All I Want For Christmas Read online

  With the vegetables in a carrier bag he wandered back towards the café, swinging the bag backwards and forwards in a light-hearted manner, because that’s exactly how he felt − carefree, happy and looking forward to Ellie’s company. Most of the tables were full and Ellie arrived just as he had politely squeezed himself past a disabled man in a wheelchair. He sat down at a table in the opposite corner from where they’d been on Monday.

  ‘Great, just in time,’ he said, placing the carrier bag on the floor under the table.

  The wheelchair took up the space opposite and Ellie sat down next to Tom, crossing her long legs. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, Ellie could smell his aftershave mingled with the leather from his black jacket and she sighed with pleasure. She turned towards him as a young student with a long green apron took their orders for coffee. ‘It must be the witch’s day off,’ she whispered.

  Tom swivelled towards her in his seat and laughed. Today she had two slides lifting her hair up from the sides of her face, emphasising her prominent cheekbones. She really is quite beautiful, Tom thought.

  Feeling the plastic bag slide next to her black pumps under the table, Ellie asked, ‘What’s in the bag?’

  Tom thought quickly − he hadn’t decided exactly what to tell Ellie or, more to the point, how to avoid explaining his marital status. The vegetables were for another of the diets that Anne seemed to be forever trying. Not that any of them made a difference, he mused, no matter what she ate; Anne always retained the same chubby figure. Tom decided to evade an explanation and smiled. ‘Oh, it’s just some vegetables because I like to eat healthily.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Not a vegetarian though?’

  Ellie nodded, digesting this information and wondered if he was cooking for two. Was it cheeky to just come right out and ask him, she wondered? Then she realised that on Monday she’d done most of the talking and she really didn’t know very much about him. However, he did look amazing today in a light coloured sweater with black jeans and a leather jacket; in fact, she thought dreamily, he could be a male model posing in a magazine.

  Tom smiled and looked into her eyes. ‘No, not me,’ he said. ‘I like my meat too much for that malarkey.’

  The coffee arrived and Ellie took her purse out of the denim satchel on her shoulder, but Tom pushed her hand back. ‘No, I’ve got it,’ he said. His hand lingered over hers for a few seconds and he swallowed hard at the feel of her soft silky skin. She didn’t pull away from him, but sat transfixed, staring into his eyes. Could she feel it too, he wondered? Slowly, but reluctantly, he removed his hand.

  ‘Th…thanks,’ she mumbled in shock at what had just happened. The skin on her hand felt as though it was burning hot where his hand had lain and she fought a ridiculous urge to pull it back on to hers again. Try and be sensible she reasoned, and took a deep breath − she’d never known anyone to have such an effect on her before. Ellie had met her previous two boyfriends in pubs when she’d had a drink and had felt mellow and full of confidence, but now, in the cold light of day and sober, meeting Tom was something completely different.

  Tom sipped his coffee. He felt utterly besotted with her and knew from experience that at some stage, when they did make love, it was going to be fantastic. The closeness and smell of her young body was doing indescribable things to his and the longing to lie naked with her was overwhelming his thoughts.

  He breathed out heavily and shook his head. ‘So,’ he asked brightly, ‘what have you written since Monday?’

  Ellie too shook herself back to reality and drank a mouthful of coffee. ‘Well, I’ve started the first chapter of my novel,’ she said. ‘Although I don’t have all my secondary characters put together yet, I do have the two main ones.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ he said. ‘Have you based these two characters on any of the people here in the market?’ He looked around the café, scanning the few customers sitting at tables nearby.

  Ellie drained her coffee, noticing how quickly the crowds had dispersed as the market neared closing. She giggled. ‘No, I haven’t used anyone here. I’ll just use these people for smaller parts of the story.’

  Tom frowned, ‘There seems to have been a mass exodus,’ he said and Ellie explained how the market was about to close early.

