Kyle was impressed by Patrick’s thoughtfulness. It hadn’t occurred to him to wonder about Mrs Wilcox’s situation, and he felt bad about that now. She might be a grumpy old bat, but Kyle could be an arsehole and he didn’t have the excuse of being old and having arthritis. He was glad Patrick had thought to ask about her and that she was going to let them help her out.

After they finished unpacking their shopping back in the flat, Patrick asked, “When do you want to go out to do the shopping for Mrs Wilcox?”

“We can go soon. I need to phone my mum while we’re out and tell her I won’t be home for Christmas.” A rush of disappointment flooded Kyle at the thought of missing out. He was close to his mum and his sisters and was gutted that he wouldn’t get to be there for Christmas Day, which was always fun with his family.

“Of course. I forgot there’s no signal here. Is it okay if we have a cup of tea first?”

“Sure.” Kyle remembered Patrick didn’t have anyone he needed to call. He couldn’t imagine spending Christmas Day alone. Of course this year Patrick would have Kyle for company whether he liked it or not.

“Do you want any tea or coffee?”

“Tea please.”

Patrick went to the kitchen area and washed their breakfast things while he waited for the kettle to boil.

Sitting on the sofa with the TV on, Kyle watched him surreptitiously, fascinated by Patrick’s hands. In the daylight, while focusing on mundane things like shopping and tidying up, it was hard to believe what they’d done last night. He shifted his position, the slight sensitivity of the skin on his arse a confirmation that yes, he really had let Patrick spank him… and rim him… and fuck him. Kyle shifted again, this time because his cock was hardening, and he needed to adjust it.

It was impossible to gauge what Patrick thought about what they’d done. At first, they’d both ignored it. But Kyle hadn’t been able to resist reminding Patrick when the opportunity arose. He’d been half-joking when he suggested a next time, but Patrick’s “maybe” had him hoping.

Patrick joined him on the sofa, a mug in each hand. “Here you go.” He handed one to Kyle. “Milk, no sugar.”

“Thanks.” Kyle was about to take a sip when he paused and eyed Patrick suspiciously. “And no salt either?”

Patrick chuckled. “No. No salt.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Kyle copied the shopping list from his phone and messaged it to Patrick, and then stayed outside the shop to call his mum while Patrick went inside to start finding what they needed.

“Hi, love,” Kyle’s mum said cheerfully as soon as she picked up. “How are you? All set for tomorrow? We can’t wait to see you. I was a bit worried the snow might make it tricky but they’ve gritted the roads so you should be fine. What time are you planning on getting here?”

She finally paused, giving Kyle a chance to speak. “I’m sorry, Mum, but I’m not going to be able to make it. I’m snowed in.”

“In the middle of Manchester?” Disbelief coloured her words.

“No. I’m in the Lake District.”

“What on earth are you doing there?”

“I stopped here on the way back from a work trip with a colleague, and then we had car trouble…. Anyway, long story short—we’re stuck here for a couple more days at least so I can’t get home for Christmas.”

“Oh, Kyle.” She sounded as disappointed as he felt. “Surely there must be a way. Can’t you get a train or something?”

Kyle had wondered about that, but given the roads around here there was no way he could get to the nearest station. A tractor might make it out of here, but not a taxi. “No chance I’m afraid. We’re in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere.”

“Have you got somewhere to stay?” Her voice was concerned now. “What are you going to do?”

“Yes, we’re fine. We’ve managed to find a room.”

“What’s he like, this chap. Is it the one you told me about? The one you don’t get on with?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. He’s not that bad.” Kyle smiled to himself as he thought about how things had developed. “I’m actually starting to quite like him some of the time.”

“Well that’s good. And what about food? Have you got everything you need?”

“Yes, Mum. Don’t worry. I’m gutted I can’t make it home, though. I was really looking forward to seeing you and the girls, and Christmas won’t be the same without your roast turkey. But I’m going to be absolutely fine, and I’ll arrange to come and see you as soon as possible.”

“Okay, love. Well you take care of yourself.”

“I will do. Oh, and, Mum? My phone has no signal where I’m staying, but I’ll try and get out to call you again tomorrow so I can say happy Christmas.”

“Aw, that would be lovely.”

“Speak soon then. Bye for now.”

“Bye, sweetie. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Kyle spoke the last words as he pushed the shop door open. He caught Patrick looking at him with a wistful expression before he schooled his features into a small smile. “All sorted?”

“Yes. How are you getting on with the shopping?” Kyle went over to peer into the basket.

“Nearly done.”

