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James Herondale woke up on December first feeling somewhat disorientated. Outside it was still dark, the first tendrils of sunrise barely peaking over the horizon, and certainly not long enough to wriggle through the gap in the bedroom curtains. He blinked a few times, trying to discern what had woken him, and settled on the quiet but persistent thumping noise that was coming from outside the window.
“James?” said Cordelia from under a pile of blankets. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” said James, dropping a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Go back to sleep my love.”
He and Cordelia had been up late last night on patrol, the long nights bringing with them an increase in demonic activity. Thomas and Alastair had been supposed to take over from them at midnight, but Alastair had caught a cold and was on strict instructions to stay in bed. Not even his fervent protests would make Risa relent, so James and Cordelia had stayed on until morning. Which was fine, of course, but it meant they were exhausted. Whatever the noise was, James hoped he could sort it out quickly and return to his bed.
As if to emphasise the urgency of his mission, there was another thump against the window, louder this time. Either there was an unfortunate family of birds passing through the area, or someone was throwing things. He had a sinking feeling he knew which one it was, and tried to console himself with thoughts of birds flying free and unharmed. They were not very consoling.
When there arose a third noise from outside, Cordelia extricated one hand from the blanket, waved it in a vague shooing motion between James and the window, then returned to the safety and warmth of their duvet. James opened the curtains, and sighed.
“At last! It’s been near enough ten minutes and I was beginning to freeze down here, Jamie. It was awfully unsporting of you not to wake up sooner.”
It was awfully unsporting of Matthew, James thought, to be waking him up before the bells had rung for six o clock. It was so early, in fact, that James did not have the physical ability to convert this thought into a sentence. All he managed was, “what?”
He cracked open the window and rubbed his eyes, the scene before him taking a clearer shape. With some effort, James managed to tack on an “Is that—"
“Yes,” Matthew clarified before James could finish. “Obviously using Cook’s suet pudding was not the plan, but it was the closest I could get to snow at short notice. I had intended to wake you with a seasonal snowball but alas, the Great British weather has once again ruined our plans. I hope you will not hold it against me.”
James didn’t have the energy to hold anything at not-quite six in the morning, let alone a grudge against Matthew’s bizarre choice of snow substitute. That said, he was willing to try. He suspected if he put his mind to it he could hold being woken up so early against Matthew for quite some time. In the spirit of this attempt, he folded his arms and narrowed his eyes.
“Why?”
Matthew seemed genuinely taken aback. He looked around him in shock for a moment, and then back up at James with wide eyes.
“Surely you aren’t serious James?”
Surely, he was.
“Why? Why ? You ask me why? Tis the season, Jamie bach ! Tis Christmas!”
That was why James’s morning has been disturbed? For something so trivial as a mundane holiday? It had hardly dawned December first and here was Matthew one snowflake away from singing mass. James intensified his scowl. If he had thought it would make Matthew go away, he would have closed the curtains and returned to his bed and the loving arms of his wife. Alas, Matthew was unlikely to be so easily discouraged, and James did not wish to risk him remembering his spare key and bursting into their house in a flurry of fir trees and paper chains. So, he remained at the window, but he was determined to shut down whatever absurd idea had possessed Matthew before it could snowball.
“Whatever you’re thinking Matthew, stop.”
“Even if I’m thinking that we are going to have a marvellous day full of festive cheer?”
“Even then. I don’t want festive cheer. I want sleep.”
“Well I want to go to Oscar Wilde’s for tea but we can’t always have what we want, James, so get dressed and meet me down here. Chop chop.”
“I refuse.”
“Don’t be a grump. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
“It’s sleeping.”
“Then consider me your festive alarm clock.”
Arguing with Matthew was impossible, so James did the only sensible thing. He picked up a small ornament off the window sill and threw it at Matthew’s head. It broke into little pieces on the floor, and James hoped belatedly that Cordelia wouldn’t mind. He was sure she would support him if he told her it had been in pursuit of sleep. Matthew looked sadly down at the ornament, and then back up at James.
“I don’t think you have quite grasped the concepts of peace and goodwill to all men.”
