By Liam Tullberg

The lights twinkled on the Christmas tree as Rachel rushed about the house, throwing on her coat and balancing the phone precariously to her ear.

‘Yes Mum,’ she said hurriedly pulling on her gloves. ‘I’m leaving now. No, that’s fine. If he’s got an appointment we have to go. No, you know what the waiting lists get like. Ok, see you in a bit. Bye Mum.’

She dropped the phone back in the cradle before catching sight of her squash trainers under the table. As she bent to pick them up, the phone burbled again. Turning, she smiled as she answered, having anticipated the call.

‘Yes Mum, what did you forget?’ she asked.

There was a moment’s pause before she heard the familiar voice.

‘Hi, sweetheart.’ It was Andy, calling from work.

‘Oh, hi darling.’

‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘You sound stressed.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just running late for Dads appointment.’ 

‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘God is it Wednesday already?’

‘Yeah.’ She glanced at the clock on the oven. ‘Sorry darling, I have to go.’

‘OK. Well, what time will you be back?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘I’m going straight to squash from the hospital, so should be back about nine or so. Anyway,’ she resolved. ‘I need to go. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ he said, before they both hung up.

She ran straight out of the house to the car muttering a mantra of ‘shit, shit, shit’ as she left.

As soon as he put down the receiver, Andy felt relieved. He thought the appointment was this evening but he hadn’t been sure. Thank God he wouldn’t need to let Michelle down after all. He’d had his eye on her since she’d started last month, strutting around in a tight skirt, and flashing a smile that just pleaded ‘fuck me.’ He was only too happy to oblige should the opportunity ever present itself, and after feigning interest in her life (two cats, a brother, and a love of James Blunt) enough times at the photocopier, the opportunity eventually came.

The winning line had been telling her about his tricky divorce from his adulterous ex-wife who was hell bent on making his life unbearable, even banning him from seeing his beloved daughter. This was all entirely fictional of course but worked perfectly. Michelle’s hand had reached out and gently squeezed his arm as she smiled softly, oozing sympathy. He’d nodded sullenly, suggested a drink sometime to talk things over, and she’d jumped at the chance. He’d known she would. All it was going to take was a bottle of wine, a few obligatory compliments and a couple of silences looking into the bottom of his glass thinking of his make-believe daughter. Past experience told him that from then on she’d be putty in his hands. It would be just a matter of time before she was flat on her back on the sofa, the floor, or the kitchen table, anywhere except the bedroom. It was going to be a birthday she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. He reached between his legs to adjust himself, hard already at the thought of the night ahead.

By the time Rachel realised she’d left her trainers at home, she was sat in a plastic chair in a hospital corridor waiting for her father to emerge from the eye clinic. Shit. She toyed momentarily with the idea of missing squash this week.  She thought of Andy at home alone. Maybe she could spend the evening with him instead: get a bottle of wine on the way back and have a bath together. It had been ages since they’d had a romantic night in. She couldn’t even remember the last time they had made love. She was so tired recently that she just hadn’t been in the mood. Maybe tonight she would come home and surprise him, appear in the bedroom wearing only a piece of tinsel and a pair of angel wings. She was smiling at the thought when her father’s face just inches away from her own said,

‘I might be going blind, but even I can spot a smile that big.  What’s happened?’

She laughed at the inappropriateness of the honest answer.

‘Nothing Dad,’ she replied ‘Shall we go?’

‘Nice house,’ Michelle commented as her heels clacked on the wooden floor in the hallway.

She stood in a figure hugging patterned dress admiring the Andy Warhol picture that Rachel had picked out. Andy couldn’t take his eyes off her.
 
‘Which way is your bathroom?’ she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

‘Ah, just up the stairs,’ he directed. ‘First on your right.’

‘Thanks,’ she smiled, looking over her shoulder at him as she ascended the stairs. ‘Back in a minute.’

Andy watched her slender legs disappear onto the landing before he turned into the living room to ensure there was no trace of Rachel’s existence. After a brief inspection, he dashed into the kitchen and opened the fridge dragging out a bottle of Burgundy. Hearing a flush upstairs, he flung open the draw and rummaged for a corkscrew. He was about to open the wine when Michelle sauntered into the kitchen.

