One Perfect Christmas

  Joe was right about one thing. Lukas did want me back. Even after everything I had done to him.

  I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. He quit his job in Germany – he had moved there a couple of months ago, while I’d stayed in the UK to teach – and got another research placement back at the University of Cambridge where he had studied and then taught. I tried to convince him not to do this, that it was futile – I wanted a divorce – but my words had no effect.

  ‘You didn’t want to go to Germany, and I should never have left you… I’m sorry.’

  I never thought I’d hear him say that. I wish he hadn’t. It would have been less painful if he’d hated me.

  He violently opposed the idea of me moving out of our home, but he couldn’t stop me. He also violently opposed a divorce, and as he was the one who had to file for it under grounds of infidelity (mine), my hands were tied. I knew it would take time to convince him. I was still trying.

  Lukas speaks quietly. ‘Do you still love him?’

  ‘Yes.’ My eyes well up with tears. I hate myself for hurting him like this. I wish he could accept that it’s over between us.

  ‘What about his co-star?’

  I know he – along with millions of others – has been glued to the tabloids for news about a romance between Joe and Michelle Bleech, the stunning Australian actress who he’s been sharing a lot of time with on set. Of course, Lukas’s reasons for his interest are very different to the rest of the population.

  ‘They’re just friends.’

  Even I know this sounds weak. I was riddled with jealousy when my colleague Roxy kept going on about them. But Joe insisted they were just friends. However it was only when I saw them together first hand that I could accept it as the truth. I still couldn’t stand the sight of the woman, though. She was far too hands-on for my liking.

  ‘Alice…’

  He gets up from the sofa and tries to approach me.

  ‘No. Don’t.’ I put my hand up to ward him off. He hesitates for a moment. ‘Lukas, please. Don’t do this,’ I beg. I get to my feet and step away from him.

  He stands up, but ignores my protests. ‘I still love you. I will always love you.’

  ‘I can’t…’ I go to walk into the kitchen, but he grabs my hand, pulling me back to him. His dressing gown has fallen open, revealing his body beneath. He’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts, and I inadvertently glance at his chest. I immediately regret it, because suddenly he is familiar to me. So familiar my heart clenches.

  ‘I know you still love me too.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  But it’s a lie. And he knows it. I do still love him. I still remember falling in love with him, with this gorgeous, intelligent German student who was studying Physics at Trinity College. I remember making love to him in his room, above the bookshop opposite Great Gate on Trinity Street, with the Christmas lights glowing outside our window. I remember him proposing to me at the top of an Austrian mountain, kneeling on the purest of snow. I remember him telling me that I was his first love, his only love. He disappointed his parents – his austere, mega-wealthy German parents – by choosing me instead of his childhood sweetheart, who was from a very good family, as I heard time and time again. To my knowledge he still hasn’t told his parents we’ve separated. He made sacrifices for me because he loved me. And I loved him. I still love him. Just not as much as I love Joe. For me a choice did have to be made. So I made one. But it appears Lukas still believes he can change my mind.

  ‘Enough. You’ve got to stop this.’ I shake my hand free.

  ‘Why haven’t you made your relationship public?’ he asks me quietly.

  ‘I don’t want… We don’t want… I want…’

  ‘You want a normal life,’ he finishes my sentence for me.

  I look away from him, because he’s right, of course.

  He steps forward and puts his hand on my arm. I stare up at him. ‘Alice, you know you will never get that with him. You’ll have to quit your job, you won’t be able to live in this house, or any house without security and bodyguards. You won’t be able to go anywhere on your own, ever again. And how will your children live? Presuming you want children with him?’ I know the thought of this must hurt him very much. He had been wanting to try for a family for ages. He continues.

  ‘You’re stealing away every chance of a normal childhood. You’re effectively entering yourself – and your children – into a prison sentence. Is that really what you want?’

  No! No, it’s not what I want! He’s preying on my greatest fears, and I hate him for it.

