Saturday 24th of December—Christmas Eve

Where am I?

Who the hell is in bed with me?

Those were Patrick’s waking thoughts when his brain slowly and foggily came back online. It had been so long since he’d woken up with another body in his bed. For a couple of seconds his mind scrabbled around, trying to put the pieces together.

When everything slotted into place, Patrick’s heart lurched, beating fast as images from the night before flashed into his head.

Kyle bending over the sofa while Patrick spanked him.

Patrick on his knees licking Kyle’s arse.

Kyle in his lap, riding him until they both came.

Oh, Jesus Christ on a bicycle.

Now Patrick had a hard on, and it was pressed tight against Kyle’s arse, the arse that was front and central in Patrick’s memories of the night before.

What the hell had he been thinking? Patrick had been so determined that nothing would happen between them, despite his attraction to Kyle, and Kyle’s surprising proposition. Even after they’d got along better during the meal, Patrick was sure he’d made the right decision in turning him down. He didn’t want a random hook up—especially not an ill-advised one with a colleague. When he was ready to dip his toe back into dating again, he’d look for someone who wanted the same things he did: commitment, connection, trust.

That thought brought the familiar stab of pain as he inevitably remembered how his trust in Matt had been shattered. It was less intense now with almost a year having passed, but the echo of that hurt was still enough to make Patrick’s breath catch and take him back to the end of January when his world had come crashing down.

On discovering an unfamiliar mobile phone in Matt’s jacket pocket while looking for his car keys—which Matt always forgot to put back in the bowl in the kitchen—Patrick had at first assumed it must belong to someone else. But why would Matt have a phone that wasn’t his? As Patrick had been pondering the question, the phone had lit up with a notification:

Grindr: new message received.

Even then, Patrick hadn’t wanted to believe it. With trembling fingers he’d pressed the home button and tried Matt’s usual unlock code—the date of their anniversary, which was the code on both their phones. It hadn’t worked. Next he’d tried Matt’s birthday, still no luck, and then his own.

Bingo.

Patrick pushed the memories aside; he didn’t want to relive it again. But at least that train of thought had totally killed his erection. Carefully he disentangled himself from Kyle and rolled onto his back. Still dark, it could have been the middle of the night, but checking his watch, Patrick found it was just after eight. Motionless beside him, Kyle’s breathing was slow and deep; almost too slow to be believable, so Patrick suspected he was faking it. Unless Kyle was a really sound sleeper surely he would have at least stirred with Patrick’s movement?

Perhaps it was for the best. Despite his undeniable attraction to Kyle, Patrick had no wish to pick up where they’d left off last night, and it would be easier to collect his thoughts and have the inevitable morning-after conversation when they were dressed with a little space between them. Playing along, Patrick carefully extracted himself from under the covers—holy shit it was cold—and crawled backwards to the ladder.

Once he’d reached the safety of the floor Patrick dressed quickly in plenty of layers, lit the gas fire, put the kettle on, and then went for a pee.

There was still no sound from Kyle while Patrick made a cup of tea using the light from the torch on his phone. Perhaps he’d dozed off again even if he was awake before.

Patrick went to the curtains and opened them, hoping the light might encourage Kyle to surface. He was keen to call the AA and find out when they could get to them today. With a bit of luck they could be home by lunchtime, and sleeping in separate beds tonight—thank God. No more opportunities to slip up and let temptation mar his judgement.

“Oh fuck!” Patrick’s heart plummeted like a stone as he stared out of the window in horror.

It was still mostly dark outside, but there was just enough light for Patrick to see that a thick feather quilt of snow had fallen during the night, completely obliterating their tracks from the evening before. Drifts swept up against the stone wall that edged Mrs Wilcox’s garden, two or three feet deep by the look of them, and the snow was still falling.

Patrick’s loud exclamation of dismay finally got a reaction from Kyle.

“What’s up?” He jolted upright, immediately alert, and confirming Patrick’s earlier suspicions that he’d been awake all along.

“Mrs Wilcox’s feelings in her bones were spot on,” Patrick said glumly. “More snow. And lots of it.”

“Shit.” Kyle was already reversing down the ladder. He hurried to stand beside Patrick and peer out at the winter wonderland. “Shit. That’s a lot of snow. Do you think we’ll be able to get home today?”

Patrick thought they didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell—pun intended—but he reckoned it wasn’t worth panicking until they had the facts. “Who knows? I’ll head out to find a signal and I’ll call the AA now.” Although unwelcome, at least the snow was a distraction and gave them the perfect excuse to avoid any discussion of what they’d done the night before.

