fire, his face bright with the flickering light before he sighed and turned back to Roland with a small, sad smile that made Roland’s heart pang.
“A friend of mine, Ned, who’s travelling around Southeast Asia, said I could spend Christmas at his place. It’s a lovely flat. I used to live there, I rented the spare room. It was great, and I felt really settled. Too settled, I suppose. When he asked me to leave, it was like I’d had my legs kicked from under me. But I should have seen it coming. Ned met somebody, and three’s a crowd, isn’t it?”
“So you’re not spending Christmas with your family?”
“No.” Georgie’s face tightened. “My mum and stepdad are the only family I have, if you can call them that, but I’ve not seen them in three years. I don’t know where they are and I don’t want to.”
“I’m sorry.”
Georgie shrugged but said nothing as he turned back to staring into the fire.
So, they were both in the same boat, Roland thought. Nobody waiting for them with open arms and a warm and loving smile. For all their differences, they were the same, anchorless, and drifting in an empty sea.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the spit and crackle of the fire and the howling wind beating at the windows. Roland gazed at Georgie, unashamedly, not caring if the boy turned and caught him. A sadness and a kind of resignation had settled over Georgie, as tangible and heavy as an old blanket. He was too damn young to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“What made you apply for the job at Pendleton Manor?”
