Work Text:
The last cries of the drunken revellers littering the streets fade out as they turn another corner closer to home. Rae’s brain is still occupied with the change to the quiet of the nearly empty suburban streets, that it only alerts her to the noise at the very last second.
Something under her feet causes her to lurch sideways and tip against his solid, warm body, reassuringly close to hers.
“Shit! What on earth…” She exclaims, eyes darting rapidly over the pavement, identifying the discarded coke can now rolling into the road. “Fuckin’ thing.” She exclaims petulantly.
Finn’s warm, effusive laughter fills the air. “Sure it weren’t that second pint of snakebite, girl?”
She punches him playfully on the arm. “I can take my drink. Stupid can came out of nowhere and tried to trip me up.” She huffs.
“And here was me thinking you wanted a cuddle.” He slows, turning towards her.
His instant, confident and slightly cheeky, response catches her off-guard such that her feet propel her several paces further on as if of their own accord, leaving him momentarily stranded behind her on a cracked paving stone, arms outstretched.
“Looks as if it’s you that wants a cuddle, Finley.” She jokes, but her giggle quickly dissipates into the silence as she discerns something in his posture, in the way that he remains.
Before she knows it, she’s dived into his arms, knocking him back half a step. Holding him tightly, she rocks them softly from side to side. It’s not long before his hands pull her fast against him.
Adjusting her hold, she pulls back a little, then rests her head next to his, twisting his scarf and revealing a chink of skin at the hollow of his throat. She inhales deeply, but there’s something different about the balance of his familiar, settling scent. Nuzzling against his neck, his musk is definitely stronger than usual, tinged with a hint of the sourness of sweat.
She strokes his back and moves to rest her smooth cheek against his stubbled one, before finally placing her lips against his.
A soft sound escapes him as he returns the kiss; one of his hands drops to her hip and the other catches in her hair. Just as she thinks he will deepen the embrace, he’s the one to desist and pull back.
“Uh…it’s well cold out here.” He pauses, not quite meeting her eyes. “We should, uh, get back right?”
She pouts at him, already missing the one quiet opportunity they’d had all night. “It’s not bad, especially since the wind has died back.” She bites her bottom lip.
“Come on girl, home’s this way.” He cajoles, extending his hand, grinning.
“You just want your wicked way with me, don’t you?” She laughs at how straightforward he is to read sometimes.
Under the dingy yellow glow of the streetlamp, he smiles, but she can’t fail to notice the way his eyes don’t crease up. Rather than dance with the shadows in her head, she tucks herself tightly under the steady weight of his arm as he leads them onward.
Their bodies clash and jostle as they walk along, their usual synchronised rhythm absent as he strides off with purpose. The smallest of knots forms in her stomach, but Rae tells herself that she’s overtired and reading things that aren’t there.
As a distraction, her mind starts to pick apart the night’s events. “So umm, you lot go out together every Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah.”
“You, Chop, Mike and Archie?”
“Hum.” He assents.
She turns her head, not able to read whether this is simply another of his monosyllabic replies or whether he’s struggling to articulate a response.
The regular thud-thud of his boots starts to feel a little oppressive, the silence somewhat wearing, when suddenly the words tumble out of his mouth in irregular, undefined clusters.
“Well Chop’d normally be with us too, but what with baby Jacob and Izz not sleepin’ well, reckon he’s got more than a good enough excuse for an early night.” A slight smile forms at the corner of his mouth. “It all err… started that first year we worked together at S&N’s. We needed the business so badly that we had to work Christmas Eve. And wha’ with Archie’s dad not speaking to him, my dad staying with me uncle in Leeds and Mike’s mum being away, we wanted to make a proper Christmas out of it.
Christmas should be all about…., about traditions and family. And I ‘spose we wanted to start our own traditions and we were as good as family. You know, I think we were all a bit down. Homesick’s not quite the right word, but it were like we felt we were missin’ out on something, being in a new town without our families and just each other.
So even though we were broke, we went out for a decent meal – three courses, that sort of thing. Food was Chop’s idea but eating in a restaurant Archer’s. I reckon Chop would have had us all having kebabs in the chippie followed by cheap cider.
Anyways, I made sure we had beers somewhere that played half decent tunes…”
Rae giggles. “Only half decent?”
She feels the slight rise and fall of his shoulders under her arm.
“Well it’s Lincoln on Christmas Eve. Not as if there’s anywhere that doesn’t play shit Christmas songs.”
“I was only teasing, dickhead. “
“Oh. Right.”
She loops an arm around his waist and squeezes softly. “So tell me more.”
