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23RD DECEMBER

Eve

What does Christmas look like to you?

My vision of a perfect Christmas dates back to when I was a child: brand new flannel pyjamas, hot chocolate with squirty cream, a living room fizzing with anticipation (or maybe that was the sound of Dad's dodgy Christmas lights). A tree so big we pruned it back to watch the television, rammed with decorations. No branch shall remain unbaubled. There is no colour scheme here. It's decorations made out of pasta shapes and half a tube of glitter. It's tinsel that the tree wears like a disco scarf; pieces of string weighed down with cards from aunties we never see; badly wrapped gifts lying on a carpet of Christmas tree needles; hands rustling through tins of chocolates. Mum telling Dad not to put the wrappers back in the tin. Does he listen? No. But she can't be angry with him. He throws a wrapper at her that gets caught in her big mass of curly hair. Noel, my brother, has nabbed the good armchair, and wears a Star Wars dressing gown thinking he's a Jedi when he's not. He knows he has the good chair and sticks his middle finger up at me. I pull a face back, and he laughs so hard, he snots on himself. There's a Christmas film on the television. I can't even tell you what it is but there's snow on the screen, falling in white blankets, resting on someone's eyelashes. It's a festive warmth you feel in your chest. Because this is joy, this is a huge colourful shiny version of what love looks like.

That is what Christmas looks like.

It should look like that.

It shouldn't look like a blonde woman on her knees noshing off your boyfriend of three years in the shower.

‘Shitshitshitshit…' Chris mutters. Unfortunately, this does not deter the girl on her knees who assumes his swearing to be associated with impending orgasm. He tries to pull out. She tugs on his balls. I stand there, speechless, waves of shock pinning me to the spot, drowning me. Seriously? He turns off the shower. Yes, do that. Save the water and our energy bill, at least. The girl turns around and her eyes widen. The two of them stand there, looking like they're expecting me to throw them some towels. No such luck.

‘Eve… This isn't what you think it is…' Chris says, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘I thought you weren't coming back until this afternoon.'

That wasn't the sentence to lead with.

The girl grabs a robe next to the sink and wraps it around her body. My robe. I know the girl. Her name is Allegra, and she works in his department on accounts. She's wearing my robe. The bitch is wearing my robe. She bows her head in shame, looking for escape, but this is a small bathroom and I'm blocking the only way out of here.

‘I got an earlier train so we could buy the last of your gifts for your family.'

I hear my voice wobble and pause to take the deepest of breaths. Don't give him the satisfaction of your tears, Eve. Never. You've given him three of your best years, don't give him an inch more.

‘You should have texted,' Chris adds. He's not doing well here, is he? His body starts to shiver. I hope he freezes. Am I giving him a towel? Hell, no.

‘I was online this morning and saw a lamp in John Lewis and thought your sister would love it. I've reserved it. Thought we could go up to Oxford Street and get all the last minute bits. We've got nothing for your aunt and uncle yet either,' I say, trying to focus on something else, anything else except what's happening in this room.

Allegra, in my robe, stands there, looking slightly unnerved. I turn to her. She's pretty. Polar opposite to me, with my brown wavy hair and brown eyes. She would have been Mary in the nativity for sure, while I would have been the innkeeper's wife, maybe a townsperson.

‘Hi. Allegra, isn't it? We were going to spend Christmas with his family in North London. All the family. Massive turkey. You should see it, it's like they fed it steroids.'

I turn back to Chris, who has now lost his hard on. Water drips from the tip of his bell-end. Drip, drip, drip. ‘Eve…'

‘I've been in Bristol. I was presenting a paper. For a conference. A law conference,' I tell Allegra, the details irrelevant but I need to fill that awful, empty silence. ‘I was scheduled to get in later, but I thought I'd surprise my boyfriend. Surprise!' I exclaim drily with added jazz hands. This is a surprise. God, I have questions. How long? Why didn't I see it? When I caught the train, bleary-eyed at 7 a.m., I imagined slipping into our house, stripping down and crawling under our duvet, slow morning sex, a coffee under our Christmas lights. Talking about our Christmas plans – all our plans. I exhale a slow pained breath.

‘Can we talk about this?' he whispers.

Talk? No, we can't. I am suddenly enveloped by rage. ‘Every Christmas since I've known Chris, I've spent it with his family. I made them the priority. Not mine. Christmas day itself is always themed, Allegra. I've worn red, and tartan, and fur. Not real fur, obviously, as no one should wear real fur, but I joined in. I ate his uncle's dry ham and played charades and plaited his niece's hair…'

‘I know, but Eve…' Chris pleads.

I turn from the door and march into the living room. By the tree is a pile of bags and gifts ready to be loaded into the car, wrapped in twine. Biodegradable fucking twine. I open the window to our third-floor flat and start flinging things out. The first gift is the most expensive and that's his mother's hamper, full of cheese straws, organic oat biscuits and Christmas nuts. There are going to be some bloody happy squirrels out there.