  Oh no, Tom thought. He hadn’t known this. The thought of her scampering off home filled him with dread. He gulped his coffee and silently cursed himself for not coming in earlier to see her. Yesterday, he’d thought of the old saying that women liked mysterious men as it kept them on their toes, and had decided to leave his visit for an extra day, but now he bitterly regretted this stupid decision. Ellie wouldn’t think along these lines because she wasn’t a knowledgeable woman; she was a young girl who would probably think he wasn’t interested as he’d left it so late to return.

  Ellie smiled and explained, ‘you don’t have to gulp your coffee − they won’t throw us out.’

  As Ellie watched him draw his eyebrows together and frown, she thought he looked troubled, as if a black cloud had settled upon him. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed her company as much as he’d seemed to on Monday. But, their time together today had flown over much too quickly, and she didn’t want to leave him.

  Trying to be brave, she took a deep breath and swallowed hard. ‘I live up in Jesmond and if it’s a nice day I often walk home through the Dene,’ she said. ‘I thought, well, if you’re not doing anything, you might fancy a walk?’

  The whole of Tom’s insides swelled with happiness and he couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. He laughed. ‘I was just trying to think of a way to keep you from leaving. I was going to ask you for a drink, but a walk through the park is so much better.’

  Ellie stood and he pulled her chair back then followed her down the aisle of the market and outside on to the pavement.

  *

  Tom had become accustomed to the various smells in the market, but once outside on the pavement he relished the cool fresh air and took a deep lungful. Ellie walked next to him as they crossed the road and headed up Northumberland Street. As she wasn’t that much shorter than him, they walked together in a harmonious rhythm and he longed to put his arm around her but resisted. Tom was determined not to do anything rash without thinking it through first because Ellie was so very different from the usual type of women he met, and he didn’t want anything to spoil his chances.

  He pushed his hands into the zipped pockets of his jacket and listened carefully as she told him how she was from a small Yorkshire village, but as she’d studied in Newcastle she didn’t want to go back to a quiet life with her parents. She loved the city centre, had lots of friends and knew her prospects of getting a job were much better here than at home.

  Tom nodded as they walked past the Civic Centre, heading away from the busy streets to where there were fewer people. He smiled with pleasure, feeling the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck.

  ‘My favourite part of the English degree,’ Ellie said, ‘was the writing semester where we were encouraged to write short stories, which I loved doing.’

  Tom stopped as they waited at a zebra crossing and looked at her. She smiled across at him and amicably slotted her arm through his.

  Hugging her arm into his side he said, ‘I was always great at making up stories when I was at school. In fact, I once got top marks in the class for writing an essay about what we’d done in our school holidays. I remember it distinctly; the teacher said I had a vivid imagination.’

  ‘There you are, then,’ Ellie replied, striding across the road as the green man flashed. ‘It sounds as though you’re a creative type of guy and learning to write takes a great deal of vision with plenty of ideas. Surely you’ve heard of the saying − everyone has a book in them?’

  Tom quickened his stride to keep up with her as his mind filled and raced with new thoughts. ‘What do you mean? I couldn’t write − could I?’

  Ellie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I suppose you’ll never know unless you try.�
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  Deep in thought, Tom felt a circle of excitement curl around his gut. Maybe this is something I could do, he thought, and remembered the same teacher once saying it was never too late to learn. He thought of all the worthless, horrible jobs he’d done in the past and how he’d been fired from nearly all of them. Mainly, he admitted, because he couldn’t get out of bed in the morning and was always late for work. But, he now mused, maybe I’ve been trying in all the wrong areas and my talent lies in more academic fields.

  ‘W…well,’ he stuttered, lifting his shoulders slightly. ‘I wouldn’t know how to start, Ellie.’

  She stopped still in the middle of the path which led up towards the Dene and stared into his eyes. ‘Why not at the beginning, the same as everyone else does?’

  Tom nodded. ‘But wouldn’t I need to have a degree like you have? I mean, I only have an English certificate.’

  Ellie shivered and started to walk briskly again, so he practically ran alongside her.