“Well, Midnight Mass was Mike’s contribution. It was really important to him that we went. He was a chorister or something when he was a boy. He told me that he used to go to with his mum and brother for years but that all stopped when we were in London.
I think he likes all the ceremony and stuff that goes with Church. And of course it’s another excuse to get one of his suits out.”
They’re walking in comfortable harmony, side by side, Finn’s arm still draped over her shoulder. As his words flow, Rae feels a tightness ebb from his muscles and his movements become more fluid. His hand squeezes her shoulder, and then his fingers curl up into her hair.
“I suppose we’ve been going that many years that Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas without it. Hope you didn’t mind coming along.”
“’course not. It was great fun. Has it always been just the four of you?”
Finn nods.
“No erm partners or anyone?” There’s a slight quaver that she can’t quite disguise in her voice.
“Mae.” Unexpectedly he comes to a halt, pulling her firmly into her arms. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You and Chlo were the first girls to join us.” His gaze is deep, verging on the intense, the unfathomable, but then it averts to one side.
“Actually, Izz was invited last year to join us, but she was staying with her mum.”
“Not even…” Rae stops herself, silently cursing what she perceives as unexpected clinginess. Subconsciously, her head falls towards her chest as she tries to regain composure and mutters, “Shit, I’m sorry”.
He gently lifts her face, a finger under her chin. Despite the dingy yellow glow of the streetlamp, she finds warmth in his eyes when she finally dares to meet them.
“You know you can say her name.” His voice is steady and even. “Laura’s not some forbidden word. It’s ok.” He rubs her lower back through her coat. “And no, she were never invited. Though one year she really kicked off about it. We had a huge screaming row. Actually, she did all the shouting and the silly cow lost her voice.” He raises his eyebrows. “Quietest she’d ever been.”
She’s not quite sure whether to heap compassion upon him, admonish, or laugh. Instead, she leans forward, running her hand along his jaw and then presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss. Yet it does not remain that way for long as his tongue soon slides into her mouth and his body tilts into hers.
She sighs and surrenders to his slow, deliberate kiss.
When they finally part, he rests his forehead against hers. “I need you to know that I fucking love you Mae. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before and I doubt I ever will again. It’s always you.”
His lips meet hers again, his hand tangles in her hair, but this is not the expected blend of adoring but passionate and seductive kiss that she has come to expect from Finn. It’s more careful, more measured, tentative even, confusing her with its contrast to the courage and conviction in his voice.
All of a sudden, he’s stepped back, hands rubbing her arms. “Right. We really must be making tracks Mae. It’s late and I’m uh…I’m parched.” He coughs unconvincingly and sets off at a pace.
***
Five minutes later, Rae’s grateful that they’re finally home as it’s colder than she realised. A shiver runs through her and she blows on her hands, bumping into Finn’s back as he abruptly stops on their driveway.
“Door’s that way, you numpty.” She jokes.
“Yeah, I know.” He takes her hand carefully into his and begins to massage her palm with his thumb. “I wanted to go, umm… I thought we could go round the back and umm….” He stutters though his words.
One of her hands has made it to her hips and the second is not far behind when she catches the way he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.
He clears his throat. “There’s err, something I wanted to show ya.” One hand dips into his jacket pocket, and then reappears. “In the garden.”
As her fingers latch onto his, she can’t fail but notice a distinct tremor.
He fumbles with the gate latch, a job that he can normally manage easily one-handed with a cigarette dangling from his lips and bags of shopping in his other hand.
Walking past the backdoor, Rae frowns for the garden looks the same as always – there are no special fairy lights up, no large surprise covered with a blanket, nothing different. It’s the same old patch of grass with the bench at one end and a few pot plants, albeit it’s muddier and scruffier than when they first moved in.
She’s so busy contemplating what on earth Finn could have up his sleeve that she’s almost surprised to find herself facing him once more.
He opens his mouth as if to speak, but not a word leaves his lips. He runs his tongue between his chapped lips and opens his mouth again, jaw tense. It takes all of her reserves not to intervene, to interrupt, to tell him that whatever it is, it’s alright.
Instead, she watches as his top teeth unbidden trap the corner of his lip as his mouth moves wordlessly once more. It’s almost unbearable.
Just as she’s about to try and break through into his mute world, he gazes up to the sky and lets out a shaky breath.
“Mae, it’s our first Christmas together. I really want it to be good. I want to create memories. So I uh, it’s Christmas day now.” He clears his throat. “So I wanted to give you something. Something that’s important to me and I.” He exhales slowly. “I hope it’ll be special to you to.” He struggles, delving his right hand into his coat pocket.
