Page 14 of In Stockings
The sky is clear, stars streaming across the black abyss, and my breath hanging in misty clouds in front of my face.
I stamp my feet against the bitter temperature and dig my hands into my coat pockets. It turns out the Hart pack lives only fifteen minutes away from my house. I can’t believe I never bumped into them before. But I guess they’re busy climbing ladders and attending school assemblies, while I’m up at the hospital most days.
I turn onto their street; a row of houses with neat front gardens are illuminated by the orange light of lampposts and several sets of twinkling Christmas lights. It’s quaint and cute. I read the numbers on the front doors and stop outside the house with a festive wreath. When I come close, I realise it’s made of pompoms. A Lyra creation, obviously.
Music thuds from inside, and shadows move against the drawn blinds. I ring the doorbell that plays out a merry Christmas tune and wait. I pat my plait, adjust my coat, wriggle my toes in my boots.
The door swings open, and Samson greets me with a huge smile and a Christmas jumper so garish, it makes my eyes water.
“Oh my God!” I cry, holding my hands up to my eyes. “Are you trying to blind me?”
“You don’t like it? I’m hurt.”
He takes my hand and yanks me inside, shutting the door behind me.
“I was hoping you’d show up.”
“I said I would.”
“Did you remember your decoration?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out a silver unicorn decoration I picked up at the store yesterday.
“Woah, Astrid, you are going to be someone’s best friend.” He holds out his hand, and I shimmy off my coat, handing it to him.
His gaze lands straight on the top button of my shirt dress, and I think maybe Amanda was right.
“Now I’m hurt,” I say, pouting. “I thought I was her best friend already.”
“On your way to being.”
He gestures for me to walk along the hallway, his hand falling to the small of my back to guide me to the right room.
What is it with these men? Why does a touch there send my body into a frenzy? My scent is probably wild.
I step through into a cosy living room with one large L-shaped sofa, a giant telly and an oversized Christmas tree. Strings of paper chains trail from one corner of the room to the other, and a fire blazes in a fireplace.
I was expecting the room to be full of people. This is a party, after all, right? But I find only Craig, Archie and Lyra.
Lyra’s dressed in a sparkly silver dress that looks remarkably like that catsuit, and she’s balanced in Craig’s arms hanging baubles onto the branches of the fir tree.
Bing Crosby is purring out a Christmas song from the corner, and I'm not sure I’ve ever seen such a picture-perfect Christmas scene in all my life. My ovaries actually ache.
“Look who’s here,” Samson announces.
The other three turn, and Lyra wriggles down Craig’s body with a shriek of delight.
“TwinkleToes!”
“Hey Lyra, it’s so good to see you. Thanks for inviting me.”
She jumps up and down in front of me, then grabs my hand and yanks me towards the tree.
“You can help me,” she says. “My daddies don’t know what they’re doing.”
Archie snorts but hands over another bauble when Lyra shakes her palm at him. She passes it to me.
“Am I early?” I ask them, peering towards the door. Maybe the other guests are in the kitchen.