Wrapped up in all his layers, Patrick paced up and down the road while he waited on hold. After nearly fifteen minutes, he finally got through to a frazzled-sounding male operator who confirmed Patrick’s opinion.

“I’m sorry, sir. But there is no chance of us relaying a vehicle to the location you’ve given today. The minor roads are impassable at the moment and likely to stay that way for a couple of days.”

“Okay, thanks. I had a feeling that would be the case.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Patrick rolled his eyes at the scripted question and wondered what the man would say if he asked, I fucked my co-worker last night and am now going to be stranded with him over Christmas. Can you give me any advice on how to handle it? “Not really, unless you can teach me how to teleport?”

“I’m afraid that’s not my department.” A hint of humour crept into his tone.

“Okay, thanks anyway. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sir… and merry Christmas.”

“You too.” Patrick sighed as he ended the call.

When he got back to the flat his face must have told Kyle everything he needed to know.

“No luck?” Kyle asked as Patrick stamped the snow off his boots.

“Nope.” Patrick shut the door behind him, glad to be back in the warmth. “We’re stuck here for a while yet.”

“Bollocks.”

They stared at each other, the current crisis temporarily eclipsing the events of last night. Deciding to pretend it hadn’t happened for now, Patrick said briskly, “Right. So what do we need to do?”

After they’d eaten some breakfast the first job of the day was speaking to Mrs Wilcox and explaining the situation. They waited until nine, which seemed a reasonable time, and when they knocked on her door there was a volley of barking from Dex.

“Quiet! Sit!” The barking stopped and the door creaked open. “Oh. It’s you two.” She eyed them in a way that wasn’t particularly friendly and didn’t invite them in.

“Good morning, Mrs Wilcox.” Patrick tried to turn on the charm again. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it seems we aren’t going to be able to get home today. We were hoping it would be okay to rent the flat for a little longer?”

Her wrinkles rearranged themselves into a satisfied grin. It was the first time he’d seen her smile. “I told you so.”

“You did indeed.”

“And yes, you can keep the flat for longer. It’s no skin off my nose and the money will come in handy. You got everything you need?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then.” And with that, she closed the door on them again.

“She’s a right miserable old bag isn’t she?” Kyle muttered.

Patrick shrugged. “Who cares? At least she’s letting us stay.”

Next on the agenda was a trip to the village shop. They went straight there after seeing Mrs Wilcox as they were already wrapped up to face the elements. Of course, Kyle’s clothing was still totally inadequate so he’d borrowed Patrick’s fleece again. There was nothing that could be done about his shoes. As they walked along the lane from Mrs Wilcox’s house Kyle slipped. Patrick made a grab for him but he was too slow, and Kyle went down on his arse in the snow for the second time in two days.

“Ow!” His face contorted with pain.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Patrick offered him a hand, helping him up.

“Just a bit tender after last night. That hurt a lot more than it normally would.” Kyle flashed a meaningful look at Patrick.

“Oh.” Patrick felt a hot blush flood his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. It was entirely consensual, and I enjoyed it at the time.” He offered Patrick a wary smile.

Patrick grinned back. “Yeah. I remember.” He flexed his hand, remembering how that had stung last night too. “It made my hand hurt too.”

Kyle’s smile turned suggestive. “Maybe you should use something other than your hand next time?”

They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment.

This was the point where Patrick should have made it clear it was a one-off and couldn’t happen again, but the words stuck in his throat. They were here together for a couple more days; maybe Patrick should take a leaf out of Kyle’s book and have some fun without taking it too seriously.

“Maybe,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “Come on. Let’s get to the shop.”

Mike greeted them with a cheery, “Good morning, gents. This snow was a bit of a surprise wasn’t it?”

“And not a welcome one,” Patrick said.

“It’s the last bloody thing we needed.” Kyle’s frustration made his voice sharp. “Because now we’re stuck here for Christmas.”

“But at least we have somewhere to stay,” Patrick added quickly. “It could be worse. So, we’re here to buy some extra food to get us through a couple more days.”

“Have at it.” Mike waved at the shelves. “I hope you can find plenty to keep you going.”

“I’m sure we will.” Patrick was glad the shop had such a nice selection of goodies. Not that he would have been having roast turkey with all the trimmings on his own at home anyway, but it was still nice to treat yourself at Christmas, and there were plenty of festive things to choose from here.

They got a shopping basket each and started to browse. Patrick filled his with mainly savoury things: cheeses, crackers, sliced meats, and paté. “Do you like any of this?” he asked Kyle, who had made a beeline for the cakes, biscuits, and chocolates.

“Yes, it all looks good. I’ll eat most things.”