“Finn there’s no…” Rae checks herself, and restarts. “We said it was only token gifts this year. You weren’t supposed to spend any money….”
She trails off noticing him wriggle his hand out of his pocket and her heart begins to race. He has a small blue box clasped in his hand. This was unanticipated, a new and frighteningly unconsidered possibility. A possibility that makes the ground shift beneath her feet.
“Finn.” She begins in a tone far sharper than intended, but he cuts her off by cupping her cheek with his left hand.
“It err, it belonged to me nan.” His tone gets higher towards the end as his hand drops down to clasp her right.
She feels that his hand has developed a pronounced shake as he somewhat unceremoniously pushes the box into her right hand.
The dynamic of their narrative has shifted dramatically. It’s something they had only talked about as a possible version of their future, a shared far-off dream for the long term. But they’d never discussed it as a concrete concept - as something real for the here and now. It’s too soon. It’s too confusing. Too complicated. Too unexpected.
She stares down at the box in her right hand, heart pounding, mouth feeling dry, then looks up at Finn who is chewing the inside of his cheek, a slight smile at the other corner of his mouth.
“I… I can’t…” She stammers, pleading with her eyes.
“She would have wanted ya to have it.” He replies in a wavering tone that confirms the extent of his nerves.
“I… Finn… I just can’t.” She slowly slips the box back into his still open palm and curls his fingers over it, a tear slipping down her cheek.
It takes several long, distressing moments for his face to fall, for the furrows to form. His lips form a small round “o” shape as he exhales slowly, then runs a hand through the back of his hair.
The knot in her stomach tightens and burns as Rae vacillates between confusion and self-rebuke for her perceived clumsy handling of Finn’s feelings. There’s a moment where she wants to run, where disappearing off into the night, or hiding in the music room seems a sensible, rational response. Yet her feet remain rooted to the same firm soil, where they had laughed and danced that summer and set off fireworks to celebrate bonfire night.
For a moment, she watches on helplessly as he walks to the bottom of the garden. It’s as her head hangs, that his poorly disguised sigh reaches her ears. She ruminates over the conundrum. For it’s not as if the idea is abhorrent – far from it, it was something she had visualised for the mists of their future. Just not like this, not now.
Mourning the distance between them, something deep within stirs, something that eclipses her panic. Something that makes her want to run towards him, to hold him, to confirm that he means everything to her.
But her steps are halted by the vision that unfolds. For his head is tilted back and his fingers are tracing patterns in the air like semaphore. It is as if he is trying to decipher the meaning of something, but what?
Rae looks to the sky and is confounded by the beauty of the constellations above such that the pent up fear that pervaded her, begins to wane. She inhales deeply and exhales slowly several times, immersing herself in the patterns above.
A click of a lighter draws her attention. She turns to see Finn, leaning against a tree smoking. His head is tilted back, his eyes on the night sky. There’s comfort in this familiar ritual, yet she’s still mesmerised by the way he blows plumes of white that curl and loop into nothingness. As her heart slows and her muscles loosen, a sense of peace and wellbeing slowly seeps into her veins quenching the diminished flames of disquiet and anxiety until they are but embers.
Without understanding how she got there, she finds herself standing close enough to feel the warmth of his body without him actually touching her. “The stars…. It’s such a clear night. It’s incredible. They seem that bit brighter tonight. Like an incredible sparking blanket, like a cloud of tiny fireflies, like a..”
She stops as he moves closer and senses the vibration of his body against hers. “Go on…”
It’s tempting to keep chatting away, to try to distil the infinite spheres above into poorly constructed earthly analogies.
“I love you Finn. I really love you.” She whispers. “And I’m a dickhead. A right proper dickhead.”
She slips an arm around his shoulders and rests her head next to his. “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
Any remaining tension in her body dissipates as he utters the words that she didn’t even know she needed to hear. “Mae, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Think you’ll find I’m the dickhead. I’m th’one who should be apologising for springing this on you, for not explaining myself properly, for rushing you.”
As he pulls her into his arms, her shoulders relax and the tense mass in her stomach vanishes. “You’re right though Mae, the stars are exceptional tonight. Utterly fucking mesmerising.”
Somehow her fingers are tracing wavy lines criss-crossing the back of his right hand. Of their own volition, they slip to his inner wrist to continue their caress.
Bit by bit his fingers unfurl, revealing the box once more. A simple blue box. An aged leather box. A near cube. Nothing like the ornate chest she imagines belonged to Pandora. Just a box.
Very carefully, and slightly unsteadily, she takes it from his palm and holds her breath. Her heart feels like it might burst from her chest with an overwhelming mixture of emotion at the discreet sapphire and diamond pendant within. Another surprise that causes her stomach to constrict with thrill, joy, and self-chastisement.