  I remove his hand from my arm, give him my fiercest glare and try to keep my voice steady. ‘You’re not going to change my mind.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I want a divorce.’

  He stares at me for a long moment, but I don’t waver. And then I see his eyes fill with tears before he closes them. I lose my resolve and my bottom lip starts to wobble.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. His eyes fly open and suddenly I’m in his arms, my cheek pressed against his bare chest as his arms crush me to him. I struggle to free myself, but he holds me tightly. ‘Don’t,’ I protest, but then he’s holding my face in his hands and forcing me to look up at him. His lips are on mine before I know it, but it feels wrong, so wrong. All I can think about is Joe. I’m frozen. I can’t kiss him back. I think it’s in that moment, when I don’t melt under his touch as I’m sure he expected me to, that Lukas finally accepts that it’s over.

  He flings me away from him, hurt and anger distorting his usually perfect features.

  ‘You will regret this,’ he promises darkly, snatching his still-damp clothes from the radiators and pulling them on. ‘There’s no going back this time.’

  And much as it pains me, it’s what I wanted to hear.

  He returned to Germany after that. His former employer at the University of Munich took him back. He still couldn’t bring himself to talk to me about selling our house, though. So we rented it out. The next time I would see him would be when we went there to clear out the last of our belongings. It was then that he finally consented to my request.

  ***

  ‘He’s agreed to a divorce,’ I tell Joe now. His dark eyes light up.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really?’ he asks again, almost unable to believe it.

  ‘Yes.’

  With utter relief, he pulls me to him. I breathe in his scent as I press my face into his neck.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’ he asks as he jerks away, staring at me with confusion. This topic certainly wouldn’t have ruined our conversations. It’s what Joe’s been after for months.

  ‘I knew I’d believe it when I saw it. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. But the divorce papers came through yesterday.’

  ‘And he’s signed them?’ he checks warily.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it’s over?’

  ‘It’s been over for almost a year.’

  ‘Yes, but now it’s official.’

  I nod and his face breaks into an enormous grin. ‘So now you’re my Alice. Just my Alice.’

  ‘I’ve always been your Alice,’ I say softly as he hugs me to him once more.

  ‘I’m so happy,’ he murmurs into my hair.

  ‘Me too.’ Another surge of joy passes through me.

  We eat, drink and dance the night away, and although we get a few odd looks, I’m pretty sure Joe’s identity remains safe. For one more night, at least. At nine o’clock he goes off to get his suitcase from a nearby hotel. His PA checked him into one, just so he could have a shower and leave his belongings somewhere, but he returns within half an hour, giving me enough time to have a dance with Jessie and Emily.

  By eleven thirty, Joe is seriously flagging. He only flew in from LA this morning after an all-night flight, and even in First Class he says he barely slept. Jessie and Emily are showing no signs of calling it a night anytime soon, so we go to say goodbye.


  Emily throws her arms around me and I hug her tightly.

  ‘Thanks for letting me be your bridesmaid.’ My tone is serious, but Emily snorts.

  ‘As if I wouldn’t have asked you!’

  My eyes brim with tears and I hug her again. The truth is, I didn’t expect to be asked. Emily wasn’t one of my bridesmaids when I got married. And I had five. My face burns with shame as I remember how I allowed Lukas to convince me that it was all about politics. I didn’t even know one of my bridesmaids – I met her for the first time the day before we got married. Plus I hardly saw Emily back in those days. But I should never have allowed that to happen. I’m beyond delighted that we’ve become good friends again this year.

  I turn to Jessie. ‘Come here,’ he slurs drunkenly, hauling me into his arms. He presses his lips to my head. ‘My little China.’

  ‘Look after her,’ he tells Joe, and it’s almost a warning.

  ‘I fully intend to,’ Joe says, gently pulling me to his side. ‘So we’ll see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ Jessie exclaims. ‘Phew, forgot about that. I was about to get all emotional.’