“Not just sweet things?” Patrick looked pointedly at the contents of Kyle’s basket.

“I don’t normally eat sweet stuff much at all.” Kyle patted his flat stomach, reminding Patrick how slim he was under his clothes. He definitely didn’t look like someone who indulged too often unless he had an enviable metabolism. “But given that I’m missing out on my mum’s Christmas dinner and chocolate log, I think I get to compensate.”

“Fair enough.” Patrick added a jar of marinated olives to his basket.

“I won’t eat those, though.” Kyle wrinkled his nose.

Patrick grinned. “All the more for me. Do you like mince pies?”

“Yes. I love them.”

Patrick picked up a box of those too, and a Christmas cake. There was no way they’d manage to eat all of this between them, but they could share the leftovers when they got back to civilisation.

Kyle rounded the corner of the aisle and said, “Oh. I think I’d better get one of these.”

“What’s that?” Patrick peered over the shelves at him.

“Hats.” Kyle ducked down and then reappeared wearing a red and black stripy knitted hat with a large bobble on it. “They’re not really my style, but it’ll beat having freezing ears.”

“My wife knits them for charity,” Mike said from behind the counter. “The money goes to a local children’s home.”

“Awesome.” Kyle gave him a genuine smile. “Hey, Patrick. Come and help me choose one.”

He ended up settling on one that was striped with grey and two different shades of blue. This one didn’t have a bobble and was one of the less bold fashion choices. It looked pretty cute in Patrick’s opinion, but Kyle wasn’t too enamoured. “It’ll do, and at least it’s for a good cause.” He popped it in his basket. “It’s a shame you don’t sell any shoes, Mike, because I could really use a pair that are more snow proof than these stupid things.”

“Ah no, sorry, lad. I don’t. But what size are you?”

“Nine.”

“In that case, I can lend you an old pair of walking boots. Nothing fancy, but they’ll keep your feet warm and dry.”

“Really?” Kyle’s face lit up. “That’s incredibly kind of you. Thank you.”

Patrick liked this new, polite version of Kyle. It was a definite improvement on his usual brattiness.

“No trouble at all. I’ll just nip up and find some for you now.” Mike disappeared through a door behind the counter.

“That’s trusting of him,” Kyle said. “Leaving us unattended in his shop. You don’t get that back home.”

“I guess in a small village he doesn’t need to worry too much.” Patrick rounded the end of the aisle and came upon a display of Christmas decorations. Thinking of Kyle, who was missing out on seeing his family, he said, “Oh, we should get some of these, jazz the flat up a little.”

Kyle came to see what he’d found. “Really? What’s the point?”

“Don’t you think it would be nice?” Patrick picked up a piece of tinsel. “It would make it feel more Christmassy if we decorate.”

“You’re the one who was going to be spending Christmas alone, so do you really care? Just seems like a waste of money.” The snappy edge to Kyle’s voice was back. Patrick tried to ignore the jab of hurt it caused.

“Thanks for reminding me. And just because I was spending Christmas alone doesn’t mean I don’t want to celebrate it.” Deflated, but stubborn, Patrick started chucking random decorations into his basket.

Maybe sensing he’d hit a nerve, Kyle said, “Okay. Fair enough.”

“We should get each other presents too.”

“You’re kidding.” Kyle raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Patrick had already spotted something that would be a perfect gift for Kyle.

“Okay. Don’t watch what I put in my basket then. There’s no point if it won’t be a surprise. How much should we spend on each other?”

“A tenner?”

“Deal.”

They each paid for their baskets of shopping separately, giving each other some space so they wouldn’t see anything they shouldn’t. Kyle paid first while Patrick was still browsing. Then Kyle sat on a step-stool to put on some battered old walking boots that Mike had lent him while Patrick paid for his purchases.

While Mike was helping pack things into bags, Patrick asked him, “Do you know what Mrs Wilcox is doing for Christmas? She mentioned a son but seems to live alone.”

“Her son and daughter-in-law live on a farm about fifteen miles away. I think she normally goes to them for Christmas but I don’t suppose she’ll be able to get there. I’ll check in on her, see if she needs anything.” Mike sounded concerned. “She’s been struggling a bit this year. Her arthritis is bad now, and she’s not as steady on her feet as she used to be so she’ll struggle to get out in this weather.”

“We can do that, can’t we Patrick?” Kyle chipped in, surprising Patrick who hadn’t realised Kyle was paying attention to the conversation.

Patrick flashed Kyle a smile. “Yes of course. We’re there anyway. If she needs anything we’ll pop back later before you close.”

“That’s good of you.”

“It’s the least we can do when she’s helped us out.”