“It’s… it’s… I love it, Finn.” She smiles warmly at him. “It was your nan’s?”
He nods. “Yeah.” Then swallows and shifts from foot to foot.
“When I were little, a little while after me mum left, I had to sleep with the light on. Scared of the dark, you see. But I never slept very well, kept waking up thinking it was morning. I was always tired and grumpy.”
Whilst it may be instinctive to make a joke, Rae holds back.
“I weren’t doing well at school. Dad tried everything - hot milky drinks, leaving the radio on until I fell asleep, night lights and stuff. Anyway, one November night my nan took me on a walk. I didn’t want to go because it was really dark. It felt like we walked for miles and miles but it we were only going to the edge of town. We went through this woody bit, full of tall trees. It was absolutely pitch black. I remember I was shakin’ and I had to hold me nan’s hand. But when we came out the other side, we were on top of small hill.”
Rae squeezes his hand as Finn pauses.
“It were a still, cloudless night. Rather like tonight actually. Me nan told me to look at the sky. The funny thing is, it wasn’t actually black, but a deep inky blue. And it was filled with stars. Nan loved the stars, she knew all their names and could point out constellations like Orion. Although it were cold and a bit damp, we lay on the grass for ages, just looking up at the stars. It were so beautiful. It took a few visits but then I was the one asking to be taken out to look at the stars. The night was nothing to be afraid of, but something to be looked forward to.”
Rae joins Finn in gazing upon the twinkling orbs above once more in comfortable silence. When he finally starts to talk again, it takes her brain a moment to catch up.
“I always loved the pendant when I was a boy. Apparently my granda gave to my nan when they were young. He told her the sapphire was meant to be the night sky and the diamonds - the stars.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and she catches onto Finn’s arm as for a fleeting moment it feels like ground beneath will creak and crack to reveal a chasm.
“Steady on, girl.” He throws an arm around her waist and pulls her fast to him.
A tear seeps from her eye and remorse chokes her voice. “About earlier, I… I really am sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It was such a… a stupid way to react.”
“What did I say about sorrys?”
“I, I know.” She steadies herself but the hurt burns that burns in her chest needs release. “It’s just that I thought…” The words dry up on her tongue as she struggles to come to terms with her reaction to the box and the potential impact of her words upon him.
“Mae.” She feels his breath in her ear, his voice low. “It’s alright. I think that,” The silence as he draws breath may be brief, but the seconds seem to tick past painfully slowly for Rae. She fidgets and shifts her weight to her other foot.
When Finn picks up again, his tone is soothing and even. “I think that neither of us is ready for that. At least, not yet.”
She marvels at the depth of his understanding of her and turns from solid to liquid in his arms, melting against his chest, melding their bodies in union.
“I love you.” She whispers against his neck. “With everything in me. And, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I… I’m not sure what I think about all of that right at the moment. It’s not that I don’t imagine it, it’s just right now…” She stops herself babbling by snuggling in tighter to feel the rise and fall of his chest as he speaks.
“That’s absolutely okay with me, girl. We’ve only been together, properly like, for a few months, we’ve not exactly talked about it. And, if I’m being totally honest, I’m not sure what I think about the whole thing either. I mean the reality of it. So how’s about we just have the conversation when we’re ready? Get through the next fewr months, year, few years, whatever. Right now, I don’t feel the need for a piece of paper to show you and the world how much I love ya.” He drops a kiss on top of her head. “But I fuckin’ hope we’ll be drinking tea together and swapping stories in our nursing home, married or not.”
“Oh Finn.” She tips her head back to view the sky, sniffing back a couple of tears that threaten to fall. “I bloody hope that they’ll play decent tunes in that nursing home of yours.”
His laughter reverberates in the empty night.
“Come on. Let’s get inside. It’s pissing freezing out here.”
He starts to lead them back towards the house but she captures his face in her hands, intending to echo her earlier declarations of love. Yet her lips meet his in a succession of small but passion filled kisses, and it’s not long before she has pressed herself into him, hands sliding under his coat and grasping fistfuls of his flannel shirt. His breath hitches in his throat and his hips push forward, hands sliding down her lower back to tilt her body into him.
She finally manages to snake a hand under his shirt but he pulls back as if she’s made of fire.
“Jesus. Your hand is like a block of ice. Much as I’m enjoying it, girl…”
“It’s pissin’ freeing out here.” She laughs, replaying his words to him.