“Maybe I would have more goodwill if somebody hadn’t woken me up before six.”
“Well, you’re awake now. Come on, James, we have places to be. Thomas and Christopher will be almost to the park now and it would be most selfish of us to abandon them. Besides, you cannot think it is a good idea to leave Christopher exposed to candles for a prolonged period of time without threefold supervision.”
James thought it safer not to ask. Begrudgingly, he waved goodbye to his hopes for a quiet morning and threw on the first clothes he could find. Then he kissed Cordelia once and left the house. Matthew was waiting for him with a letter.
“Put that through the letterbox would you?”
“What is it?”
“Cordelia’s invitation to Anna’s afternoon soiree before we meet the girls for a festive tree trimming party tonight.”
“Why couldn’t we have an afternoon soiree?” James huffed, stuffing the letter through the slot with more force than was strictly necessary.
“I will explain all on the way, my dear parabatai. Now, come. Let us be merry and bright!”
James was powerless to stop him from breaking out into a chorus of O holy night. Nor could he prevent any of the subsequent verses. He did try his best to pretend the two of them did not know each other, but judging by the glares he received from other early morning commuters, his best was not good enough.
It turned out that Matthew’s proposed destination was St James’s Park. (“In honour of my very own Saint James,” said Matthew.) Thomas and Christopher were waiting outside the gate, their breath curling around their heads in icy wisps. Christopher’s glasses kept clouding up, and Thomas’s nose was turning pink. They still looked substantially warmer than James, who was beginning to regret not putting up more of a fight against whatever this was.
“Merry Thieves,” began Matthew, surveying his companions with delight. “We are gathered here today to mark the fast-approaching yuletide. To do this with appropriate flair, I have devised for us, with the help of Anna, a wonderful schedule of events culminating in a party at the Institute. At said event, we will exchange gifts with a partner, having divided into teams to secretly purchase and advise. The pairs were picked, regrettably, at random. Jamie, you’re buying for Anna -and don’t worry I have many helpful ideas- Kit, you’re buying for Cordelia, Tom’s buying for Lucie, and Jesse -who has been otherwise engaged but promises to join us later- will be buying for the wonderful Ariadne.” Matthew took a deep breath.
“And I…I will be buying for…Alastair.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “You could at least try and act like it wouldn’t kill you to be nice to him.”
“I fear not even I am that good an actor, Tom, but your faith does wonders for my ego. Thank you kindly.”
“Yes, well. It would be kinder still if you stopped insulting him at all hours.”
“Alas, it is a doomed endeavour.”
“What about peace and goodwill to all men?” James asked pointedly. If it extended to Matthew at six in the morning, it certainly extended to Alastair too, after everything he had done for them.
“The exception that proves the rule,” Matthew said blithely. “Now, do let’s stop discussing Carstairs, it’s making me miserable.”
“You’re going to have to stop this one day, you know,” Thomas told him, folding his arms. It was at moments like these his height came in quite handy, since it afforded him several extra inches to look down upon the rest of them from. “Alastair is my…my…”
“Lover?” suggested Christopher, in the spirit of cousinly assistance.
“Paramour?”
“Gentleman friend?”
“Extra special chum?”
“Bunny of love?” Matthew offered.
“What!”
Thomas physically flinched, eyeing Matthew with something akin to genuine terror. “Where did you…why would you…”
“I don’t think you really want to know, do you Tom?” Matthew said gravely. He patted his friend on the back once, and trotted off to rescue Christopher from a puddle, leaving Thomas somewhat alarmed in the middle of the path. Thomas’s cheeks had gone a shade of pink which James could not find it in himself to attribute solely to the cold. Thomas seemed quite aware of this fact, and squirmed for a minute before he found his way back onto the topic at hand.
“Alastair is my Alastair,” he said. “And he’s a part of my life now whether you all like it or not, so you’ll just have to get used to things like buying him presents. So there.”
Thomas nodded emphatically, thus putting an end to the discussion. The four of them continued walking through the park, Christopher whistling absently and stopping to jot observations down in his notebook from time to time.