Once they’d found everything on the list, they paid, wished Mike a merry Christmas, and made their way back to Mrs Wilcox’s cottage. Dex barked, as always, but once Mrs Wilcox let them in, he greeted both of them with sniffs and wags of his tail.

“I think he’s decided we’re okay,” Kyle said with a grin.

“Seems that way,” Mrs Wilcox agreed. “Come on through to the kitchen with that lot then.” She shuffled ahead of them, stick tapping on the flagstones.

They put the bags on the table and helped Mrs Wilcox unpack them. Kyle couldn’t help noticing how bare her cupboards were—and dusty—and the fridge was almost empty too. He was incredibly glad Patrick had thought to check up on her. Without them she would have been eating stale bread and baked beans for Christmas dinner by the look of things.

She moved slowly, seeming to struggle with some of the heavier items like tins of dog food as she lifted them out of the bags. Kyle wanted to tell her to sit down and let them do it for her, but he instinctively knew that wouldn’t be welcome. It was her house and she obviously coped with living alone.

Once the shopping was put away, she said, “Now, you two sit down while I put the kettle on. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“Tea would be great thanks,” Patrick said.

“Yes, tea for me too please.” Kyle sat at the table as instructed, but Patrick stayed standing while Mrs Wilcox picked up the kettle and carried it to the sink to fill.

“Can I help with anything?” Patrick asked.

“No.” Her voice was a little sharp. “You’ve done my shopping for me. I can manage to make you a cup of tea. You can help by staying out of my way.”

“Okay, sorry.” Chastised, Patrick joined Kyle at the table. Kyle gave him a surreptitious grin, miming a slap on the wrist. Patrick grinned back.

While the kettle heated on the gas cooker, Mrs Wilcox got out cups, saucers, a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, and some side plates, and put them on the table. She got out some of the biscuits they’d bought for her—custard creams—and laid them out carefully on a larger plate.

“No, Dex. Go and lie down,” she said sternly as Dex stuck his nose over the table edge, sniffing hopefully.

Dex slunk off and lay on his bed in the corner with a put-upon sigh.

Kyle took off the fleece he’d borrowed from Patrick and let it hang on the back of his chair, and then immediately regretted it. It was freezing in there. No wonder Mrs Wilcox was clad in at least two cardigans and a thick shawl. He glanced around and couldn’t see a radiator; did that mean she didn’t have any heating? Shivering, he shrugged back into the fleece. “It’s so cold!” he mouthed to Patrick, who nodded, face full of concern.

Once the kettle boiled, Mrs Wilcox filled a teapot and carried it back to put on the table. Her hand shook a little as she placed it down, but she managed.

“There.” She finally joined them, gripping the arms of her chair tightly as she lowered herself down. “Help yourselves to biscuits. I’ll let this brew a moment.”

“This is a lovely tea set,” Kyle said, tracing a finger over the pattern on the plate. “My mum’s got one a bit like this, only the roses on hers are blue.” The ones on Mrs Wilcox’s were pink. “I think it used to belong to my gran, or maybe even my great-gran.”

“Thank you.” Mrs Wilcox rewarded him with a smile, eyes twinkling. “This belonged to my parents. It was a wedding present I believe. A few pieces have been broken over the years but I still have most of it.” She picked up the teapot in a gnarled hand and started to pour, hand trembling slightly.

Once she’d given them both cups of tea, she poured her own and added a spoonful of sugar. Kyle caught Patrick’s eye as she did so, and Patrick gave him a look that made Kyle know he was remembering the salt incident from last night. Kyle smiled apologetically, although it was hard to regret his bad behaviour given the rather pleasant consequences.

“Thank you for doing my shopping,” Mrs Wilcox said after a sip of her tea. “It was really very kind of you. I can normally walk to the shop to get a few bits and pieces, but the snow makes it tricky.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Patrick said.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can help you with?” Kyle picked up his cup, holding it carefully by the delicate handle.

There was a long pause. Mrs Wilcox sighed, seeming to lose an internal battle before saying, “It would be a big help if you could chop some wood for me. I need it for the wood burner in the living room. My son normally does a big pile for me when he visits, and of course he should have been coming to collect me today, so I’m running low. That’s why it’s so cold in here today because I was trying to conserve it.”

“Of course,” Kyle said immediately. “Just tell us where the wood is and we can do that.” Kyle didn’t have the first clue how to chop wood, but hopefully Patrick would know.

“Finish your tea first, and then I’ll show you where everything is.”

Mrs Wilcox’s log pile was in a small storage area built on the back of the house. With no windows, it was lit by a bare bulb that showed thick cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling. Kyle shuddered at the thought of the spiders that must inhabit them.

