The Jacuzzi Before Christmas

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Enjoy.

*

Snow is supposed to be magical at Christmas. I guess whoever decided that hadn't been blindsided by their fiancé three months before their wedding.

'We need to talk,' she said one night.

'Alright,' I replied.

We sat on the sofa we'd picked out together after moving into our forever home. Our kids were supposed to grow up here. That had been the plan.

'Are you happy?' she asked.

She clearly wasn't, and I had the feeling she wanted me to say I wasn't either. But I didn't lie to her. 'Of course. I'm getting married to the love of my life. What's this about, Kelly?'

Her face fell then. 'You really haven't noticed that things between us aren't how they used to be?'

I shook my head. Maybe I should have in hindsight. Maybe I ignored the signs or took things for granted. In my heart of hearts, though, I think she was making an excuse for what she said next.

'There's someone else, Dan.'

That hit me like a wave of frigid water. For my own sake I won't recount the rest of the conversation, but the upshot is that she had been seeing one of her colleagues for months. A guy I had met and spoken to while it was going on.

And that was that. I bought her share of the house, she moved out, and I've been trying to recover from it since.

Our wedding would have been today. December 17th. And the snow would have had our friends and family saying how magical it was and how lucky we were. Now it just feels like a taunt. Funny how one conversation can radically change one's perception of the weather.

Speaking of which, the chill in the air makes the jacuzzi at the bottom of the garden all the more inviting. It had been Kelly's idea, and I genuinely think the worst part of breaking up for her was that she had to leave it behind.

I close the back door and make my flip-flopped way across the lawn. The thick layer of snow nips at my toes, but the imminent warm water means that soon won't matter. I untie my robe and fold it across the back of an icy garden chair. I can't tell you how silly I felt doing this the first few times. I mean, who has a hot tub at the end of their garden in the north of England? It's so ridiculous, yet once you get over the self-consciousness about being seen by a neighbour, it makes complete sense. I climb the steps and sink into the bubbling water, banishing the winter cold.

I exhale and lean back to admire the clear sky and its vista of stars. It's been a difficult few months, but lately I've been able to capture more and more moments of contentment. At first I could barely function; I felt like I'd slid down the longest snake to land back at square one, and what was the point in trying when the same thing could happen again? And then you cross the board one square at a time, and eventually realise things aren't as bad as they previously were.

I close my eyes to bask in the dual sensation of hot and cold, then hear the crunching of footsteps from behind the fence. During my first few dips it would have made me uncomfortable, but now I couldn't care less. If people don't want to see what I do in my own back garden, it's up to them not to look.

'Excuse me,' comes a faint voice.

I open my eyes to a head in a bobble hat peeking over the fence. She looks like she's standing on her tiptoes. 'Hi. Is everything alright?'

'Mostly. Sorry to bother you so late--and when you look so comfortable--but I've just moved in and have to put up a stair gate. I was wondering if you had a drill I could borrow.'

'Sure. Do you need it now?'

'Kind of. It's dangerous for my little one to go up and down stairs. I wouldn't have needed to ask, but my drill seems to have got lost in the move.'

'Don't worry, it's no bother. Just give me a second to get out.'

'Thank you so much. I owe you one.'

She drops back behind the fence as I get out of the jacuzzi and slip into my robe. 'Just let me put some clothes on and grab the key to the shed,' I say.

'Take your time, and thanks again. Ring the bell and I'll let you in.'

She disappears inside with a crunch of hurried footsteps, leaving me to turn off the jets and trudge back inside. Not exactly ideal to trade hot water for the cold so soon, but I'd feel bad if I'd said no and her kid had fallen down the stairs.

I throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, and dig around in a kitchen door for the shed key. Typically, it doesn't want to be found, but I eventually manage to excavate it from the bottom of a disorganised pile. Back outside, the shed light flickers on to reveal an internal snow of dust. I haven't been in here since Kelly left, part of the not being able to function I haven't quite managed to resolve yet.

Empty space where Kelly's bike used to be leaves mine looking lonely, neglected with deflated tyres and covered in dust. We rode together a lot--every other weekend at least, and had bonded over our love of cycling and the outdoors when we had first met. We even went for a ride for our first date. The emptiness of loss once again threatens, and I shake my head to banish the memory. Nostalgia can be a dark hole that's hard to escape. The drill turns out to be easier to find than the key, and I take a box of various sized bits just in case.