“You know I don’t mind him really, don’t you Tom?”
“Yes Matthew.”
…
“Because I do think he’s a decent chap.”
“I know, Matthew.”
…
“It’s just how we are. Like one of Christopher’s laws of physics. The world would stop spinning if we started complimenting each other all the time. I know I for one should hate it if he went around saying nice things about me. I should think I’d finally gone loopy.”
“You’re already loopy, Math,” James said affectionately. He stole Matthew’s hat and ruffled Matthew’s meticulously styled hair before he could escape. Matthew made a half-hearted grab for the hat, and James spun easily out of reach. Matthew stopped, and squinted.
“Carstairs enjoys a good hat. Perhaps that would be a good present? I ought to get him something nice, as a token of our secret but undeniable brotherly affection.”
“Brotherly affection?” asked Christopher. “But we all despise Charles?”
“I have more brotherly affection for my shoelaces than you have for Charles,” James agreed. Thomas gave a hum of assent.
“Wording duly amended, but the sentiment remains. I shall muse upon it whilst we carry out the first item of business for today.” Matthew came to an abrupt halt and pivoted to face them all. “Thomas, produce the axe!”
James did a double take. He had not anticipated axes, and wondered if Matthew was making a very bad joke. Unfortunately, Thomas retrieved, from inside his coat, a large and unmistakable axe. To make matters worse, Christopher had retrieved several metres of string from his pockets and was murmuring about pulleys and counterbalances in a manner which made James’s head spin. He turned to look accusingly at Matthew.
“Why have you got an axe?”
“ I haven’t.”
James turned to Thomas. “Why do you have an axe, Thomas?”
“Because Matthew told me to get one at five o’clock this morning and I was desperate to shut him up.”
“Rude.”
“But true.”
“I was glad to see you Matthew,” said Christopher loyally. “I can think of few things nicer than being woken by the mention of complicated engineering puzzles. Lemon tarts, perhaps, or maybe—”
“Thank you, Kit,” Matthew cut in hastily. “I am the best and you were glad to see me. That’s the primary take away. Now.” (And here Matthew clapped his hands for emphasis, startling a nearby family of sparrows.) “I have brought you here to select a Christmas tree to be placed in the Institute atrium for all to enjoy.”
“Isn’t that a bit…illegal?” James asked suspiciously. He was by no means an expert, but he didn’t think you could just chop down trees hither and thither in public spaces. There was probably a law against that sort of thing.
“When has the law ever stopped us before?” Christopher asked, quite sincerely.
Although it made Thomas groan, James had to admit Christopher had a point. They had never gotten anywhere via strictly legal methods. Besides, they were glamoured to the mundane population and the Clave probably had better things to do than chase down four rogue lumberjacks.
“Well said, Christopher. Now, you will of course be in charge of the rope-pulley system for safely lowering our chosen tree to the ground. James, you will be helping Kit enact his plan. Tom will be on chopping duty. Do you understand? Marvellous! Go forth and chop, good people!”
James, Thomas, and Christopher all turned a beady stare on Matthew.
“What, exactly,” asked James, “will you be doing, Matthew?”
“Surely you don’t expect me to help with the labour, do you? This is a Jermyn Street ensemble!”
“Oh no,” said Thomas, a smile beginning to spread across his face. “You can’t think we’d let you miss out on the fun now, surely?
“I’m happy to fill the post of creative director,” Matthew insisted, taking a step backwards.
James and Thomas advanced on Matthew, who took several more steps backwards. Christopher was already engrossed in wrapping some string around the base of a ten foot fir tree. Matthew shot several panicked glances between the tree and his friends.
“Really. I’d hate to rob you all of your fun. I’ll just direct.”
“Oh but we insist. And what’s this I have? A spare axe. How lucky!”
Matthew had backed up against a hedge and was starting to disappear into the leaves. James exchanged a look with Thomas, and then as one they dived. James grabbed one arm and Thomas the other. The two of them hefted Matthew up, despite his kicks and cries of protest.
“I’ll ruin my nails Jamie! You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? My own parabatai ? Put me down!”