“Here you go.” She pointed with her stick at the large logs stacked neatly against the side wall. “And there’s the chopping block, and the axe is hanging up. Since you’re doing that, I’ll go and light the burner in the living room now, get the place warmed up a little.”

Left to their own devices, Kyle said, “Okay. How do we do this?”

“So you volunteered to chop wood when you don’t know how to do it?” Patrick quirked an eyebrow.

“I knew you would. You seem to have boy scout tendencies. Anyway, how hard can it be?” Kyle flicked his fringe aside and picked up a log. It was heavier than it looked. He staggered to the chopping block with it and put it down with a thump. “Pass me the axe.”

Patrick handed it to him wordlessly. Kyle hefted it in both hands. Damn, that was heavier than it looked too. He braced himself, lifting it behind him, and then swung.

Thud.

His first attempt completely missed the log, the axe blade burying itself in the chopping block.

“It helps if you line it up first, before you draw back. Also you need to—”

Thud.

Kyle’s second attempt made contact, but barely dented the log. “What the fuck is this stuff made of? It’s rock hard!” His wrists tingled with the shock of the impact.

“As I was saying. You need to cut along the grain of the wood.” The amusement in Patrick’s tone had Kyle’s hackles rising, along with his voice.

“Well how was I supposed to know? You could have mentioned that before I started.” He glared at Patrick, who shrugged.

“You didn’t give me time.”

“Yeah, right. You were just enjoying watching me fuck up.” Kyle turned the log on its end and tried again.

Thwack. The log split cleanly in two, the halves falling onto the concrete floor. “Yes!” Kyle grinned, triumphant. He picked up one of the halves and repeated the process, and then again until he had four small logs instead of the one giant one he’d started with. “There, I’ve got the hang of it now. It’s quite satisfying, isn’t it?”

“Good for working off a bit of aggression, which you obviously need.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Kyle picked up another log and placed it carefully on the block.

Thwack. A perfect strike.

“I thought I was going to have another excuse to spank you for a minute,” Patrick said mildly, nearly making Kyle drop the axe on his toe. He whipped around, studying Patrick’s expression to try to see if he was serious.

“Do you want to spank me again?”

“Perhaps. Would you let me?”

“Yes,” Kyle said without hesitation. Shame crawled hot under his collar, but he wanted it too much to deny it. And he’d already bent over for Patrick once, what harm could it do to repeat the experience? “Do I have to piss you off to make it happen though?” He frowned. They’d been getting along better and Kyle wasn’t sure he wanted to return to their previous animosity.

Patrick chuckled. “I’m sure you can manage to provoke me somehow.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“It might not take much, if I’m in the mood… to be annoyed that is.” The glint in Patrick’s eye made Kyle’s flush of shame settle into something softer, warm and promising rather than uncomfortable.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Kyle turned his attention back to chopping, splitting the next piece perfectly again.

“Are you okay doing that?” Patrick asked.

“For a while. It’s very satisfying.” Kyle was already getting warm with the effort of lifting and swinging the axe. As he carried on, Patrick found a way to help by carrying each new log over for him, and they got into a rhythm of working together. They made a good team.

Eventually Kyle’s arms and back began to ache. He paused, took off Patrick’s fleece, and mopped his brow, which was damp with sweat.

“You ready for a breather? I can take over for a bit,” Patrick said.

“Yeah.” Kyle handed him the axe. “How about I go and find something to put this lot in?” He gestured at the pile of split logs by the side of the chopping block.

“Good idea.” Patrick lined up his first log and split it expertly on the first stroke.

Kyle wandered back into the cottage in search of Mrs Wilcox. The kitchen was empty, save for Dex who was lying in his bed. He lifted his head and wagged his tail at Kyle, who crouched and stroked his ears. “Where’s your mistress, Dex?” Dex cocked his ears and gave him a doggy grin. “Never mind. I’ll find her.”

With a grumbly sound, Dex laid his head back down on his paws.

In the hallway, Kyle could hear jazz music coming from behind a closed door. He tapped on it.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, Kyle was greeted by a pleasant burst of warmth. He found Mrs Wilcox sitting on a rocking chair by a log burner that held a roaring blaze. She was knitting, fingers still moving steadily as she looked up and gave him one of her rare smiles. “It’s lovely and warm in here now.”

“It really is.” Kyle approached the burner, which was throwing out heat into the room through the open door on the front. “We’ve got more wood ready for you now too. Is there something I can use to carry the logs through?”