She answers the door, still in her bobble hat and a bright red Christmas jumper that had been hidden behind the fence. Rudolph with a tangle of fairy lights around his antlers, and an enormous red pom-pom for his nose. It's so utterly ridiculous, I can't help but smile.

'You look festive,' I say.

She looks down. 'Do you like it? It's a family tradition that stuck. It comes out every year.'

'It's lovely. Very subtle.'

Her face brightens with a smile. 'You're a terrible liar, but I appreciate the compliment. Come in, by the way. You must be freezing.'

I step into a hallway full of boxes, where an excitable Pug bounds towards me and jumps up at my leg.

'Down, Billy,' she says. He obeys reluctantly and sits at my feet, staring at me with two large brown eyes. 'Sorry about him, he wants to be friends with everyone.'

'It's alright.' I crouch down and offer a hand for him to sniff. He stands and gets stuck in with a series of grunts, wiggling his bum like me turning up is the most exciting thing in the world. 'He's a lively one.'

'Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet. He never stops.'

I fuss over Billy until he calms down, then follow her to the end of the hall where a stair gate is propped against the wall.

'Again, I really appreciate you doing this,' she says. 'Billy has issues with his back, so he can't go up and down stairs.'

Billy...

'Oh. When you said your "little one", I assumed you were talking about a kid.'

'Ahh. Like any sane person probably would have. Sorry, no kids yet, although Bill isn't far off sometimes.'

Confusion cleared up, I carry the gate to the bottom of the stairs and get started. It's not a big job, just drilling a couple of holes and fixing everything in place. Ten minutes later, it's done.

'There we go,' I say. 'What do you think, Billy?' He cocks his head and looks at me all confused. 'Well, you won't be sneaking upstairs anytime soon.'

'No doubt he'll still try.' She tests the gate. 'Perfect. Would you like a drink, by the way? I should have offered earlier.'

'Sure, why not.'

I follow her and Billy to the kitchen, also piled with boxes. She opens one of them on the counter and starts rummaging through it. 'I'm Dawn by the way. Should've mentioned that earlier, too.'

'Dan.'

She smiles. 'I don't have much to offer, I'm afraid. Just tea, coffee...ooh!' She pulls out a couple of purple sachets. 'And hot chocolate.'

'We may as well keep the festive theme. Hot chocolate would be great.'

'I was hoping you'd say that. Coming right up.'

'So where have you moved from?' I ask as she takes a carton of milk from the fridge.

'London.'

'Oh wow. A small town like this is going to be a culture shock for you.'

'That's what all my friends kept telling me. "You'll be so bored. There'll be nothing to do. Do they even have running water up there?" I'm sure you've heard it all a million times.'

'A billion. It's an unusual move, though--normally it's the other way around. What brought you up here?'

She pours milk into a pan and mixes in the contents of the sachets. 'Work, believe it or not. My former boss moved here a year ago to be closer to family, and she set up her own ad agency. She needed a project manager and persuaded me to follow. I start tomorrow.'

'Best of luck, although I'm sure you don't need it.'

'Thanks. I should be fine, but I'm still anxious to make a good impression.'

Together with the snow outside, the aroma of cocoa makes for pure Christmas nostalgia. The only things missing are sleigh bells and a grandparent snoring in a corner chair.

'How about you?' she asks. 'What do you do in this backward northern hamlet?'

'I'm a chimney sweep.'

Really?

'No.'

'Damn it. I'm not normally that gullible, I swear.'

Dawn pours the hot chocolate into two mugs and brings them to the table. 'Here you go. So, are you going to tell me what you really do?'

'I'm a tree surgeon. Done it for about ten years.'

She stares at me with a look of total bewilderment, almost akin to Billy' by the stairs. 'I can't tell if you're having me on again.'

'Cross my heart, it's true.'

'I don't think I've ever met a tree surgeon. What do you do, exactly?'

'Lots of things. Felling and removal, pruning, planting, inspections. There's a lot more to it than most people assume.'

'Sounds complicated. Do you work with Christmas trees?'

'Yeah, we source and sell them every year. If you ever need one, I'm your guy.'

'That was going to be my next question. I've always loved the look and smell of a real tree. Artificial isn't the same.'

'Couldn't agree more. They're like Instagram models.'

She arches an eyebrow. 'You're going to have to explain that one.'

'They're unrealistic. Perfectly symmetrical and straight. No gaps in the branches. Never shed a needle. It's like airbrushing and filters and perfect lighting. It's not real.'