“Sorry,” James said. “I can’t hear you over the sound of Christmas cheer.”
He broke out into a chorus of Jingle Bells, drowning out Matthew’s desperate pleas for reprieve.
“Please, Tom, don’t let James corrupt your sweet heart.”
“ Jingle bells. Jingle bells. Jingle all the way. ”
“Christopher! Christopher help!”
“ Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh. ”
“Hey—”
“That’s the spirit, Math.”
After a few minutes, the four of them began to find a rhythm, two of them taking it in turns to swing at the base of the tree whilst the other two pulled on Christopher’s ropes. It wasn’t long before they’d felled the great fir, and the four of them stood around it in a circle.
“Matthew,” said Christopher, pushing his glasses up his nose. “How are we getting this back to the Institute?”
James was not comforted by the silence that ensued. He had horrible visions of the four of them picking the tree up and screaming directions at each other on the long, long walk back to the Institute. It would be a Christmas miracle if the four of them survived, let alone the bystanders of London.
“Matthew?”
“Sh, I’m having an idea.”
The three of them waited patiently. Matthew looked a few times between the tree and Thomas, who had the axe hefted over his shoulder, the pale winter sun rising behind him like something from a Greek temple. Matthew broke out into a grin. James held his breath.
“Do any of you know a good photographer?”
James could not imagine how this would help them transport a Christmas tree. He feared something dreadful was going to come out of his friend’s mouth. He tried to ignore the part of him which was intrigued.
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, I have just thought of the most marvellous thing. Thomas makes a majestic lumberjack, what with his manly arms, and I was thinking how much Alastair would probably have liked to see him, and then I thought, why not make Thomas do a photoshoot to present him with? How do you like the sound of that, Tom?”
“I do not.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” James said. “I think we can make a model of you yet.”
“Thomas Lightwood: icon of desire.”
“My mother is always buying fun calendars for people, I’m sure we could recreate one. She bought Uncle Gideon ‘Twelve months of afternoon tea’ and circled all the scones. Perhaps we could do a ‘Twelve months of Thomas Lightwood’?”
“Yes. Yes! We can have different themes every month. Christopher give us a costume.”
“A test tube!”
“Perhaps not the most alluring for the ladies and gents but we can work with science. What else is in the lab?”
“A Bunsen burner?”
“We could set Tom on fire!”
“We absolutely could not Matthew!” Thomas yelled. “WE COULD NOT.”
“Quite right,” James said. “The only fire will be the one Thomas starts in other people’s loins.”
Thomas promptly keeled over. It was like watching a tree felled by a hurricane, except in this case the tree was beetroot coloured. For half a second James felt bad, but then he caught Matthew’s eye and burst out into fits of debilitating laughter. Christopher was also doing his best not to giggle as he offered Thomas a hand up. He wasn’t doing a very good job.
“I hate you all,” said Thomas. “I hate you all with the passion of a thousand fires.”
All it took was Matthew raising his eyebrows, and they collapsed on the floor again.
Eventually they managed to recompose themselves, and were once again confronted by the problem of tree transportation.
“I suppose we could just carry it,” Christopher said. “Between the four of us.”
“It’s not that far,” Thomas admitted.
“We’ve done more difficult things,” James sighed.
“I’m glad we sorted that one then,” Matthew said. “I don’t want to get in the way so I’ll just leave you chaps to it, yes?”
“Get your lazy behind here and take some tree,” James said, thrusting some foliage in Matthew’s direction. Matthew gave a martyred sigh, but took the branch and started the long march Instituteward.
“I knew I shouldn’t have worn my nice jacket.”
James did not like to think about the walk from the park to the Institute. He worried it would give him nightmares. It involved:
Thomas complaining every five minutes that his back was hurting from bending down.
Matthew stopping every five seconds to admire window displays.
And James having to constantly drop his share of the tree to manoeuvre small children and passers by out of their path.
And, for some unknown reason, they had put Christopher at the front. He had many talents, but James discovered on the walk home that shouting out right or left was not one of them. Many a wrong turn was taken, but they had eventually reached the Institute, and that was the main thing.
