Zara Stoneley - Four Christmases and a Secret

‘Twerd?’ He’s closer again. Not grinning now though. In fact, he’s staring into my eyes.

I swallow.

‘Mix of a twerp and a nerd? My brain couldn’t decide before it came out of my mouth.’ God, my mouth is dry. And his mouth is so close.

‘Whereas your jumper is the height of festive fashion?’ He laughs and leans in even closer. He’s acting pretty chilled and relaxed by his normal standards. I think he might have been hitting the whisky with my dad, his own dad and Uncle Terence.

Whereas I have only Uncle T’s cocktails to blame.

‘Definitely.’ I swallow again. I’ve gone to town this year. Found a very smart jumper, with two robins, whose chests light up. Ollie has a giant reindeer head with a big flashing nose. Not original or new, I’m sure he wore it last year. Except now it’s a bit tighter, stretched over his chest which I’m sure is broader, and a bit tight over his flat stomach, and …

‘It’ll be weird next year, won’t it? We won’t have seen each other for months!’

‘Ha-ha, there’s a good side to everything!’ I laugh, to cover up my embarrassment. Because it will be weird; in fact, it’ll be very strange to not see Ollie at school, at parties at his parents’ and my parents’.

He’s staring down at the book I’m still holding. ‘You didn’t bring Josh tonight, then?’

I shrug. ‘It’s nothing serious. Just a bit of fun, why should I bring him?’

‘Just wondered.’

‘It would be daft to get serious, I’m off to Edinburgh Uni, he’s going to Bristol or somewhere daft, I mean who gets serious with somebody when they’re still at school?’

‘Yeah, you’d have to be mad, wouldn’t you?’

‘Totally.’

I suddenly realise that he’s stopped looking at the book and he’s staring straight into my eyes.

His mouth is only inches from mine. His thigh is warm against my bare leg. I feel all fluttery, not-quite-sure what to do. Whether to pull my skirt down, shoot off the chair, or say something clever. Instead, I just stare back. My breath catching in my throat as he raises a hand and touches my cheek.

‘Mistletoe.’ He mumbles glancing up.

‘Oh, yeah.’ I look up as well, then back down.

Our gazes lock, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the very first time. I don’t want to look at anything or anybody else, not even my book. All I can see is him. All I can feel is the soft imprint of his fingers against my cheek, his warm breath fanning my skin.

My heart is hammering, and I’m trembling inside and out. But I know this is going to happen.

I lean in. I can’t help myself.

‘We should …’ Then his lips brush over mine. It’s the lightest of touches, but it sends a shiver down my spine.

I freeze, and then I can’t help it. I close my eyes and I kiss him back.

His lips are soft, his hand warm on my waist, and I’m tingling all over, nervous but weirdly excited. He tastes of whisky and mince pies. And something else, something that is Ollie and nobody else. Something I want more of. And a small part of me deep inside, that I didn’t know existed, has woken up leaving me all breathless and shaky.

I’ve never kissed Ollie before. Well, I have, or rather he kissed me. But we were six years old, and he was Joseph to my Mary in the school Nativity, and he was showing off.

But this is way different.

I mean though, we’re not like this. Are we?

‘Daisy, Daisy, where are you hiding?’

‘Oh God, it’s Mum!’ I pull back, my lips feeling bruised and swollen, and I just know I’m flushed and flustered.

‘Right, er, well.’ Ollie blinks at me.

I cough and glance up. ‘Bloody mistletoe, he puts it everywhere.’ The stupid giggle comes out before I can stop it.

We both stand up abruptly at the same time, collide, lose balance and sit down. Then he stands up, holds out a hand and helps me to my feet.

‘Well, er, see you at school, I guess.’ His hand lingers on mine, and we’re close enough to kiss, again.

I nod, swallow. ‘Yeah, you sure will.’ I sound embarrassingly like a cowboy and do a thumbs up which is totally uncool.

‘Have a good Christmas, Dais.’ We both look down at our still-joined hands then let go awkwardly.

‘You, too, Ol. Happy, er, Christmas. Just, er, going to check out the other books.’ I edge up the aisle one way, and he sidles the other way.

‘Good.’

‘Er, right fine.’

‘Think I’ll get another drink, find out when we’re going.’ He points. ‘Might have drunk too much whisky with Dad.’

‘Sure.’

‘That was, er …’

‘Cool, cool, whatever.’ I do not want him to say ‘mistake’, ‘silly’ or anything like that. ‘Just for the mistletoe!’

‘Nice.’ He blushes bright red and is off before the word has even settled in the air.

I look at the books, not seeing them. Then shake my head. In a few months’ time I will sit my exams and then head off to Scotland and a brilliant, exciting few years at uni. And Ollie will move to London and meet a whole new set of friends.

Our futures lie ahead, separate futures.

‘Fine, nice, bye.’ I stare after him. My fingers rest on my bruised lips, and I blink to try to get rid of the taste of him, the feel of his hand on my waist, the sensation that prickled through my body as his teeth clashed with mine, then his tongue skittered over my teeth.

Oh. My. God. I just kissed Oliver Cartwright, and it left me all wobbly and weak-kneed in a way that Josh’s never did. But it meant nothing. Definitely nothing. It is Christmas. We are drunk. It was a goodbye snog.

But an amazing snog.

I shouldn’t have done it. We’re mates, he’s always been just like an annoying brother to me. But now we’ve kissed.

I’ll never be able to look at Ollie in the same way again.

In fact, I’m not sure I’m going to ever be able to talk to him in the same way.

Is it a good or bad thing that we have new and exciting lives ahead of us – in different places?

‘Oh. My. God! Look at this place!’ Frankie, my friend and flatmate is standing in the open doorway of the bookshop and staring in as though she’s just discovered an alternative reality. She throws her arms wide as though embracing the whole place. ‘This is so fucking quaint. I didn’t know places like this still existed!’

‘You sound like a tourist who’s just discovered Stratford-upon-Avon.’ I can’t help but laugh, despite my nerves. ‘It’s a bookshop.’ Uncle Terence’s bookshop to be precise.

‘Well yeah, but look at those proper wood bookcases, and wow, cute nooks and crannies, and … cocktails!’ She leaps on Mabel, Uncle T’s bookkeeper, who nearly drops her tray in shock. ‘Oh my God, I’m going to orgasm, this is the best Dirty Martini I’ve had in ages.’

Mabel gives her a horrified look and scurries off to the safety of a nearby cranny. Dumps the tray and then heads for the protection of Uncle T.

‘Stop, please stop.’ I’m trying not to laugh. I think Frankie must be on some hallucinogenic drug. I mean, she’s not got much of a filter, she says what she wants, but she’s not normally this full on.

Frankie’s sheet of long black hair swishes in my face as her slim fingers spin the martini glass, and the look of mischief in her eyes is positively dangerous. Most of the time she’s cool and languid, but tonight she is positively buzzing.

She’s had a bust up with Tarquin, her boyfriend, which is (1) why she begged me to let her come tonight, and (2) why she’s ready to party with a capital P.

I am now beginning to realise that agreeing to let her tag along with me to Uncle T’s Christmas Eve bash could have been a mistake.