Rae closes the cupboard door, grateful for Finn’s ability to desire food at any time day or night, for she still feels a little dazed. It’s as if her emotions are still teetering on the edge of a narrow precipice, as if a slight breeze could cause her to fall in.
For the first time, she considers whether it would really constitute a grievous fall, or whether there would be something, or someone, to catch her. Her tired mind seems bewildered by such introspection at this time of night and before she’s realised what she’s doing, she finds her finger covered in something soft and squashy.
She rolls her eyes when she recognises that she has dented the frosted carrot cake, which she had been saving for Gary’s visit in the afternoon. But it’s already Christmas day and she’s not feeling in the slightest precious about the day anymore. Thoughts about the adequacy and wisdom of her own surprise gift for Finn begin to cloud her happiness.
Automatically her fingers find the hollow at the base of her neck where the pendant sits as if it has always been there. A sense of warmth and belonging seeps in from the place where it makes contact with her skin, which begins to quell the unrest within. But it’s not enough.
She peeps round the living room door to find Finn studying the sleeve of some unknown LP, his messy fringe flopping down in front of his eyes such that he has to repeatedly sweep it to one side. As he bends down to place the vinyl on the turntable, his shirt rides up to reveal jeans slung low on his hips and a slither of creamy skin.
As music floods the air, he wiggles his bottom and his head bobs up and down. It’s not long before his arms are thrown up and he’s swaying his hips in time with the beat. A giggle escapes her lips and he turns to face her, still moving.
“Join me?”
She smiles but is caught by a change in tempo. “What is this you’re listening to?” She raises her eyebrows. “I’ve not heard it before.”
“Roxy Music – Avalon.”
“Roxy Music?” She puts a hand on her waist. “Weren’t they like big in the 80s?”
There’s a slight shrug of his right shoulder and he half purses his lips, half pouts. “It’s me da’s.” There’s a nuance of apology but his movement has become a little stilted and off beat.
“Oh right.” Her mouth quirks to one side, contemplating the fact the record’s here in their house, not where it supposedly belongs.
“I ‘spose it’s a bit dated.” He concedes, having come to a standstill.
“I… I don’t know. I probably just need to listen to some more tracks.” More than anything she wants him to return to his carefree inner world accessed through his music or art. “Turn it up a bit while I sort the tea.”
Back in the kitchen, her thoughts loop and branch into nothing coherent like the steam from the kettle. A nagging doubt about her earlier reaction resurfaces, a question about how she would feel with time had it been a genuine proposal, contrasted with a deeply settled feeling when she recalls his story, his words. Yet their music banter hadn’t quite hit the right note.
The realisation hits her hard and it hits her heavy. None of tonight’s events really matter, they don’t hold any particular significance, particularly in light of the paths that have drawn them together. They don’t have to be used a stick of recrimination or be allowed to evolve into some unspoken lingering, black cloud.
The shadows, the what-ifs, the fears – they don’t have to hold her anymore. They’re mostly past that now. Today can still be a special day, full of affirmations but also laughter and joy. It is within her to read tonight’s events with a smile, and not to overthink them, and to create a new ending. The ending they both need.
Mug in hand, she returns to him flicking through the small selection of albums on the shelf beneath the record player. A new song begins to play, its rhythm bewitching her feet into moving. Setting the tea down, she runs a hand slowly down his back.
“Dance with me?”
Two huge brown eyes look up at her and one of those mega-watt grins that he saves solely for her quickly spreads across his face.
Their bodies merge into one as he locks their pelvises together and rocks them from side to side. His stubble presses into her cheek and she senses him mouthing the words so she tilts back.
“More than this – there’s nothing.” He sings quietly, eyes locked on hers.
She’s hypnotised by his gaze and the way his slightly parted lips enunciate the lyrics. It’s only when the track finally comes to an end that she can bear to tuck her head next to his once more.
“It’s like a poem.” She whispers against his warm skin.
“A sad story, though.” He sounds a little gruff.
“But songs can mean what you want them to mean.” Her fingers trail down from his hair, down his neck and onto his chest. “Just because it’s sad for someone else, doesn’t mean it has to be sad for everyone. We can write our own stories. We can make our own happy endings.”
Ever so tenderly he rests his forehead against hers and murmurs, “I like tha’ idea.”
They may be barely moving, but there is a lingering oscillation in his body. Tenderly, her fingers trace patterns on his chest and she can just make out the way his heart seems to beat that little bit stronger.
“You’re my happy ending.” It’s so quiet that it’s barely there.
His lips are on hers in the lightest of kisses as he replies, “Me too.”
The world outside fades away and the room becomes smaller until the even the light of the Christmas tree is eclipsed and nothing but each other’s embrace exists.