It was nearing Christmas. In fact, I knew exactly how many days it was until Christmas (currently 28) because my kids had relentlessly pestered me every day to tell them for the last month. And would doubtless continue to do so up until the day that Santa came to visit.
It's pretty hard to miss the onset Christmas, of course. Even if you had somehow failed to look at the calendar for the past few months; the cold weather, the abundance of festive junk in the supermarket and cheesy hits on repeat almost everywhere could hardly be overlooked.
One other sign was that the kids started bringing home cute Christmas decorations and pictures that they had made at school and at day care. Like most parents, I treasured every mashed-up, sticky, glitter-ridden creation that was given to me, simply because it was made by their eager little hands.
Every time I dropped off or picked up the kids at day care, I noticed even more tinsel, pictures and creations made out of cotton wool hanging from the windows and the ceiling and pasted up on every wall. You couldn't help but love the enthusiasm of the kids and get wrapped up in it yourself, as did all the day care staff. By now, most of them were accessorising with Christmas hats, and some were branching out into Santa dresses and flashing reindeer noses.
This brings me back to Alessandra. It had been a couple of months since That Day. I thought a lot about it, of course, but we had never talked about what had happened. We both knew that our rendezvous had to be kept the very deepest and darkest secret, and anyway there wasn't much to say. It was clear that it wasn't going to lead to a relationship or anything regular, and anyway the moment we had shared had somehow been so perfect that, in a weird way, it would have almost tainted its purity if we had followed it up with other encounters. We still spoke, of course, and we often exchanged glances and smiles which just conveyed the simple fact that we had shared a beautiful moment together, and that was enough.
And there was another thing: for the last few weeks she had a small but now increasingly visible bump on her belly. I had noticed one or two of the other mums commenting on it and congratulating her with hugs. It's a cliché, but women really can "glow" when they are pregnant -- their hair gets silkier, their skin shines and their breasts grow. I had always looked at Ally every chance I got, and I knew every contour of her body. Her breasts had definitely swelled, and they created an alluring jutting curve underneath her jumper. More than that, she was just really happy. Happy that she was finally going to be a mum.
And so it had continued. Ally was happy, we both kept our mouths shut, all was right with the world, and we carried on almost as if nothing had happened between us.
However, I wouldn't be writing this if that was truly the end of the story. And it wasn't.
A few days before Christmas, on a crisp dark evening, I came as usual to pick up the kids at the end of the day. For a change, I wasn't actually late, and I rang the bell in good spirits, whistling a frustratingly-catchy Christmas tune that had been playing on the radio. The door opened and a wave of warmth hit me, along with shrieks, giggles, noises of scampering feet and some strains of a Christmas carol being sung in one of the classrooms.
It was Zoe who opened the door. "Hi", she said, with a warm smile. "I'll tell the kids you're here."
She went back along the corridor and I waited at the doorway, keeping the door as closed as possible without shutting it, to keep in the warmth. After a few moments, the door opened again. It was Ally.
"Hi" she said, throwing me a smile that immediately lit up my heart. Not a huge grin, but the kind of smile that you couldn't help but smile back at. She had a talent for that.
"Heyy", I said. Then, aiming to bring the quality of the conversation up a notch, I followed with a rather eloquent "what's up?".
As I did so, I couldn't help but glance down at her belly. Her eyes followed mine and she instinctively put a hand on the small bump.
"Everything's great" she said, looking back at me. "Really great". There was a pause. I thought she was going to say something else, but then she broke away from my gaze and said, "So. The kids are just getting ready -- they have to collect all their pictures and it'll take a few minutes. There are a lot." She looked fake-apologetic and then grinned.
"Right... thanks." I said. Then "Yeah", I continued gravely, "we've had some serious shortages of Christmas pictures back home. So thanks for the rescue package. I really owe you one."
"Business as usual" she sighed, laughing. "Always owing me for something!"
"Hey, I have my moments!" I replied, pretending to be offended.
"Well." She glanced away and said in a lower voice, "I can't deny that".
I noticed her face had flushed a little. This was probably the closest we had come to talking about our secret since that day. I also felt a rush of adrenaline. The memory of what had happened, combined with seeing her up close, the light smell of her perfume, and the outline of her body under her Rudolf the Reindeer woolen dress stirred a desire in me that had been bubbling under the surface.
"Hey listen", she said, suddenly changing back to a normal tone. "If you've got just one minute, you need to sign a couple of privacy forms for the Christmas show. I've got them in the office - come on."
Without waiting for an answer, she spun on her heel and walked off back down the corridor.
Predictably and inexorably, I followed her.
She led me into the day care office. It was a small and fairly cluttered room with two desks in it at right angles to one another. The walls were lined with shelves full of files, and the desks had various untidy stacks of paper on them. Like the rest of the day care centre, assorted sparkly Christmas decorations and kids' pictures covered any remaining free spaces on the walls. Surveying the mountains of paper, I couldn't help shaking my head and remarking: "you guys seriously need to go digital".
She shot me a withering look. "Very funny. Now, where's that form?". She turned around and began rummaging through the piles of paper. As usual, my eyes were automatically drawn to her waistline, her ass and hips, and for a moment I began to imagine everything that lay beneath that thin layer of clothes.
All too soon she turned back to face me, brandishing a piece of paper. I quickly snapped myself out of my reverie. "Here it is. You just need to sign here." She gave me a pen and pointed to the dotted line. I obligingly scrawled my signature and handed it back to her. As I did, our eyes met and lingered for a moment. She hesitated, glancing briefly at the slightly-ajar door before looking back at me.
I knew by her expression, and by the sudden tension in the room, that she was going to Say Something. But even if we had wanted to break our unspoken rule, there was no chance of anything happening at that moment. The day care was still half full. Nothing like last time. But she obviously had something to say that was nothing to do with Christmas shows or privacy forms.
"You know," she half whispered, "I never said... thank you". She was looking at me straight in the eye by now. Those eyes, framed by the dark lashes, were fixed on me.