“Of course, I forgot to give you the basket. It’s there by the fire.”

An empty basket stood to the side of the fireplace. Large, with handles at either end, it would hold plenty to keep her going for a couple of days. Kyle crouched and picked it up. “Back in a minute.”

He found Patrick still hard at work. He’d stripped down to a thin grey T-shirt that clung to the powerful muscles in his back and shoulders. Kyle paused to admire him for a moment before letting Patrick know he was there.

“Hi. I’ve got a basket. If you want to stop for a sec I’ll fill it up and carry it back for Mrs W.”

Patrick stopped and mopped his brow while Kyle stacked the logs into the basket. They’d chopped more than he could carry in one trip.

“This is loads. You can probably stop now if you want.”

“No. I’ll carry on for a bit. I’m quite enjoying the exercise.” Patrick picked up the axe again.

“Okay. Well, have fun.” Kyle crouched, and then grunted as he lifted the log basket.

“Need a hand?”

“No. I can manage.”

Mrs Wilcox was still in her chair when Kyle returned, but she’d set her knitting aside and had her eyes closed. For a moment he thought she’d dozed off, but when she heard Kyle come in, she opened her eyes.

“I love this one.” He looked at her blankly. “This song.” There was a wistful expression on her face as she listened.

Kyle didn’t recognise it. Not wanting to interrupt until it was finished, he put the basket down quietly, planning on creeping away. But the beauty of the melody and lyrics drew him in. It was a song about missing someone, using the seasons as a metaphor for time passing. Standing by the fireplace, he let the song play out, filling him with an aching sense of… not sadness exactly, but the awareness of the fragility of life.

On the mantelpiece a collection of photographs hammered the point home. An old wedding photo of a young couple gazing adoringly at each other, a faded black and white picture of a baby. A more recent wedding photo, in colour this time, and photos of two boys at various stages of growth who Kyle presumed must be grandchildren. A picture of the man from the first wedding photograph, standing in a field with sheep behind him and a dog by his side. Then further along, the same man—older and greyer—seated on a sofa with someone who could only be Mrs Wilcox beside him. Their linked hands rested on his knee as they smiled at the camera.

As the song came to an end the room was silent, save for the crackle of the flames, until Mrs Wilcox said quietly, “That was his favourite song. ‘Autumn Leaves.’”

“Your husband?”

“Yes, my William. So the autumn always makes me think of him. Mind you, I think of him all year round. He’s still here.” She patted her chest. Then tapped her forehead. “And here.”

“How long since you lost him?”

“Three years nearly. They say it gets easier, but I’m not sure.” She sniffed and picked up her knitting again. “Anyway, at least we had lots of years together. Just shy of sixty.”

“Is this your son?” Kyle pointed to the man in the more modern wedding photo.

“Yes, that’s John and his wife Marianne. And the little ones are my grandsons.” The click of her needles started again. “They’re grown men now though. And one of them has a wife and baby of his own on the way now. Their photos are over there on the dresser.” She pointed. “Time goes so fast.”

Kyle couldn’t imagine it. At twenty-three he felt like his life had barely begun. The idea of an almost sixty-year marriage was incomprehensible to him.

“Would you have seen them all at Christmas?”

“Yes. They got to John’s before the snow thank goodness, so they’re all there safe.”

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here. You must be sad to be missing out on Christmas with your family.”

“Well it can’t be helped. No use crying over spilt milk as my mother used to say. Both my grandsons are staying there till after the new year, and I should be able to get over and see them all in a few days.” She sounded stoic, but Kyle still felt bad. Family was obviously important to her. He wished there was a way of getting her there, but even if his car was working there was no chance he’d be able to make it through the snowdrifts.

Impulsively he said, “I know it’s not the same at all… but if you’d like company on Christmas Day, Patrick and I could come and hang out with you.”

“Hang out?” She looked unsure.

“Spend some time with you. We could cook a meal together, even if it’s not a Christmas dinner. Between us we’ve got lots of nice food now. Patrick even bought some Christmas decorations so we could make it look festive here.” Excited at the thought, Kyle carried on. “We can have a few drinks, watch a bit of telly together. It could be fun. What do you think?”

Narrowing her eyes, Mrs Wilcox studied him. Kyle met her gaze. She didn’t intimidate him anymore. He knew there was a soft centre under her prickly exterior. “I suppose it would be better than being alone.” Then with a glint in her eye she added, “And if I get fed up with the pair of you, I can always pack you back off to the pigsty.”

Kyle laughed. “Yes, you can. So is that a yes?”

“Yes.” She nodded, and went back to her knitting.