  She continued, ‘You could do a study course at home. I’m sure there’s one run by a writing bureau. I’ll dig the name out for you and you can Google them at home.’

  They’d reached the entrance to the Dene and she pointed towards a bench underneath a hanging laurel tree. ‘That’s my favourite seat,’ she said. ‘I usually stop there before I walk the last ten minutes up to the flat.’

  ‘In that case,’ he said, flopping down on to the bench, ‘I’ll be honoured to join you on your favourite seat. I knew meeting you was going to be the start of something special in my life. I could feel it the minute you spoke to me.’

  Ellie sat next to him. ‘What a lovely thing to say,’ she muttered shyly while placing her bag on the bench.

  Tom looked down and fiddled with the zip on his jacket. Half turning his head towards her, he asked, ‘Would you help me to get started, Ellie? I mean, I’d love to try writing something.’

  She nodded. ‘Of course I will,’ she said, leaning back and craning her neck to look up at the blue sky. ‘It’s such a lovely day, even though it’s nearly the end of October.’

  Tom also leant back in the seat and gazed at her. He was seeing Ellie in a totally different way now, and was filled with awe and respect for this young girl sitting next to him. Yep, Ellie is definitely going to be an asset to me, he thought, and if she could help me start to write, this might be the beginning of a whole new way of life. With exciting thoughts buzzing around in his mind he stared at her polo neck sweater and the high lift of her breasts as she craned her long neck. He remembered the sight of her in that low T-shirt on Monday… ‘My favourite colour is blue,’ he said suddenly.

  She smiled and looked into his eyes. ‘Like your eyes,’ she murmured. ‘They’re a lovely pale blue colour.’

  Oh, kiss me, Ellie thought, please kiss me now. Her heart began to flutter again as he stared back into her eyes. She felt so close to him in every way possible and longed to feel the touch of his skin, or better still, the touch of his lips. They were full lips, not thin and mean as her last boyfriend’s had been.

  Tom felt lost, as though he was drowning and trying to keep his chin above water. He wanted to kiss her so badly, and although she too looked desperate to be kissed, he didn’t want to do the wrong thing. Slowly and tentatively she placed her small hand against his cheek and he sighed with joy − she was reaching out to him. He took hold of her hand and bent forward, placing his lips over hers. The explosion in his mind as she kissed him back with so much passion nearly knocked him sideways. He’d thought she would be gentle and respond in a timid manner, but she met his ardour by opening her mouth wider and wider as he kissed her hard. Eventually she broke loose and gasped for breath.

  ‘Jeez,’ Tom whistled between his teeth.

  Ellie grinned at him with her perfect little teeth. ‘What a kisser − that was awesome!’

  Tom threw his head back and gave a big belly laugh as she giggled.

  Ellie licked her pumped up lips which were smarting after the kiss. She felt torn because she didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to go on kissing him forever, but she also knew how silly and irresponsible it would be to take him to her flat. She too felt there was something special between them and the last thing she wanted to do was blow her chances with him.

  After swapping mobile phone numbers, Ellie stood up to go.

  Tom stood too and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her girlish scent filled his senses and he whispered in her ear, ‘Can I text you later?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, swung her bag up on to her shoulder and set off towards the trees. He turned to walk back in the opposite direction down the path.

  Ellie turned to look at him and called out, ‘Tom, you left your bag of vegetables in the market! I’ll pick them up for you tomorrow…,’

  Chapter Three

  When he got off the bus, Tom practically ran up the West Road towards his house with ideas racing through his mind. He opened the small picket gate to the Victorian terraced house and hurried up the path to the white front door. After pulling his keys out of his leather jacket, Tom cursed at the stiffness of the lock as he struggled to get his key to turn. It was another job Anne had asked him to do, but so far he’d managed to avoid getting his tool kit out of the garage. It was a simple job he knew, but tiresome all the same, and now as he looked at his hands turning the key he determined they weren’t going to be used for manual work any longer.