‘Oh,’ she purred. ‘I don’t drink wine.’

Fuck. What was he going to do now?

‘But,’ Michelle continued, having caught sight of the drink cabinet. ‘I do drink Vodka.’

Andy breathed again.

‘Then Vodka it is birthday girl,’ he said, grinning as he poured out two Vodkas on the rocks.

He didn’t know why he was surprised that she didn’t drink wine. She looked the epitome of a Lambrini girl. She probably thought Burgundy was the name of a French impressionist. He chuckled. He’d have to remember that one to tell Rob in the pub. Smiling, he raised his glass.

‘Happy Birthday,’ he winked at her.

‘Thank you,’ she giggled, chinking her glass with his.

As Rachel drove home she admired the Christmas lights and decorations that adorned the town. The town always looked so wonderful during the run up to Christmas, changing the usual, colourless suburbia into a magical lived-in snow-globe. It made the drive home so much more interesting. Poor Andy, he must be sick of his own company. They’d barely seen each other this week. She’d been at the hospital, and he’d stayed late at the office. Now here she was, about to rush in, hug him hello, grab her trainers, kiss him goodbye, and disappear to the sports centre. Still, at least it was Friday and they had the whole weekend ahead of them: breakfast in bed, Sunday papers and a walk in the park in the crisp winter air. Oh sod it; she decided she could miss squash tonight. Besides, there were much, much better ways to get exercise. She smiled at the thought as she turned into Woodlane Crescent. Five minutes and she would be home. The weekend could begin with a bang.

Andy’s tongue filled Michelle’s mouth as her nails slid down his back to his buttocks. She was lying splayed out on the kitchen table, her bronzed legs wrapped around his waist pulling him deeper inside her as they kissed. He pulled away from her for a moment to get a better look at her perfect naked body. His fingers twisted her hard nipples as he thrust rhythmically into her.  He watched the heart pendant around her neck swing from side to side as he bucked in and out. Grabbing it he pulled her face up to his.

‘I’m close,’ he whispered into her ear before biting on her lobe.

‘Wait,’ she panted, ‘wait.’

He swallowed the word as he kissed her hard almost knocking her backward. Scooping her up, he turned and slapped her down on the sideboard. She gasped at the shock of the coldness but he didn’t miss a beat of his hips. They were eye-level now but he couldn’t look at her. If he looked at her while he came then he’d feel like he was cheating, but for the moment he wasn’t doing a thing wrong; Michelle’s pleasured face was proof of that. His breath became short and sharp as his pace quickened. He was close to bursting and, sensing it, she pressed her tongue into his ear making him groan louder. Her moans matched his and, closing her eyes, she came as he pulsed inside her.

The room dropped to a silence and, spent, he slumped against her, her head on his shoulder. For minutes, the sound of their heartbeats ran in time with the second hand on Andy’s watch. Michelle kissed his neck before letting out a satisfied sigh and opening her eyes as if awaking from a dream.

‘Jesus Christ!’ she exclaimed, covering her bare breasts as best she could while pushing him away.

He looked at the startled expression on her face before turning to see a colour-drained version of his wife. A bottle of red wine slipped from her hand, smashing into a million pieces on the cold metal floor.

Hearing people outside singing ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’,  Andy stepped over to the window. He looked down on the crowds of people busy in the snow beneath the glow of the Christmas lights, their paths leaving footprints as they headed to fill the evening with friends and lovers. Pulling shut the curtains he felt a familiar heaviness in his heart. He wished himself back a year in time. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to take back that night, the one night he’d been caught and the only night in his life he’d regretted taking someone home. He’d lost almost everything and drunk now from the three bottles he’d polished off he felt tears stinging at the back of his eyes. If there was one thing he had left, it was hope. Hope that she would return his calls, his texts, his emails, and his pleas. Hope that she would bring back a life that, until now, he hadn’t known he loved.