“Would you rather have car sex or shower sex?” asked Trevor, as Justin Bieber came to the closing bars of Mistletoe.
“Easy one,” said Cheryl without pausing to think. “Shower sex. Especially in this weather. Would you rather have a small penis that can ejaculate, or a big one that can’t even get an erection?”
“Exactly how old are you two?” asked Mrs M.
“We’re on holiday, Mum. We’re allowed to be juvenile. Come on, Mac. What would you rather have?”
“Small penis,” said Trevor, then he started giggling as the opening bars of Bruce Springsteen’s Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town started up. “What’s the point of having one if it can’t get hard? Would you rather French kiss with melted Cadbury’s Creme Eggs or a melted marshmallow Wagon Wheel?”
“Either. No, both!” blurted Cheryl, making even Mrs M laugh aloud. “Would you rather get voted off in the first round of Great British Bake Off, or go all the way to the final of Hell’s Kitchen?”
“I know my answer,” said Mrs M, who had a strong aversion to bad language.
“Easy. Bake Off,” said Trevor. “I’m out. You got any more?”
“Last one. Would you rather live your life over again as a twelve-year-old girl but with all your current memories intact, or continue your life as a twenty-eight-year-old man with untold wealth and respect, but with no memory beyond yesterday morning?”
Trevor had to stop and think. Life hadn’t exactly gone to plan, but would he want to lose all memory of the past? Some people might want to forget, might want to try life as the opposite gender, but if he was going to be completely honest, he had enjoyed his male years so far.
“Can I choose car sex?” he replied, then noticed Mrs M had suddenly gone still and had turned her head to listen at the window.
“What time are these friends of yours arriving?” she asked Cheryl.
“Any time now,” said Cheryl. “Why?”
“Listen.”
And right then Trevor heard the crackle of tyres on gravel and a car engine being killed in the parking bay outside the kitchen window.
“Who do you reckon?” asked Cheryl, staring with concern at Trevor.
Trevor’s heart sank, the lightness he had been feeling evaporating. Trevor knew Cheryl had played the game partly to divert his anxiousness about Karl showing up with his new partner. Taking a deep breath, he resolved to put on a brave front, for all their sakes.
“Whoever it is, we’re not going to let them spoil our fun. Agreed?”
“Quite right, Trevor,” said Mrs M, already back to work.
“Cheryl?”
“Of course.”
So far, things had gone well. Cheryl and the boys had arrived back from Fort William laden with goodies and in high spirits. Mrs M and Trevor had listened patiently for more than an hour over mugs of tea as they’d recounted their day trip. Frank and Johnny had bought extra Christmas pressies to cover all the guests, as well as cases of beer, wine and spirits, and had also contributed generously to the fresh food shopping.
While the boys had enjoyed drinks over lunch in a local pub, Cheryl had remained sober, agreeing to be the designated driver, but planned to make up for lost time that evening. Only as they’d finished talking and laughing, and as the sun began to sink, had Trevor led them all into the living room and shown them the illuminated decorations. Reactions had been varied but not unexpected. Frank and Johnny had shared a couple of amazed expletives while Cheryl had gasped and hugged the breath out of Trevor before running to her room and rushing back to hook up her Christmas music.
With darkness descending, stars sparkling off the dark surface of the loch, lights twinkling on the tree and The King’s Singers filling the air, their holiday lodge finally became the perfect Christmas setting. At around five-thirty, the boys had gone off for some private time while the rest of them had begun preparing food for the evening.
When the doorbell sounded, Trevor felt his face drain of blood. Cheryl must have noticed his reaction because she leapt up from the table.
“I’ll go.”
Above the sound of Christmas music playing, he could hear the exchange of voices at the door. One male, the other female. But the male voice did not belong to Karl. Cheryl appeared first, trailing two young people behind her, and treated Trevor and Mrs M to a dramatic roll of her eyes.
“Mum. Trevor. These are Hannah’s co-workers, Jessica and Antoni.”
With a relieved sense of reprieve, Trevor jumped up from the table and greeted the pair. Of the two, Jessica seemed the more forthcoming and friendly, while Antoni stood in her shadow. They made an unlikely couple—if they were a couple. Even in heels, she barely reached over five foot. She seemed to laugh easily and Trevor thought perhaps nerves played a part. From her complexion, he wondered if she might be second generation Indian, and although he had never met an Indian girl with the name Jessica, contemporary naming conventions tended to be more eclectic across the country. Towering behind her, the black-haired boy stood taller than Trevor’s five-ten, probably touching six-two. He wore thick-framed spectacles, the old-fashioned type, and every few seconds he screwed up his nose and pushed them back up the bridge.
“Welcome to Christmas at Stratham Lodge,” said Trevor, marvelling at Jessica’s firm handshake. “I’m Trevor. Cheryl and I organised the break.”