‘EVE! DON'T!' shrieks Chris, scrambling to reach for a towel and following me into our living room.

Too late. Cashmere throw for Granny Clara. GONE. I hope it gets run over or adopted by a stray cat. His dad's books on naval history are next. Au revoir. Sail away into the bitter winter air, expensive hardbacks. Allegra at this point has scuttled towards our bedroom where I can see they've slept in our bed. My robe is on the floor as she tries to pull a dress over her head and locate her knickers.

‘Oi! Oi!' I hear from outside the window and I pop my head out.

‘I'm sorry!' I yell. ‘Just caught my boyfriend getting sucked off in the shower by another woman.'

The postman, weighed down with Amazon parcels, pauses for a moment then salutes me. ‘As you were, love!'

‘You're acting like a madwoman,' Chris interrupts.

Chris is really not redeeming himself in any way here. I pop my head back inside. There is no contrition, angst, no regret. Who is this man? He thinks I'm mad? Maybe madness is lying. Telling your girlfriend of three years that you spent the night in, binge watching property shows and eating fried chicken.

‘This isn't what it looks like… It was just the one time.'

I give a hollow snigger under my breath. Mainly at Allegra who stands there with her arms crossed letting me know that is also a lie.

‘How long?' I ask her, tersely.

She has tears in her eyes. She knew we were together, there's a photo of us on the bedside table that would have watched over proceedings last night. She could at least do me the courtesy of telling me the truth now I've caught them in the act.

‘Since the summer…' she mumbles.

‘Allie!' Chris exclaims.

She has a nickname. I pause for a moment, and a bottle of clementine gin destined for his cousin drops to the floor, shattering into little shards of alcohol, fruit and heartbreak.

‘Chris, we should go. Get some clothes on. Give her some space.'

‘But my stuff… I… I…'

‘You have stuff at mine. We can buy stuff.'

He has stuff at hers? I'm staring into space, mesmerised by the lights of the Christmas tree and all the deception bubbling to the surface. Chris scampers next door, pulling on tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, grabbing his big parka, no socks, the trainers he uses for the gym, none of it matching. There's a Fair Isle theme to his family do this Christmas. We would have matched in cream and forest green. I bought him a jumper, hidden in the back of the wardrobe. But I don't say a word.

‘Eve, it wasn't meant to be like this. Shit. You weren't supposed to find out like this…'

‘How was I supposed to find out, Chris?' I enquire.

‘I was going to…' he spurts out, panicked.

‘Christmas day itself? Was it my gift? Were you going to get "I'm a big shitting cheat" put on a mug?' I reach below the tree, digging through packages to find that gift. ‘Here's my gift.' It's in a snowflake bag with a card:

Eve, With all the love in the world, C x

Inside the bag is a small red velvet box from Caspar my jaw is clenched so hard I think my teeth may shatter. As he turns, I think about the number of Christmases I've spent with him, the money and time I've wasted on gifts, the number of times I said, ‘I love you'. My heart feels like stone inside my chest – grey heavy stone, everything that Christmas isn't. I shut the door behind him and rest my forehead against it.

I hear the murmur of their voices in the hallway. ‘Crap, I've left my phone in there.'

‘You idiot. You can't go back in there.'

‘She knows my passcode, she'll see everything.'

‘Everything?'

I place cold hands to my temples and try to rub away my frustration, my confusion, my hurt. I walk to the bedroom. His phone is charging next to his side, as usual. I dial in the passcode and open up his messages. Filtered pictures of his genitals, messages about hook ups and hard nipples, a whole complement of emotional devastation on his new iPhone 4. I open our bedroom window that opens out on to the street. I throw that out, too.

Joe

Hey, Eve. You OK? So, as it's Christmas and it's a time for giving, I thought I'd give you this. Yes, it's that thing. I know, I know… It's a bit cheesy and last year I literally just gave you a chocolate reindeer, but I wanted you to have it. Is that weird? That's weird. It's just I've known you now for nearly two years and I think you're great. Really great. And I know you have a boyfriend, but I guess it can't hurt to hear that someone else out there thinks you're amazing. I mean, I love you. That's a lot, isn't it? That's a strong word. I like you very much. I like you, strongly. I've made my feelings for you sound like a questionnaire now. What I mean is, I just like being around you. You make everything better. Merry Christmas.

I look in the mirror. That's a really bad monologue. I can't say that to Eve. Firstly, because it's Christmas but also because it's a proper Hugh Grant ramble and she'll laugh in my face. The pure facts are she has a boyfriend and I have to respect that line, that unwritten code of not being that person who breaks up a relationship. Maybe I should just post this to her. It's just a gift. Between friends. At Christmas. 'Tis the season and all that. Do I crush on Eve? A fair bit. Perhaps too much. Instead of bouldering my way in there, though, I offer her friendship, I buy her the occasional drink, I admire her from afar like some doe-eyed puppy. I distract myself with flings and date other people. People who just aren't… her.