  I smirk at him. ‘Call me when you’re ready. No rush,’ I add, giving Emily one last peck on the cheek. ‘Have a good one,’ I say to her with a wink.

  ‘You too,’ she says brazenly back, glancing at Joe.

  I laugh and lead the way out.

  ‘We should be able to catch a cab out here, but if not we’ll walk up to the taxi rank.’ My teeth start to chatter. It’s even colder than before.

  Joe chuckles and vigorously rubs my arms in an attempt to warm me up.

  ‘What?’ I ask him over my shoulder.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replies.

  ‘You’re used to having a driver,’ I realise with amusement.

  ‘I haven’t had to hail a cab in years,’ he admits.

  ‘Well, for the next few weeks you’re just little Joe Strickwold, so get used to it,’ I tease.

  ‘I’m very happy to.’

  A cab appears around the corner and he steps out onto the street and whistles loudly. It screeches to a halt.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ I exclaim. I’ve never seen anyone do that, other than in the movies.

  Huh. But of course he’s been in plenty of movies…

  ‘I lived in New York for a bit,’ he informs me with a grin, opening the door for me. I climb in and tell the driver where to go. Joe puts his suitcase in the boot and then slides in after me.

  ‘I didn’t know you lived in New York?’ I say. There are still so many gaps to fill in. Thankfully we have time.

  ‘For a year after I first moved to America,’ he explains, glancing across at me.

  ‘Wow. Did you like it?’

  ‘Loved it. Might buy an apartment there one day. Have you ever been?’

  ‘No, funnily enough. It’s one of those places I always wanted to go,’ I reply.

  ‘I’ll take you.’

  I smile at him and rest my head on his shoulder, draping my arm across his waist.

  ‘How far away is home?’ he asks.

  ‘About fifteen minutes,’ I reply.

  He slips his arm around me and we stay like that for the rest of the journey.

  Eventually the taxi driver turns into a sleepy village, dark except for the occasional light glowing in windows behind curtains. I chose this village, not only because it’s quiet and private and we have plenty of space, but because most of its occupants appear to be nearing ninety. I’m pretty sure that they won’t be bothered – if they ever become aware – that there’s a celebrity in their midst.

  ‘Take a left here,’ I tell the driver, extricating myself from Joe as he pulls into a narrow lane. ‘We’re at the end.’

  ‘This is a bit tucked away,’ the driver comments.

  ‘It sure is,’ I reply, flashing Joe a grin. His stance has changed. He’s sitting upright and he looks eager and full of anticipation, like a child on Christmas morning.

  Joe didn’t even have access to email in the rainforest, so I couldn’t send him the estate agent’s particulars. I described the house to him, although nothing would have prepared him for what it’s like in real life. The ‘wow’ factor will have to wait until the morning, though, because it’s so dark right now that all we can see are the tall wooden gates in the car’s headlights.

  The taxi driver reverses back out of the road while I lead Joe to the gate’s keypad.

  ‘Five, seven, zero, two,’ I tell him as I punch in the code. ‘Fifth of July, 2002.’

  ‘The day we met,’ he says quietly.

  We gaze at each other in the darkness for a moment before I push open the gate.

  The sky over our heads is bursting with stars and a new moon hangs yellow above the rooftop. As we walk across the snow-crusted gravel driveway, I feel the familiar flutter of butterflies as they take flight in my stomach. I push my key into the lock and flick on the hall lights as I go inside. I’m suddenly intensely aware of Joe’s presence behind me, the warmth of his frame. I turn around to face him and see that his expression is as serious as mine.

  He takes me in his arms and kisses me passionately. Shivers trail up and down my spine, but I’m no longer cold. His kiss deepens, and then his lips move to my neck. I gasp and arch my back. I want him so much.

  ‘I take it you don’t want a tour?’ I ask breathlessly.

