27

Waking in his arms I stretch and smile.

Two days until Christmas. No family, no presents under the tree, no smell of cookies or eggnog, no carols piping through the house. Yet I’m happier than I have been in a long time. It’s a far cry from where I thought I’d be just a month or so ago when James drove off leaving me and his axe behind.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Chris smiles as I turn to look at him.

“It’s my turn to get you breakfast in bed,” I lean down to give him a quick kiss before flipping back the blankets, and rising. “It’s the least I can do to ease the trauma of yesterday.”

“Stay, we can eat together.”

“Don’t be gross,” I laugh, pulling on my robe and raising an eyebrow at the four cats curled up around him. “You’ve got enough pussy.”

“I’m very traumatised after yesterday. I need therapy,” he shouts to my retreating back.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs I admire the tree. Our one concession to Christmas, apart from the lights hung very badly on the outside of the house.

‘And the fact I’m sleeping with an angel destined to be Santa.’

Shaking my head as I turn for the kitchen bench, I turn on the kettle just as the doorbell rings.

Frowning I pad towards the door and open to see my son and his wife and child, and my daughter with her husband and twins.

“Surprise!”