Her boyfriend is Chris, he works in publishing, he has a proper job and does grown-up things like play squash and has a car that works. There is no question who's the better option. I met the boyfriend once at a works drinks do. Did he speak down to me, highlighting the size of his car engine like a dickhead? Yes. But I saw the way that Eve leaned into him and how much she adored him. In that moment, I knew sabotage was not the way forward because it would likely just lead to heartache for me.

‘That is a lewk , Joe Lord,' Gabriel, my housemate, says from the doorway of our shared house.

‘Too much?' I say, turning to him.

‘I'd argue, not enough. You look like a mixture of Superman and Santa's Little Helper. It's frankly hurting my eyes,' he says, shading his view. ‘The shorts are very…'

‘Tight? Can you see my…'

‘Candy cane?' he says, laughing. ‘Joe, you're a buff butler. They probably went a size down so you could give all the ladies something to look at. You're all chiselled, tall and handsome. They'll want to get their money's worth.'

‘Look at? I've done this gig for too long now. They get gropey.' It's a part-time gig I got into by mistake. I thought I was applying to be a real-life butler. I thought I'd be helping someone like Bruce Wayne fight crime in smart tailoring. I didn't realise I'd be wearing shorts so tight you can see the outline of my crack. That said, I need the extra income and it's easy money. Except when they get gropey.

‘But the tips…'

‘Keep the lights on. I know.'

‘Yes, I know that sounds awful as your housemate, asking you to whore yourself out to keep a roof over our heads, but needs must.'

I look at myself in the mirror again. Even I can't believe the rates I get paid at Christmas. I get paid stupid money because the rest of the world has plans. Christmas plans involving drinks, carolling and getting ready for the coming of the big man in red. Normal people have already blocked work out of their hearts and minds so yes, I work because no one else wants to. If my agency wants me to pour shots into ladies' mouths at a bottomless brunch, dressed as an elf with bells on his shorts and don a fur-lined cape like some sort of Christmas pimp then so be it.

Gabriel looks down at the gift on the bed. ‘When are you going to do it then? Not today, surely?' he asks.

Gabriel is party to the knowledge about Eve because I told him once when I was drunk. He knows about the crush, but the advice is awful. He told me love is a competition, and I need to access my baser instincts and put myself up for contention. Like silverbacks trying to win the mating rights of a lady gorilla. Gabriel watches too many nature programmes.

‘No. She's busy today, she has Christmas plans. You know, I may not even give it. It's a stupid idea.'

‘Dude, no. That's a cute gift. You've put thought into it. I hope you've put that much thought into my gift.'

I got Gabriel kitchen gadgets because that's how he gets his kicks. What I've got him will blow his little mind and I can't wait to see his face when he opens it.

‘Find her tonight, dressed like that, with some mistletoe. Keep it all on theme,' he continues.

‘Not today,' I say resolutely, shaking my head.

Gabriel pouts, another plan of his rejected. ‘And not with that speech either…' He smirks.

‘You heard that? Was it shit?'

He nods. ‘I've never even met this boyfriend she's with but even I know you're a better option. Maybe keep the focus on you and how you feel about her. Like don't tell her about the time you got drunk in that chicken shop and you told Mustafa and all his staff how much you loved her and he felt sorry for you and gave you free chips,' he says, joking, even though he was the person who ate those free chips. ‘Just tell her how much she means to you.' He glances over to the bed again. ‘You're very good at wrapping. Can you wrap the rest of my gifts?'

‘I am. And no.'

He looks over at the tag and the handwritten note. ‘You old romantic. If I wasn't straight and with a girlfriend, I'd marry you myself.'

‘I want a ring before I commit. I'm not sharing you.' Gabriel was one of the first people I knew in this crazy city when I moved here for university. We bonded over study breaks where Cup Noodles and naps featured heavily, and he has since been my saviour, letting me rent his second bedroom and looking after me like one would do a very large pet. That might change when his girlfriend eventually moves in but for now, it's preferable to living with randoms who label their food and eat in the bath.

‘You missed a bit of fake tan by the way, on your thighs.' Gabriel looks down at his own thighs in comparison. ‘I would help but I don't love you that much.'

‘Thanks, buddy. Do you need a lift to work? I head out in about half an hour.'

‘You're going in costume?' he asks, confused.

‘I'm driving. I don't want to get stuck there later looking for public transport and taxis at Christmas. Plus, this might get us in the mood. I'll chuck some Christmas tunes on?'

‘Then you, sir, are a saint as well as a disgustingly handsome elf.'

I laugh then scan over to the gift on my bed. Not this Christmas, Eve.