Two Christmases Read Free Page A

end of the day—Robert always insisted on a clear desk policy—I couldn’t seem to get my notes into any sort of order. Or at least none that made sense. My skin felt as if I’d been running, and my brain was firing in all directions. I could have done with a smoke, of any kind, but I knew that was impossible.
    Swearing softly under my breath, I was about to go through the whole damn pile again when a hand was laid on my shoulder and the sound of a soft cough reached my ear.
    It was Robert. He smiled, but the frown was back on his forehead.
    “Don’t sweat it, Danny,” he said. “You’ve worked like a demon today. God alone knows how you do it, but thank you. Why don’t you sod off home now?”
    “But—”
    “Just do it. That’s an order.”
    I blinked. “Okay. Thanks.”
    At the door, Robert spoke again. “Danny?”
    “Yes?”
    “Whatever it is that’s been bugging you all day, get it sorted, will you? For your own sake, let alone mine.”
    I nodded, tried for half a smile, and left. Would to God it might be that easy, I thought.
    All the way home, my mind was racing, going through all the possibilities that might happen, over and over again, and some that probably wouldn’t. By the time I arrived, I was desperate for a smoke, but I had to discount it. Jake would be able to tell if I was spaced, and he hated that kind of stuff. It was part of the reason I loved him.
    It took me a while to open the front door. I couldn’t seem to get the key in the right place. Sometimes it warped slightly during the winter, but if you jiggled it around in the lock, it could come free easily enough. Jake must have heard me, but when I finally made it into the hall, he was nowhere in sight, though I could hear movement from the kitchen and the sound of the kettle boiling. Around me, the decorations he’d already put up for the holidays glittered like an accusation. My throat suddenly felt dry and I blinked. I think I knew then that my stupid game was over.
    Every step I took toward the kitchen felt as if my feet were weighed down with rock. I was sweating and couldn’t catch my breath. In the kitchen, Jake was facing away from me, leaning on the marble-effect work surface. The kettle clicked off. He didn’t turn round. His mobile phone was on the floor, as if he’d flung it away in frustration. Or anger. Or something else. I looked at the way his hair curled against the smooth skin of his neck, knew how much I wanted to touch him. And then I spoke.
    “Jake?”
    He made a sudden movement with his right hand, and I shut up. It looked like an order. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I didn’t dare speak. Instead I edged into the room and stood in the corner so he could turn and see me if he wanted to. The cupboard carved its shape into my back. I waited.
    When Jake spoke, it was quickly and almost a whisper, so I had to lean forward in order to hear him at all. And he still wouldn’t face me.
    “People said you’d be trouble when I met you,” he said. “My friends told me you had a reputation. They said you were just out for some fun, and they warned me about the drugs too. Is that what made you do it, Danny? Was it the drugs? No, don’t answer that. I haven’t finished. It’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I knew what you were like when we started, but I wanted to be with you. More than anything I’d ever wanted before. And then I thought you were different from how everyone said you were. I believed you at first when you said you were off the drugs, and I thought you weren’t sleeping around. Is this the first time, Danny? Is it? Really? You’ve got to answer me that.”
    He turned round then, brushing his hair away from his face. I could smell the faint echoes of his aftershave. Armani’s Code Homme. I could almost taste its lemon sharpness on my tongue. He was frowning and his skin looked pale.
    “Answer me,” he said again.
    I swallowed. “Yes. It’s the first time. Please, you’ve got to believe