was small and quaint on the outskirts of the city. Wide open spaces, fields of wildflowers, and a trickling stream that ran through the middle of the town, from the old church to the old windmill, made it feel like a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city. A tranquil little spot in the centre of madness. It was our tranquil little spot. I loved being a part of it and had since it became our home a year ago.
We often walked the aisles of the Sunday market. Thomas had a thing for the cheeses and I loved perusing the stalls for fresh eggs and bread. It had snowed in the night and we walked glove-in-glove, wrapped up so only our faces were showing. It had only snowed a couple of inches but, like the stereotypical Brits we were, we had no idea how to react to the alien white fluff besides to wrap up like we were on an arctic voyage and moan about how cold we were.
“I've been thinking.”
Thomas pulled me off to the stall selling sweets and looked at the treats on offer.
“Did it hurt?”
“Funny,” he looked at me with the puppy eyes I fell for and pouted. He was a terrible actor. “Anyway, I thought we could get a tree this year. A real one, so the house smells like Christmas.”
I said the only thing I could think of that wasn’t a strangled cry of pain, “What does Christmas smell like?”
“You never had a real tree?” We left candy-free. He knew he’d touched on something I didn’t talk about. I couldn’t. I didn’t even think of those days. Pre-2003. A time that felt so long ago and a world away from the life I now lived. I was back at the crossroads…only this time the decision wasn’t easy.
I took a deep breath.
“We had trees. They were just artificial ones with fibre optic lights.”
“You had baubles though, right?”
I rolled my eyes, “Yes, we had baubles. And an angel on the top. I had a normal family life until I was eighteen.”
“It’s okay,” we stopped at another food stall. I concentrated on the sweet smell of chestnuts and caramel to distract me from the anxiety that crept in. “You don’t have to talk about it. It was just an idea.”
I stared into oblivion as Thomas mulled over what the stall was selling. He knew I needed a minute. I wanted Christmas with Thomas, and I wanted to do it our way. The present way, not the past way.
“I don’t like chestnuts,” I said as Thomas opened his mouth to order some. I turned to the woman running the stall. “He’ll have the chestnuts. I’ll have a churro with Nutella, please.”
“Mmm…Nutella and you?” Thomas wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered in my ear. “Don’t lick your lips.”
“Cinnamon,” I took a bite and offered him my mouth. He kissed me quickly and licked the sugar and cinnamon off his lips. “Cinnamon smells like Christmas.”
I remembered making cinnamon biscuits with Grandma before she died. Oliver – I covered my heart with my hand – and I fought over what shape to cut them; he said they all had to be the same shape so they didn’t look messy on the tree. I should have let him pick the star, but I argued until he gave in and we cut them into hearts.
We paid the woman and I tucked my hand in Thomas’ back pocket; he squashed me to him so he could hold me and eat his chestnuts.
“No tinsel, okay? We’ll get a tree but I don’t like tinsel, and no moaning because I can't stand the needles on the floor.”
“Deal,” He kissed the top of my head and I took another bite of my churro. “You’re the boss.”
“You know it,” I bumped my hip into him as we continued browsing the stalls.
I wanted to celebrate Christmas with Thomas. He was the only person I could be free with…besides – no. Thomas was my freedom. My magic. I couldn’t go through life miserable and I wouldn’t bring Thomas down. His excitement was contagious. I knew why, but it was something else I couldn’t allow to cross my mind.
“Here,” Thomas handed me a glass of brandy and a slice
We often walked the aisles of the Sunday market. Thomas had a thing for the cheeses and I loved perusing the stalls for fresh eggs and bread. It had snowed in the night and we walked glove-in-glove, wrapped up so only our faces were showing. It had only snowed a couple of inches but, like the stereotypical Brits we were, we had no idea how to react to the alien white fluff besides to wrap up like we were on an arctic voyage and moan about how cold we were.
“I've been thinking.”
Thomas pulled me off to the stall selling sweets and looked at the treats on offer.
“Did it hurt?”
“Funny,” he looked at me with the puppy eyes I fell for and pouted. He was a terrible actor. “Anyway, I thought we could get a tree this year. A real one, so the house smells like Christmas.”
I said the only thing I could think of that wasn’t a strangled cry of pain, “What does Christmas smell like?”
“You never had a real tree?” We left candy-free. He knew he’d touched on something I didn’t talk about. I couldn’t. I didn’t even think of those days. Pre-2003. A time that felt so long ago and a world away from the life I now lived. I was back at the crossroads…only this time the decision wasn’t easy.
I took a deep breath.
“We had trees. They were just artificial ones with fibre optic lights.”
“You had baubles though, right?”
I rolled my eyes, “Yes, we had baubles. And an angel on the top. I had a normal family life until I was eighteen.”
“It’s okay,” we stopped at another food stall. I concentrated on the sweet smell of chestnuts and caramel to distract me from the anxiety that crept in. “You don’t have to talk about it. It was just an idea.”
I stared into oblivion as Thomas mulled over what the stall was selling. He knew I needed a minute. I wanted Christmas with Thomas, and I wanted to do it our way. The present way, not the past way.
“I don’t like chestnuts,” I said as Thomas opened his mouth to order some. I turned to the woman running the stall. “He’ll have the chestnuts. I’ll have a churro with Nutella, please.”
“Mmm…Nutella and you?” Thomas wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered in my ear. “Don’t lick your lips.”
“Cinnamon,” I took a bite and offered him my mouth. He kissed me quickly and licked the sugar and cinnamon off his lips. “Cinnamon smells like Christmas.”
I remembered making cinnamon biscuits with Grandma before she died. Oliver – I covered my heart with my hand – and I fought over what shape to cut them; he said they all had to be the same shape so they didn’t look messy on the tree. I should have let him pick the star, but I argued until he gave in and we cut them into hearts.
We paid the woman and I tucked my hand in Thomas’ back pocket; he squashed me to him so he could hold me and eat his chestnuts.
“No tinsel, okay? We’ll get a tree but I don’t like tinsel, and no moaning because I can't stand the needles on the floor.”
“Deal,” He kissed the top of my head and I took another bite of my churro. “You’re the boss.”
“You know it,” I bumped my hip into him as we continued browsing the stalls.
I wanted to celebrate Christmas with Thomas. He was the only person I could be free with…besides – no. Thomas was my freedom. My magic. I couldn’t go through life miserable and I wouldn’t bring Thomas down. His excitement was contagious. I knew why, but it was something else I couldn’t allow to cross my mind.
“Here,” Thomas handed me a glass of brandy and a slice
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