Guess Who's Coming to Christmas Dinner (10 page)

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Christmas Delivery

Chapter One

Michael Philips looked at his naked wife,
Davina, as she sat on the edge of the bed. She’d woken with the alarm, thrown the quilt aside and swung her legs off the bed. He stared longingly at her long slim back and elegant neck, which was still a little tanned from their holiday in Turkey. She leaned forwards and stretched her arms out, sighing softly. This small action showed the cheeks of her small round bottom and he moaned quietly with sheer pleasure. There wasn’t one occasion in seven years of marriage that he could ever remember not wanting her, he thought; she was, in his eyes, the crème de la crème.

He ran his middle finger down her spine and she shivered slightly in response. Was this the green light, he wondered, and decided to chance his
luck. He leaned forward, tickled her under the arm and pulled her backwards onto the bed. ‘Come on, Dee,’ he laughed. ‘We’ve got half an hour.’

He’d obviously misjudged the situation because she gave him a glassy stare,
tutted in annoyance and pushed him away.

She got up from the bed. ‘No, Michael, I need to shower and be at work early this morning...’

She walked to the tallboy and pulled a bra and pair of knickers from the drawer while he raised himself up on his elbow. He looked into the mirror of the dressing table and saw her small pert breasts and large nipples. They were just enough to fit snuggly into his hands. She often wished they were bigger, but he didn’t – any more would be a waste, and any less would leave empty gaps. He didn’t have large hands but had long slim fingers that could cup them perfectly.

Everything about her was exquisite, he thought, his anticipation growing. ‘But it’s been two weeks now,’ he moaned.

She turned to face him and put her head on one side. ‘Look,’ she soothed. ‘Let’s see what tonight brings.’

But he didn’t want to wait until tonight – he wanted her now. He gave her what he hoped was a sexy look as she walked towards him clutching the underwear to her chest. Her shoulder length blonde hair was dishevelled and her blue eyes looked sombre but she smiled at him with her small rose-bud lips. They were the most glorious thing about her face, he
often thought. Her mouth looked small, but by God, she could open it when she wanted to and he stiffened with the memory.

She bent forward and kissed him on the forehead, then whispered. ‘Tonight, love. I promise…’

What was that all about? Why was she kissing him like his Aunty Joan used to do when he was a little boy? He searched her face looking for something, anything that would explain why she didn’t want him, because this wasn’t the first time she’d knocked him back. It was beginning to be a regular occurrence.

She went through into the en suite and he scrambled off the bed to follow her. But she closed the door quietly just before he got there.

His mood blackened with frustration as he stared at the door. He ground his teeth and turned abruptly, stomping along the hall into the bathroom to shower. Standing under the hot water he let it stream down his face. And another thing, he moaned, why was she suddenly closing doors? They’d always been free and easy with each other’s nakedness. There was something seriously wrong between them, he decided miserably.

She hadn’t been interested in making love for weeks now and even on holiday when they had she’d seemed distant. He remembered how, covered in sand, they’d left the beach and hurried back to the hotel room and he’d pulled her into the shower with him. They’d washed each other’s bodies and hair and then he’d gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She’d responded greedily when he’d kissed her and roamed his hands over her body and had been passionate searching for her release. He had, of course, made sure she reached that point and was satisfied, but all the time he’d felt as though her mind was elsewhere.

He towelled himself dry and headed back into the bedroom for clean clothes, deciding that it would probably be best left until later that night when he could talk to her again. But he had to find out what was going on.

***

They were having a true Indian summer and even though it was the last few days of September, the sun was breaking through the clouds as Michael climbed into his red BMW and found his sunglasses in the glove compartment. He put them on and looked at his face in the rear-view mirror. He’d planned to trim his goatee beard this morning but because of the distraction with Davina he’d forgotten. He’d have to remember tonight, he thought as he turned the ignition, because she hated it when it was too long and scratchy. He pulled out of the cul-de-sac and drove out of Birstall village towards the factory where he worked as a process technologist.

Parking outside the reception doors, Michael got out of the car and inhaled the familiar smell of fresh meat which wafted in from the back of the factory. They produced turkey and pork joints for all the major retailers and, he thought as he hurried through the main
doors, it was heading up towards their busiest time of year – Christmas.

He breezed into the small office he shared with his colleague, Tony. ‘Morning,’ he called as cheerfully as he could manage.

Tony glanced up from his PC and smiled. ‘Good morning. Christ, you look rough.’

Michael grimaced. ‘More aggravation at home…’

Tony was fifty-six, nearly bald, and as Davina had once commented, he had a face like an Irish elf. He’d worked for the company for over twenty years and Michael couldn’t begin to list the knowledge he’d learned from him.

Tony resumed typing but nodded his head at Michael in understanding.

Michael sat down at the only other desk in the corner with his back to Tony and booted up his computer. They often sat like this for hours in peaceful harmony planning factory trials and processing documents. Someone had once suggested moving their desks so they would at least be facing one another but they’d shook their heads in unison – they were happy the way they were. He heard Tony tap the send button on his email and then swing his legs over the chair. Half turning, he patted him on the shoulder.

Michael explained. ‘She just looks so bloody miserable all the time. She has no interest in the house, or me, for that matter…’

‘It’s understandable she’s not fired up about the house. I mean, it’s taken you two years since you moved in to get everything the way you want it. There can’t be any rooms left to decorate.’

Michael scanned through a few emails then turned slightly in his chair, casually laying his arm over the back to look at Tony. ‘I know. But surely now the house is perfect she should be enjoying it?’