James also did not like to reminisce upon the afternoon shopping trip. They were only supposed to be buying small things as a bit of fun, but Matthew kept asking about antique rugs and six foot statues.
“You’re supposed to be buying for Alastair, Math. Not shopping for yourself.”
“How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
“Because,” James said dryly, “I doubt Alastair wants a giant marble flamingo.”
“He might,” Matthew sniffed, but he took the hint and started only inquiring about sensible purchases. For his part, James found something nice for Anna relatively quickly, and felt he had achieved his purpose when he dissuaded Christopher from buying Cordelia a hunk of metal to try forging her own weapons. Christopher nodded sadly when James pointed out she didn’t yet own the necessary forging tools, and instead found a small book on the illustrated history of the dagger which James thought would do nicely. Thomas proved more difficult to counsel. He put down everything he picked up, citing some strange reason or other as to why it was not suitable for Lucie.
“She’s your friend, Tom, not the Queen of England. She’ll like whatever you give her.”
“But I want it to say the right thing. Is a nice pen too basic?”
“No Tom.”
“But is a hair piece too much?”
“It’s fine, Tom.”
“But…”
“Thomas,” said Christopher. “I have a mould culture to get back to, so if you wouldn’t mind hurrying up a bit.”
“Fine!”
James still wasn’t sure what he’d settled on in the end.
Now, he was stood outside the door to the Institute with Cordelia by his side, present tucked comfortably under his arm. Cordelia had refused to disclose much about the girls’ afternoon when she returned to Curzon street, (where she found James in a battle against paper and string for his present), but he gathered the afternoon had been far more…refined, than Matthew’s tree gathering extravaganza.
“I don’t suppose you know what tree decorating will entail, do you?” She asked James. James shook his head.
“I suspect if I did, I would not be here. I would be taking shelter in the safety of our home, far, far away.”
“I hope we get it done quickly, and can fast forward to the sweets and mulled wine.”
“So do I, my darling, so do I.”
Cordelia stretched up to kiss him, and James thought idly about how lucky he was to be married to the love of his life. Unfortunately, it was at this moment the door opened, and Bridget’s judgemental cough was enough to have James shuffling apologetically backwards. It felt like kissing in front of an elderly relative, which was to say, dreadful etiquette and likely to be brought up at every family meeting in future.Cordelia stifled a laugh and grabbed his hand, pulling James inside after her.
The Institute foyer was full of activity. Christopher was jabbing scissors at pieces of paper, explaining to anyone nearby about the unique pattern of snowflakes. Jesse was also folding snowflakes, but James got the impression Christopher had told him off and taken charge. Anna and Ariadne were constructing a paper chain which snaked most of the way around the Institute floor, and, James noted, up Thomas’s body. He followed the chain upwards to see Lucie balanced on Thomas’s shoulders, attempting to affix the paper to a sconce near the ceiling. Looking down on all of it from the staircase, shouting directions, was Matthew. At the sound of the door he took his eyes of Thomas and Lucie, and threw his arms wide, beaming.
“Ah, the Herondales! I knew you wouldn’t desert us. Welcome to the house of festive fun.”
“Help us,” whispered Jesse as they walked past him to hang up their coats and scarves. “Please.”
“Now we are all here, I believe we can begin the bedeckage of the tree.”
“I don’t think that’s a word,” said Ariadne from the floor. Anna had given up on paper chains, and was throwing bits of paper at her.
“That doesn’t matter,” Lucie started. “You know Shakespeare actually -Tom go left. Left. Go left! You great lump go left!”
“If you insult me I shall drop you. You aren’t exactly light, Lucie.”
“How dare you!”
“You’re still carrying a mace!”
“For hitting nails into the wall! Anyway, as I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, Shakespeare actually made up a lot of words. I think I shall pioneer ‘bedeckage’ in the Christmas chapters of The Beautiful Cordelia. She, on a visit to the elf grotto, will encounter the ice goblins tastefully dressed in spats and, after defeating them, will stumble across a happy reindeer who will invite her to…whoops sorry Daisy, I know you don’t like spoilers. Pretend I didn’t say that. Someone change the subject.”
