I turn my head, so I’m facing the wall, my arm hiking under the pillow as I lift it closer to me.
It smells of her.
“My God, man. This is ridiculous.”
My words sound loud in the empty room, and I force my eyes shut, determined to forget about Meredith Matthews.
But she haunts my dreams, and in the final one, she reaches up to kiss me, stopping and pulling back with a frown, telling me it’s pointless.
Dream Dylan argues back that it’s not pointless, it’s Christmas, and anything is possible.
Dream Dylan gets the girl.
I wake up some hours later to the silence that is a lonely Christmas Day. It feels like everything is closed. Even the bird's morning chorus has the day off.
I shower, knowing the sooner I start this day, the sooner it’s over.
When I’m dressed, I head downstairs, making toast and tea for one with a heavy heart. I thought about Merry then, imagining her waking up to excited kids rushing downstairs to see if the big man had been, and I hope she is happy.
She loves Christmas, and despite her bitter divorce, she still wanted to be a part of someone’s Christmas today.
I glance around at my bare home, realising that Christmas doesn’t have to be all decorations and gifts. It’s about being around people, sharing the excitement.
My parents adore seeing me on Christmas Day, so I usually head over there for lunch, but today I want to do something for Merry first.
I refused her advances last night, but I have an idea that she’ll hopefully see as a gift.
I head outside into my garden, hunting around in the shed that’s filled with crap. I vow to clean it out, but until then, I’m looking for something.
My Christmas tree.
When I see it, stuffed in its box in the corner of the shed beside a box of decorations, I almost give up. The idea of putting my tree up, even for one day, made me feel nauseous.
But that’s ridiculous.
It will be Christmas every year, and I need to stop letting Goldie’s deceit ruin it for me.
I’m sure Goldie doesn’t think about me like this.
“Couldn’t care less if she does,” I mutter to myself, hauling the tree from its dusty grave.
A hope that I thought was long gone begins to stir within me, and I realise I’m grinning like an idiot as I put the tree up.
It’s modest, but it’s beautiful.
I stand it in the corner of the room and pull out my phone, taking a photo.
I sent it to Merry, along with a text.
DYLAN:
You’re right. It does symbolise hope. I'm hoping you’ll come and decorate it with me. Merry Christmas x
My thumb hovers over the send button, but I heave a sigh and send it.
I need to make it up to her, and I can’t think of a better way.
The box stands beside the tree, waiting for eager hands to pull the decorations out. The tree itself seems to be waiting, and I look at it guiltily.
“If she comes, it’ll happen. I promise.”
The tree doesn’t respond, of course; it’s a tree. But I feel better for reassuring it, as I have faith that Merry will come.
It’s Christmas, after all.