Tony sat forward with his short legs splayed and his elbows rested on his knees. He made a steeple with his fingers. ‘What are you expecting her to do? Go from room to room cooing with delight? She’s probably just settling in and, if she’s being quiet, it could just be a sign of contentment…’

Michael thought about this theory but decided he could tell the difference between contentment and uninterested boredom. ‘Hmm, maybe I’m making mountains out of molehills,’ he said. ‘But there’s one room she certainly doesn’t want to be in and that’s the bedroom!’

Tony lowered his head and looked down at his well-worn, factory issue boots. ‘Aahh…’ he muttered.

Michael felt guilty. He shouldn’t be bothering Tony with his sex life but felt if he didn’t talk to someone his head would explode. ‘Sorry, mate. It’s just it’s the start of our best week, if you know what I mean.’ He shuffled uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair. ‘She always has the calendar in the kitchen marked with big crosses and checks her temperature regularly. But since late June the calendar is blank and I’ve never seen her with the thermometer once.’

Tony scratched his beard and looked up at Michael’s wall planner with the large black crosses he’d made with a marker pen. ‘Maybe she just wants a break from trying for a baby? The pressure on her must be enormous.’

Michael felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck and raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s not the only one under stress here, Tony. I’m the one who has to perform every time and I’m not complaining,’ he said running a hand over his sweaty forehead.

Tony held up his hands in surrender. ‘Hey, I was only saying…’

Michael felt crap. He was snapping at his good friend unnecessarily and Tony was only trying to help. He could feel the knot of tension in the side of his neck begin to throb. He’d had it since they arrived home from holiday and had been blaming the two suitcases he’d carried. But now it was simply stress and frustration, he decided, and it was driving him crazy. ‘Sorry, Tony,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m just so worried about her…’

‘Yeah, of course, you’re bound to be. Look, let’s get this morning’s work organised. It’ll help keep it off your mind for a while.’

***

Davina heard Michael’s car pull away and she padded back into the bedroom. She knew hiding from another confrontation with her husband was pathetic and she was behaving like an idiot but didn’t know how to explain the way she felt. She thought of his morning attempts to rouse her and wanted to scream. God, she hated it when he was so needy and tried to paw at her. It was constant when it came to this week of the month – he was unrelenting. She knew he was desperate for a baby, and so was she, but it just wasn’t happening.

She sighed heavily, plopped down onto the stool in front of the dressing table and looked around the room. They’d painted the whole room white. Michael had sneered at first, saying that it would be blinding. But once she’d added the soft grey carpet, bedding and table lamps he’d had to admit it was peaceful and serene.

She fastened her bra and became determined to make it up to him tonight. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, because she did. It was just that making love, dare she even think it, had become so routine. When they made love now it was to make a baby; it wasn’t because she was full of desire and lust. She stared at her face in the mirror – but surely this happened to most couples in their thirties when they’d been married a while? And was this what everyone called the seven year itch? She shrugged her shoulders. All she knew was that she felt a large bubble of excitement inside her wanting to break free. She didn’t want to plan ahead and always be in the safety of a bed in the dark. Then she remembered their holiday in Turkey.

They’d been sunbathing all day on a quiet secluded beach. She’d looked at his slim, toned body lying on the sun lounger and had longed to touch him. The desire had built until she wanted him so badly she couldn’t think of anything else. They’d been covered in sand and were hot and sticky and she’d wanted to ease his Speedos aside, climb on top of him and ride him hard until they were both spent. ‘But I don’t want to wait till we get back to the room,’ she’d cooed as she slid her hand inside his trunks. He’d been appalled at the thought of doing it on the beach, and even though she’d pleaded that there wasn’t a soul in sight he’d insisted on going back to their room, by which time the urge of lust and recklessness had left her.

She sighed heavily. How on earth did she tell him that she longed for change? He’d want to know why, after years of happy marriage, it suddenly wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t be able to answer him because she didn’t know herself, and she couldn’t think of a way to tell him without knowing he’d be incredibly hurt. She pushed it from her mind, finished dressing for work in blue trousers and a crisp white shirt and hurried out to her car.

***

When she’d been promoted last year to the manager’s post on the orthopaedic ward, where she’d worked for ten years, she’d spent the extra money on a new Mini. It was cream with a beautiful caramel colour interior, drove like a dream and she loved it. Michael had told her to spend the money on what she wanted because she’d worked extremely hard to get where she was. But as she pulled out onto the main road twinges of guilt niggled at the back of her mind. Any other woman would kill to have Michael as a husband and she was being unfair to him. She also knew that most of her friends thought she was spoilt, which, she decided, she probably was.

The traffic heading into Leicester that morning was heavy and she sat, without moving, in a queue at the lights as they turned from green to red. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and watched a young woman pushing her baby in a buggy along the pavement towards the park. A lump of misery gathered in the back of her throat and she moaned softly. Why couldn’t she do it? She was successful at everything else in her life except the basic female task of getting pregnant. They’d both been checked out by the doctors who’d told them there
was no reason why they couldn’t make babies. She’d followed all the guidelines, but month after month nothing happened. She was beginning to hate this week of the month now and the sight of that bloody calendar on the wall in the kitchen filled her with dread. The blank boxes with the crosses seemed like a recording of her constant failure and she thought of them as a row of hurdles she had to climb over time and time again. Then later in the month when she woke with period cramps, she felt as if she’d fallen flat on her face and everyone was laughing at her pathetic attempts. The cars in front of her moved and she wiped her damp eyes with the back of her hand.

***

As Davina drove into a parking space at the back of the hospital surgical block she saw the new male nurse climbing off the back of his red and white Yamaha RD motorbike and waved at him. She smiled to herself; now why wasn’t she surprised to see him riding something so strong and powerful – it suited his personality perfectly.