“Who cut this snowflake?” Christopher said accusingly. “Was it you, Jesse?”
“No,” said Jesse, which was his not-so-secret code for yes.
“What did I say about snowflakes being unique? This is clearly the same pattern as the one we hung over by the drawing room door.”
“Anna! Ariadne! Please stop throwing paper snowballs. We need these decorations for the room, thank you. Stop. I said stop!” Matthew began to lean over the staircase and waved his arms in their general direction. They ignored him, and the paper fight intensified.
James looked longingly towards the door for a minute, and then sighed. These were his closest friends in all the world. He loved them dearly. Sometimes though, just occasionally, he wished they were not quite so bonkers.
“Hand me that garland, dearest wife. I suppose there is nothing to do but join the madness.”
“I suppose not,” grinned Cordelia, passing James a chain of shiny string and pinecones. The two of them, with Matthew’s helpful guidance, began to dress the tree. Anna and Ariadne stopped throwing paper and began to pass them small ornaments, and Jesse started organising things by colour to hand to them. From one of the boxes he produced a frankly terrifying looking Angel.
“Are we sure we want this on top of our tree? It seems sort of…blasphemous.”
“Yes. Rather. I’m sorry Jamie but what were your parents thinking, purchasing this…thing?”
“It will quite ruin the look of the tree,” Anna nodded. “I have immense respect for Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will, but I’m afraid they have dreadful taste in decorations.”
“I heard that!” Will yelled from somewhere deep inside the Institute. “I’ll have you know Tess and I have marvellous interior design skills, thank you.”
“Da, have you seen this tree angel?” Lucie asked, taking it from Jesse and climbing up Thomas’s back as though he were a human ladder.
“I’m sure it is not as deserving of insult as you suggest,” said Will confidently.
“I suppose it isn’t that bad,” Cordelia tried. “It is certainly…biblically accurate.”
“Thank you Cordelia. That is why you are my favourite.”
“Excuse me!” Lucie huffed indignantly, regaining her perch on Thomas’s head. She pointed a finger forwards and Thomas walked begrudgingly in the specified direction. There were also cries of protest from Matthew on the stairs. James thought this was rich considering he didn’t even live here, but he had to concede his father had always held a soft spot for Matthew. He was annoyingly beloved by adults.
“Suck up,” whispered James to Cordelia. Cordelia shrugged. The Angel was perched on the top of the tree without further quibble.
“Good Lord, what is that thing?” cried Will, ambling into the foyer minutes later.
“Told you,” Lucie said. “I knew it was disgusting, but needs must.”
“Well, I shan’t be able to live with myself if that thing stays there,” Will said firmly. “I cannot, in good conscience, say the Institute is a place of welcome to all if that is what greets them at the door.”
“If only there was someone to save the day,” said a grouchy voice. “It seems you lot cannot last five minutes without requiring rescue.”
Swaddled in more hats than James had believed possible, and bundled into so many layers he looked closer to a marshmallow than a human, was Alastair Carstairs. He sported a fetching red and gold scarf, some kind of hooded contraption, and what looked to be a bright pink pair of mittens. It was, James had to admit, quite the entrance.
“Alastair?” Thomas said incredulously. Then he frowned. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“Yes,” Cordelia added. “How on Earth did you get past Risa? Last time I sneezed she fed me chicken soup for a week.”
“Never mind how,” Lucie said, “Let us just be thankful he did. Look, he has a star we can stick on the tree instead of this horrific angel-demon hybrid. Pass me the box Alastair, thank you kindly. Thomas!”
Thomas, who had been fussing with Alastair’s scarf, reared back in alarm. He ran around Alastair in a somewhat comical fashion, and then peered out from behind his shoulder.
“Don’t let her take me,” he whispered. “All afternoon she has used me as some kind of human giraffe and I refuse to participate any longer.”
“Well somebody has to do something about this,” Anna said. “Uncle Will is right. This cannot be allowed to remain now Carstairs has brought us a tasteful alternative.”
“I’ll do it,” Matthew said cheerily from the staircase. “Who wants a boost?”