'I can't believe I'm about to say this, but that makes complete sense.'

'Don't sound so surprised.' I take the final swig of my hot chocolate. 'I should get back. Early start tomorrow. Thanks for the drink.'

'And thank you for the gate. It's nice to know I've got a good handyman living next door.'

'No problem. It you need help with anything else, you can get me out of the jacuzzi anytime.'

She lets out a hearty laugh, then I say my goodbyes to her and Billy, earning what I think is an appreciative grunt. While getting ready for bed, I realise I haven't had a conversation like that in a long time. For the first time in months, I go to bed with a smile on my face.

*

'I thought you already had a Christmas tree,' Gary, my boss, says as I load it onto the back of my truck.

'I do. This one's for my new neighbour. Doing her a favour.'

'Ah. Single is she, this new neighbour?'

Thinking about it, I have no idea. 'None of your business. Anyway, I didn't ask.'

'You're hoping she is, though. I can tell.'

'You can't tell shit, Greg.'

He only laughs. Now I'll never hear the end of this. 'If you say so. See you tomorrow, mate. Tell her I said hi.'

'Have a good night mate, see you tomorrow.'

I get in the truck and leave the yard. It's only a five-minute drive home, but it's enough time to worry if I'm making a mistake. Dawn said she wanted a tree, but maybe turning up at her door with a six-foot Norway spruce is a bit forward. Maybe I should have just let it be. I could take it home and put it upstairs--no harm in having two.

I pull into the drive to see a red gift bag outside my door. I'm not expecting anything, so I haven't got a clue what it could be. I get out of the truck and peer inside to find a bottle of Talisker single malt--far from the cheap stuff--and a handwritten note.

To sip in your jacuzzi (I'm not jealous at all). Thanks again for the gate.

Dawn & Billy

A big, goofy smile spreads across my face. Her car isn't in the drive, but once she's back, I'll take her the tree and say thanks.

I head inside for a dinner of last night's leftovers and an episode of

Reacher

, although I don't pay as much attention as usual. Deep down I know Gary read me like a book. Finding out Dawn has a significant other would be disappointing.

With that thought, car headlights shine through a gap in the curtains. She must be home. I give her fifteen minutes or so to get settled then head out to the truck. Snow begins to fall again as I unload the tree, and the notion that I should take it as a sign pops into my head. I'm not normally superstitious, so I'm not sure where that came from.

I knock on her door, and a few nerves creep up on me while I wait for her to answer. When she does, it's with a huge smile.

'Hey! How's it going?' She looks at the tree. 'What's this?'

'I wanted to say thanks for the whisky, it was really thoughtful. And I brought you a tree.' She registers surprise so I add, 'Don't worry if you don't want it. I realise it might not be the right time with all your unpacking.'

'Nonsense, it's the perfect time. It'll add some festive cheer to all the boxes. Come in.'

I manoeuvre the tree through the door and into the living room in a trail of needles. It's a Norway spruce, so it'll be really fragrant.'

'Lovely. The smell is the best thing about a real tree.'

'Where should I put it?'

'Err...in the corner, to the left of the window. There's a couple of sockets there.'

I plonk the tree down and step back. 'Do you have anything to put on it?'

'Somewhere in one of the boxes upstairs. You should help me decorate it one day--only if you want to, obviously. You're probably starting to think I'm taking advantage.'

'Not at all, I'd love to. One condition, though...'

'What?'

'You wear that Christmas jumper.'

She tilts her head back and laughs. 'I thought you'd be happy never to see that again.'

'Whatever gave you that idea?'

'Your face when I opened the door yesterday.'

'Ah. I'll have to work on my poker face. How was your first day, by the way?'

'Busy, but good, thanks. Didn't help that I broke a heel, though.'

'Oh. Can't say I've ever had that problem.'

'I'd have a lot of follow-up questions if you had. I hope this isn't too forward, but have you eaten? I was about to make dinner, and now I have to thank you for the tree as well.'

'I just ate, but I'll hold you to that another time. Tell you what, how about you come to mine after and help me with the bottle of Talisker. It tastes better when shared.'

'Alright. I'm not much of a whisky drinker, but that sounds nice. I'll call around in about an hour.'

'Great, see you then.'

I say goodbye to Billy with a scratch behind the ear, then go home with a sense of excitement I haven't felt in a long time. Since Kelly left, I haven't had much--if anything--to look forward to. I'm not going to get ahead of myself, but it makes for a nice change from evenings spent alone.