Patrick had forgotten his rucksack so they walked back laden down with carrier bags. Kyle seemed to be finding the walking much easier now.

“How are the boots?” Patrick asked.

“They’re great. Way warmer than mine and the grips are much better.”

When they reached Mrs Wilcox’s cottage, Kyle paused. “Did you want to call in on Mrs Wilcox now?”

“Yes. Let’s drop these off back in the flat”—Patrick raised the bags he was holding—“then go round.”

Patrick was pleasantly surprised that Kyle wanted to help Mrs Wilcox. Having been rude about her earlier he didn’t think Kyle would want to be involved in a Good Samaritan mission, and he wouldn’t have blamed him. Mrs Wilcox was far from friendly towards them and Patrick was half expecting to be turned away with his offer of help. But it didn’t hurt to ask.

They were greeted by the usual barking, and the sound of Mrs Wilcox bringing Dex sharply under control.

“You again.” She seemed a little breathless, as though getting up to answer the door had been an effort. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she peered out at them. “What now?”

“We don’t mean to intrude,” Patrick said as politely as he could. “But we were wondering whether you had company over Christmas?”

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.” Her mouth folded into a disapproving line and her hand tightened on her stick. Dex growled as though sensing her mood, and she shushed him.

“It’s just that if you had to cancel plans because of the snow, and were on your own, well I… we”—he glanced sidelong at Kyle who gave him a nervous smile—“were wondering if you needed anything from the shop.”

She fixed her beady dark eyes on Patrick, narrowing them as though looking for a catch. Then she turned her gaze on Kyle and gave him the same treatment. Finally her expression relaxed a little, the lines morphing into something less hostile.

“I suppose that would be a help. Save me risking my neck in this bloody snow. I was supposed to be going to my son’s but he called to say he can’t come and collect me. Even his Land Rover won’t cope in this. You’d best come in for a minute.” She stood aside, ushering them into the comparative warmth of the cottage—not that it was much warmer than it was outside. No wonder she was wearing lots of layers. “I’ll have a look and see what I need. This way.”

Her progress through the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the cottage was painfully slow. The flagstone floor was uneven and she shuffled along carefully, Dex at her side like a faithful shadow.

“Sit down.” She gestured to the solid wooden table with her stick. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll have a look in my fridge and the larder and see what’s what.”

Patrick and Kyle sat while Mrs Wilcox went to an ancient-looking fridge and opened the door to look inside. “I’m low on milk. There’s a notepad and pen on the table, you can write a list for me.”

“I can do it on my phone.” Kyle whipped it out of his pocket and started to type.

Mrs Wilcox snorted. “You young folk and your technology. What’s wrong with pen and paper?”

“Nothing,” Kyle conceded. “But I’m less likely to lose my phone.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Patrick looked around the kitchen while Mrs Wilcox told Kyle things to write down. It had the same flagstone floor as the hallway, and the walls were whitewashed. Nothing looked as if it had been modernised in fifty years. There was an old gas cooker with a kettle sitting on top of it, and pots and pans hung on the wall above. There was no sign of any electric kettle or toaster. The only concessions to mod cons were the fridge—but that was practically an antique—and a similarly old-looking washing machine.

“Is that everything?” Kyle was saying as Patrick tuned back in to his exchange with Mrs Wilcox.

“I think so. Not much point in me going to too much trouble when it’s just for me. My daughter-in-law would have been doing turkey and all that at their place, but I don’t have much of an appetite these days. Sausage and mash will do me fine.” She joined them at the table, lowering herself into a chair with some effort. Dex sat beside her and turned his attention to Patrick, leaning close to sniff and giving a small wag of his tail, as though recognising Patrick as friend rather than foe at last.

“Can I pet him?” Patrick asked.

“Yes. He won’t hurt you. He’s all bark and no bite. Just likes to try and show you who’s boss.”

“From what I’ve seen, that’s you.” Patrick chuckled, reaching out a cautious hand, and letting Dex sniff that before he rubbed the fur on the dog’s neck and around his ears.

Mrs Wilcox cackled, delighted. “Yes, that’s true enough. He knows his place.”

“You’ve trained him well.”

“I should hope so. I used to train sheepdogs so I know a bit about it.”

“Wow, really? That’s so cool,” Kyle said.

Patrick petted an obviously delighted Dex. “He’s a handsome chap.”

“Aye. He is that.”

Silence fell, and after a few more strokes of Dex’s thick coat, Patrick cleared his throat. “Well, we’d better be on our way. We’ll be back with the shopping a little later, maybe in the afternoon if that’s okay with you?”

“Anytime is fine, I shan’t be going anywhere.”