“I think,” Ariadne said diplomatically, “that I speak for all of us when I say—”
“Absolutely not. Standing on Fairchild’s shoulders is a sure way for somebody to end up with the Silent Brothers.”
“Well in that case, perhaps we ought to get Brother Zachariah on standby…”
“We’ll do it,” Cordelia said. James wished he had been consulted before she declared this, but he supposed it was probably the combination least likely to result in tears. Cordelia took the star and awkwardly manoeuvred onto his shoulders. Whilst it was not the most comfortable he had ever been, James would have done anything to avoid the combination of his father, Matthew and the tree. He did not think his mother would ever have forgiven him.
Though it took a bit of adjusting, they eventually managed to situate the star on top of the tree. The silver and gold sequins caught the light and James had to admit, between them all they’d done rather a good job.
“Why,” Matthew said. “It looks glorious. Jolly good show chaps. And now I believe it is time for mulled wine and the exchanging of the gifts!”
Everyone jostled into the drawing room where Bridget had laid out mugs of mulled wine and cinnamon, letting the room fill with the warm scent of Christmas spices. There were also mugs of cocoa and a plate of mince pies which Christopher instantly made a beeline for. Once the food had been satisfactorily consumed, it was time for each pair to exchange presents.
All in all, James thought they’d done quite well. Anna seemed pleased with her new ascot, and James had received a lovely looking throw he intended to put on the sofa at Curzon Street. He pictured spending many an evening curled up under it, reading with Cordelia by the fire, and thought he was very lucky indeed. The rest of the presents had also gone down well enough with their intended recipients, the stand out gift being the novelty hat Lucie had given to Thomas. Thomas had rolled his eyes, but put it on straight away despite being indoors.
They laughed and chatted and exchanged presents until there was only one pair left.
“I hope you don’t hate it, Carstairs,” said Matthew, handing Alastair a gaudily wrapped present with at least three different bows in clashing colours. Alastair looked sceptically between the present and Matthew, raising a single refined brow. James had to admit the exterior was not promising, but he had seen the look on Matthew’s face after his secret purchase, and genuinely believed it was something good.
Alastair picked at the wrapping, and although it took him a minute to fight the ribbon, he eventually pulled from the paper a small, framed drawing. “It’s…”
“From the Louvre,” Alastair said distantly. “Yes, I remember.”
From the corner of his eye James also saw Thomas flush pink.
“Thomas is always gushing on and on about that trip with you, and of course, now I know why, and I thought you might like it as a small reminder of how your relationship really began.”
Alastair turned to look at Thomas, and offered a small smile. Thomas returned it shyly. The rest of the room watched them watch each other for as long as they could stand it before Anna rolled her eyes and told them to stop making such gross romantic scenes in public.
“Well bother,” said Alastair, returning his focus to Matthew.
“Oh,” Matthew said. “Well, you can always return it.”
“No, not the gift,” Alastair said stiffly. “It’s actually very thoughtful of you Fairchild. I, uh, feel rather bad about your gift now.”
He handed his parcel over to Matthew, looking the most sheepish James had ever seen him. Matthew shook it about a bit, and then cautiously opened a corner of the package. Then he tore a bit more, then the rest of it, a smile breaking out across his face. With a flourish, he waved the book happily around the room. It was a large volume entitled How Not To Be An Insufferable Fool.
“You did read the title correctly didn’t you, Fairchild?” Alastair turned to Thomas. “He can read, can’t he?”
“Yes I can read, Alastair.”
“Then why are you grinning like a lunatic?”
“Because this is perfect. You have saved me much time, effort and money.”
“I have?”
“Oh yes,” Matthew said delightedly. “Now I have the perfect Christmas gift for Charles!”
With presents merrily exchanged, the Merry Thieves and company settled themselves in front of the fire with another round of drinks to warm their bellies and good friendly cheer to warm their hearts. James supposed it had been a fine day after all. Perhaps, he conceded, celebrating the festive season was a good thing. He looked around the room at his friends, and was content. Until, he heard Matthew say,
“Carstairs, what are your opinions on festive yet alluring calendars?”