She knocks on the door just over an hour later, work clothes replaced with a pair of jogging bottoms and the notorious Christmas jumper.

'I hope you don't mind the low-effort attire,' she says, 'but they're just too comfortable at the end of a long day.'

I gesture to my own pair of joggers I'd changed into after delivering the tree. 'Great minds think alike.'

I invite her in and take her to the living room. 'Make yourself at home. I'll grab glasses from the kitchen.'

I get back to find her nosing around, examining a couple of trinkets Kelly acquired somewhere on the mantelpiece.

'I love the wood burner,' she says. 'I've always wanted one.'

I hand her a glass. 'They're fantastic. Nothing cosier in the winter.'

'If you ever want to bring me one to go with the tree, don't hesitate.'

I let out a laugh. 'Maybe next year if you're still a good neighbour. Cheers.'

We clink glasses and sit on the sofa. She takes a sip and winces. 'That's good...I think.'

'You get used to it.'

'Actually, after the initial kick it does leave a pleasant warmth.'

'There you go. You'll be finishing the bottle next.'

'One step at a time.' She goes back for a second sip, which seems to go down better. 'Do you mind if I ask you something?'

'No, go ahead.'

'Do you live by yourself?'

'Yeah, why?'

'Your place looks like it's had a woman's touch--the figurines, the cushions, the pictures. Not that I'm questioning your taste, I just wondered.'

I can't help but chuckle. I'm so used to having this stuff around, I had no idea that's how it would be perceived. 'It's my ex's stuff.'

'Oh. Do you keep it because you miss her?'

I choke a little, almost spitting out a mouthful of drink.

'Sorry,' Dawn says quickly. 'Too personal--sometimes I have no filter.'

'It's alright. I don't really miss her; maybe I miss an idealised version of her sometimes. We were engaged but...obviously it didn't work out. We were supposed to get married yesterday.'

'You're kidding.'

I take a much-needed swig. 'Nope.'

'I'm so sorry. Do you mind if I ask what happened?'

I take a deep breath and puff out my cheeks. It's not something I want to drag up, but maybe talking about it will be cathartic. 'There's not much to tell. We were together for six years, bought this place after four, then one day she just didn't see a future with me anymore.' The next part slips out before I can stop it. 'The guy at work she was fucking didn't help.'

Her mouth opens in shock, and I realise it's my turn for something to bypass the filter. 'Sorry,' I add, 'you probably didn't want to hear that.' I finish my drink and notice hers is running low. 'Top up?'

'Sure.' She offers her glass and I pour her another finger, then do the same for myself. 'It's funny you said that, actually.'

'Funny?'

'Well, not "ha-ha" funny, obviously. It's just that I'm in a similar boat.'

'You were engaged?'

She holds up her left hand and points to the third finger. 'Had a big shiny ring right here until a couple of weeks ago.'

'What happened?'

'I found out he had a rotation, that's what happened. At least three girls who definitely weren't me who he'd meet for hookups. Do you want to know what he said when I found out?'

She doesn't give me a chance to reply.

'That he'd "feel depressed" if he could only have sex with one person for the rest of his life.'

'Jesus...'

'I know!' She downs her glass and holds it out for another. 'No consideration for how depressed

I'd

feel after finding out he'd been cheating on me from the start.'

I pour her another finger. 'Sorry to hear that. He sounds like a right piece of work.'

'That's being kind. You should have seen the messages he was sending them. Disgusting.'

'So, I'm guessing you were supposed to move here together.'

'Yep. I didn't want to move on my own and almost called it off. But then I thought

screw it

! Why let him ruin a great opportunity? A fresh start might be just what I need.'

'Let's toast then,' I say, raising my glass. 'To fresh starts without shitty exes.'

'Cheers.'

We clink again, empty our glasses, then I pour us another. 'I never liked these cushions or paintings. I don't know why I kept them.'

'Then let's have a clearout. Put everything you don't want on the floor.'

'Now?'

'No time like the present.'

I'm reaching a level of tipsiness that makes it seem like a brilliant idea. Downing my glass, I get up and dump the cushions on the floor. Two abstract pencil drawings of women follow from the wall, then a trio of motivational phrases handing above the mantelpiece:

Dream big, Work hard, and Make it happen.

Finally I add a sprinkling of figurines and trinkets to the pile. 'There we go. Everything I never liked. In this room, at least.'