  ‘Only to the bedroom,’ he replies, scooping me up. I laugh lightly. He’s so strong, he makes me feel weightless. He grins at me, making my heart flip. ‘Which way?’

  I nod at the stairs. ‘Up.’

  ‘I like what you’ve done here,’ he comments jokily, nodding at the heavy-aluminium mirror over the hallstand, mixing modern with old.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply with a grin, my arms looped around his neck.

  ‘Nice rug,’ he continues when we reach the landing.

  ‘The one in front of the hearth is nicer,’ I reply mockingly and he raises one eyebrow at me. ‘Right here,’ I direct him with a jerk of my head.

  He’s kissing me again before we reach the bedroom. Frantic, desperate kisses. There’s no more laughing, no more talking as we undress quickly, not taking our eyes from each other. There are no witty remarks about the super kingsize bed with its sculptured mahogany bedhead and white Egyptian cotton 600 thread count duvet cover. All I want is him. Inside me. Now. We fall onto the bed and as his warm, hard body presses against mine, I inhale sharply with ecstasy as I get my wish.

  He kisses me lightly all over my face when it’s over. Soothing me. Loving me. Once more I was overcome with emotion at the end – sometimes Joe just does that to me. I take a deep, shaky breath and he rolls off me, turning on his side to stroke my face and brush away my tears. My nose is still prickling and there’s a lump in my throat.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispers.

  ‘I love you more,’ I reply.

  ‘It’s not possible.’

  We smile small smiles at each other.

  ‘Please can we go public?’ he begs. ‘I hate being without you.’

  I sigh, my tears abating. ‘Let’s talk in the morning.’

  He nods and I reach across to switch off the bedside light.

  ‘Nice bedhead, by the way,’ he murmurs as I snuggle into the crook of his arm.

  I swear I’m still smiling as I fall asleep.

  I wake up to the sound of him shaving. I sit up in bed and peer through the gap in the door to the en-suite. Sensing movement, he pauses for a moment and peeks out at me.

  ‘Morning,’ he says with a grin.

  ‘Morning,’ I reply sleepily.

  ‘Sorry I woke you,’ he says.

  ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Nine o’clock.’

  That’s pretty good for me, actually. I’ve been struggling to sleep recently. I nod at his electric razor. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

  ‘You think I should keep my disguise?’

  ‘Might be an idea?’

  ??
?Nah,’ he says. ‘It’s too damn itchy.’

  I smile at him. ‘I prefer you clean-shaven anyway.’

  ‘You’ll have me that way in ten minutes.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ I tease.

  But he stays true to it.

  It’s even more blissful kissing him when I don’t have a beard to contend with. I could stay in bed with him all day, if I weren’t so excited about showing him the house.

  ‘Come on,’ I urge. He climbs out of bed and I pause for a moment to admire the view as he gets a T-shirt and cargo pants out from his suitcase. He must’ve brought it upstairs while I was asleep. He is definitely broader. Hang on, what’s that?

  ‘Is that a scar?’ I ask with concern as he drags his T-shirt over his head.

  ‘Where? Oh, there,’ he replies, looking over his shoulder at his lower back. ‘Just a scratch.’

  ‘That is not just a scratch,’ I say, climbing out of bed and going over to study it. It’s about ten centimetres long, jagged, and looks quite deep. ‘Did you need stitches?’

  ‘A few,’ he replies, stepping away and pulling on his cargo pants. I bloody knew it. ‘It’s not a big deal,’ he adds.

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘I fell out of a tree.’ He looks a bit self-conscious.

  ‘Are you still doing your own stunts?’ I ask accusatorily.

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ he warns.

  ‘I’m serious, Joe! You shouldn’t do that! It’s dangerous!’ My voice has climbed an octave and I hate that I sound whiney, but I can’t help it. He hurt himself in Australia too, when he slipped and fell down a rock face during a thunderstorm. He still has the scars on his ribs to show for it.