On the last night before Christmas, Iris bumped heavily into Nathan, trying not to drop the carrier bags that were biting heavily into her cold fingers.
His face grinned and glowed in the bitter December night air. Come and have a drink with me, he demanded, taking over some of the bags and walking away from her, so that she had to follow him into the shopping crowds.
Did you get everything you wanted?
Iris nodded. They sat in the smoking section of a riverside tapas bar, with a mojito each, resting their knees against the radiator. The carrier bags formed a small fortress around their ankles, and they waited before peeling off coats and scarves, until they adjusted to the ambient warmth. Usually I get my Christmas shopping done well in advance, she said, wondering if she should have ordered a hot chocolate to wrap her frozen fingers around. Nathan reached across the table and took her hands in his, rubbing them vigorously enough to dispel any notion of romance. I particularly enjoy being jewish at this time of year; certainly doesn�t feel like I�m missing out. Shall we get something to eat?
Mm, yes� no!
Nathan twisted in his chair, to look in the same direction as Iris�s widened eyes. Colleagues, people who knew them, were visible across the busy room. Meh. I wonder if the albondigas are beef or pork. Does it bother you if they see us?
It did not so much bother Iris, as confuse her, since all their dealings until now had been covert, and often elaborately so. For all the languorous pleasure with which they enjoyed each other�s company, there was ultimately a vaguely exciting touch of secrecy, which lent spice to the time that they had shared so far. A silent unacknowledged voice asked her if they risked losing the allure, if they came out.
I got my tickets home today, said Nathan. Will you miss me?
Iris arched an eyebrow at him, and gave a casual little one-shoulder shrug. A little, she conceded. Shall we get some olives?
Delicately, they spun the evening out; and if they were observed by their colleagues, no-one came over to disturb them, because they looked a little bit too much like a couple, laughing into each others� eyes over the safety-glass shrouded tealight and the focaccia bread. Nathan knocked back another couple of mojitos, because they were aromatic and refreshing, and reminded him of home; and Iris had a strawberry daiquiri, because she had never tried one before. It was dreamy-sweet, but she did not want another.
They had forgotten about their colleagues by the time they tripped out of the bar, wrapping their outdoor clothes around themselves, and pressing close together. The streets were busy with tipsy late-night shoppers, and an icy fog glowered at street-light level. I feel as though my moustache is frozen, Nathan commented.
You don�t have a moustache.
Nathan burrowed his hands inside Iris�s coat, pulling her into a doorway and nuzzling his face into her neck. She breathed in his warm scent, and enjoyed the rough scratchiness of his wool coat, brushing against her cheek. You�re like a pocket, where I can hide from the world. Your body is my refuge. His fingers burrowed beneath Iris�s clothes, letting in slices of cold air, but she liked listening to him mumbling sweet things to her, and she liked shrinking against a wall while he towered over her and kissed her skin. And after all, he was going home soon, she would not have this anymore. Let�s go home.
But I�ve got all this shopping� Iris was already following him towards his digs, which was much closer than hers, and usually tidier and warmer, but she would end up asleep in his bed, and have to rush in the morning to get to her mum�s house in time for Christmas dinner.
The house that he usually shared with three other men in their early twenties, was empty, as they had all deserted him for the Christmas period. He did not mind a day or two of solitude, and the opportunity to treat the whole place as his own. He filled the kitchen with a glorious aroma of coffee, but also opened a fine tempranillo that did not belong to him, and made cheese sandwiches with some camembert that needed to be eaten soon, squashed into the bread with leaves of rocket and spinach. Iris borrowed sellotape, and wrapped up her presents.
You could come with me, tomorrow, she offered, certain that he would refuse; but even combining his jewishness with the depths of her own agnosticism, she had difficulty with the idea of him being alone on Christmas day.
You could stay here, he replied, with a Nathanish grin, and pushed a large glass, half-full of red wine, across the table towards her. Don�t you think that would be nice?
I�m getting some really mixed messages from you tonight, you know. She may have sounded slightly annoyed, but that was because she was having difficulty with an awkwardly-shaped vase, and strands of her ubiquitous red hair getting stuck to the tape. Is this because you�re going home soon?
Nathan did not respond, but offered a helpful finger, to hold down the folded corner of paper, so that the tape could be fixed more satisfactorily. Iris shoved the wrapped presents back into carrier bags and stacked them by the kitchen door. This is still just a fling, right?
waiting anxiously for the next installment-keep it up!