  Tom hurried through into the lounge, pulling off his jacket and casting it aside on to the red leather settee at the back of the room. The décor of the house had been left to Anne’s taste and judgement when they’d first moved in, but he had insisted upon one thing, and that was the bright red leather three-piece suite. What Tom classed as his fireside chair stood to the left of the old oak fireplace and he flopped down into it now while reaching behind to the small bookcase. There were only half a dozen books on the shelves, as the rest of the bookcase held photographs and ornaments. Tom grabbed the pile of books and ran upstairs to the bedroom. He threw them into the centre of the bed and collected the few novels from Anne’s bedside table. Sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, Tom took long, slow deep breaths in an effort to steady the waves of excitement rushing through his body.

  Now, Tom thought, picking up the first book from the pile, Ellie usually reads what is written on the back or inside cover, this is what she calls a pitch. This book was a mystery by Ruth Rendell, called, “No Man’s Nightingale”, and was an Inspector Wexford story about a female found strangled in a vicarage. Tom put it down and chose another book, by Peter James, which read “a virtual romance becomes a terrifying obsession in “Want You Dead”. Tom shivered, but grinned because the heroine was a smouldering red-head, which reminded him of Ellie. Concentrate, he scolded himself, this is serious stuff and might be just the thing to open up a whole new world for me.

  He placed the book down carefully and looked across the room at the round bay window with rain running down the glass outside. I suppose, he thought, I’d need to know a lot about the police force to be able to write crime novels like these, but thankfully I’ve always managed to stay on the right side of the law. Rubbing his jaw, he mused, contrary to women’s opinions, I do think of myself as an honest man.

  Tom looked at the life story of Benedict Cumberbatch that Anne had bought for him, as he loved watching the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes. He flicked through the pages, remembering the pieces he’d read, which had started with Benedict’s childhood.

  Snippets of his own childhood memories flashed into his mind and Tom violently shook his head − he could never write about that. A shiver ran the length of his spine and he pushed the awful thoughts firmly from his mind. He now knew that those boyhood days were not normal like everyone else’s. Plus, he thought unhappily, I’ve never told anyone about it and don’t intend to start now.

  Under this were two books that looked like romance novels. The first appeared to be a gentle, fluffy type of love story set in
the fifties on a farm and the second was more up to date, about two women in America falling for the same man. Tom smiled as he read the storyline. Now this, he thought, was something he did know all about – women. But could he write about them? And could he possibly write this number of words? It all seemed very daunting at this stage.

  In a small brown paper bag that had been on the bookcase he found two old copies of Mills and Boon books. Anne, he thought and grinned, you sly little thing − fancy hiding these away from your husband. He flicked through the pages of one book, which was about a nurse and a doctor hiding in a linen cupboard on a hospital ward. Tom gasped; this was sexy stuff.

  Tom rubbed his jaw − maybe, as it was mostly women who read these stories, did it mean that they would have to be written by a woman? He returned to the love story on the farm and flicked through the pages until he found a chapter that was written from the hero’s point of view and read the dialogue slowly. ‘Jesus wept!’ he cried at one stage, this guy didn’t have a clue! Fancy saying that to a woman you were trying to get into bed − it was completely the wrong thing to say. Tom nodded wisely; he could certainly tell this guy a thing or two. If you have a woman in your arms you have to be determined and strong. She needs to know you are going to take the lead – it’s certainly not a time faffing about and being namby-pamby. He tutted and shook his head in dismay. But then he chuckled, maybe I could write a guide for men and call it, “How to seduce a woman in three easy steps”.

  Tom started at the sound of the front door closing and glanced at the clock. It was nearly six and Anne was returning from work. Where had the last four hours gone? Hurriedly he grabbed all the books and pushed them under the bed.

  Calling his name, Anne mounted the stairs and entered the bedroom. ‘What are you doing up here?’ she asked and moved towards where he lay flat on the bed with his hand on his stomach.