Where There's Smoke

Kate kept her voice neutral. “So what will you do now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably just spend a quiet one on my own.”

Kate could almost hear Lucy’s prompting, Oh, for God’s sake, just ask him. “You can still come over to Lucy and Jack’s,” she said, trying to sound off-hand. “I know they’d be pleased to see you.”

Christmas morning was bright with a crisp winter sun that struggled to melt the white frost garnishing the pavements. The big house smelled of cooking and mulled wine. Nat King Cole vied for precedence with the TV as Jack took their coats and gave them both a steaming glass. Alex had taken a carrier bag full of presents, and Emily and Angus delightedly shredded the garish paper from theirs, carried away more by the orgy of opening rather than the gifts themselves, which were an expensive but unimaginative doll and a toy car that Angus was too young to appreciate.

There was a bottle of whisky for Jack, Chanel perfume for Lucy. Her eyes widened when she saw it.

“Oh, my God, now that’s what I call a present!”

She kissed Alex on the mouth. Kate felt a quick jab of something that could almost have been jealousy, and then Alex came over to her. “Happy Christmas.”

Almost shyly, he handed her a small parcel, and she suddenly wished she had bought him more than the bottle of Irish whiskey.

She took the parcel from him and unwrapped it, aware of the others watching her. Inside was a long box. Kate opened it and took out the plain gold chain and locket.

“I didn’t know what size socks you took,” Alex said. The quip sounded rehearsed.

“It’s beautiful,” Kate said. “Thank you.”

She stepped forward and kissed him. The kiss was no longer than the one Lucy had given him moments before, but it was their first, and Kate felt acutely aware that Lucy and Jack were watching. When they moved apart she made a show of fastening the chain around her neck to hide her confusion.

They drank a dry Spanish sparkling wine with the enormous turkey Lucy had cooked, and then various bottles of whatever Jack produced during the afternoon. By early evening Kate was pleasantly light-headed, and the pressure of anticipation that had been building in her all day finally found a focus.

She and Alex were in the kitchen, washing the stack of congealed dishes. She handed him a wet glass to dry, and as their hands touched, the thought came without warning.

Tonight.

Flustered, Kate turned away, briskly scrubbing at a greasy plate to conceal her sudden tumult.

She pushed all thought of the decision to one side, but the awareness remained on a subliminal level for the rest of the evening; a faint breathlessness, a tensing in her lower stomach. And then she and Alex were saying goodnight to Lucy and Jack and climbing into the taxi, and all at once it confronted her with the suddenness of a slamming door.

Alex seemed to sense her tension. The atmosphere in the cab became strained. Familiar landmarks went past the windows like a countdown, and then the taxi was pulling into Kate’s road. It stopped outside her flat.

Her heart thudded. The words felt clumsy in her mouth. “Would you like to come in?”

She saw understanding dawn on his face. He looked away quickly.

“I’d, er... I’d better not. It’s late.”

The rejection was so unexpected she felt nothing. “Oh. Okay,” she heard herself say, and then she was climbing out of the cab. The cold night air didn’t penetrate any deeper than her skin. “Goodnight, then.”

Alex didn’t look at her. “Goodnight.”

The taxi pulled away, leaving behind a fading blueness of exhaust. The street was deserted. Kate walked up her path.

Her keys were in her hand, although she had no memory of taking them out. She reached up to unlock the front door, and then it hit her.

She squeezed her eyes tight against the pain of it, hand still outstretched towards the lock. For a long moment she stood, rigid, unable to make herself move. There was a miaow at her feet. She looked down as Dougal twined himself around her ankles. The cat stared up at her, wide-eyed and indifferent. “Happy Christmas, Dougal,” she said, and let them both into the empty flat.

Chapter 12

The letter from the clinic arrived on a February morning when the rain lashed against the windows and daylight was a grudging, sepia non-event. Kate knew what it would be, but that didn’t make her any less nervous as she slit open the envelope, crested with the hospital’s logo, and took out the letter.

Alex’s final blood test, taken six months after his last donation, was clear. The clinic asked her to contact them so that they could make arrangements for her first treatment.