Page 55 of Must Love Christmas

Simon nodded. Garen had clearly learned how to manipulate him by sounding sensible, even using the word “plan.”

“So what do you think?” Garen asked.

Simon couldn’t resist that hopeful smile. “I think you’re going to be very bad for me.”

* * *

Garen woketo the sound of pain.

He’d left his bedroom door open so he could hear if Simon called out for him in the middle of the night. While these small, high-pitched moans coming from down the hall weren’t a literal cry for help, Garen couldn’t ignore them.

He got out of bed, switched on the hall light, and hurried to Simon’s door, which was also ajar. “All right, mate?” he asked as he knocked softly.

“I’ll be fine. Sorry I woke you.”

“Can I come in?”

Simon’s sigh was long and shaky. “Okay.”

Garen opened the door, expecting to find his friend sprawled across the floor after a bad fall. Instead he was in bed with the covers askew. Even the fitted sheet had come loose from the mattress. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“Me legs and arms…like they’re on fire. Just...neuralgia from the nerves regenerating. It’s happened every night the last two weeks.”

“Shall I call your doctor?”

“God, no. It’s normal.” Simon took another quick breath. “Go back to bed. I’ll try and be quieter.”

Garen lingered on the threshold. He had to do something to help or he wouldn’t be able to sleep. “Shall I at least straighten your covers?”

After a moment, Simon switched on the faerie lights. “Actually, could you tuck them around me real tight?”

“Like, swaddle you?”

“Not that tight. I need to be able to get up. Also, I’m not a baby.”

“I’m well aware.” Garen went to the foot of the bed. “This pain is a sign you’re getting better, right?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“So we’ll think of it like growing pains—or like labor pains, as you’re giving birth to your new self.” He stopped, wondering whether Simon was tiring of his relentless optimism. “If that’s okay.”

“Sound, la’,” Simon whispered, his eyes already closing.

Garen felt a tug of tenderness at hearing his friend’s speech revert to full-on Scouse, as it often did when he was tired or in pain—or, like their first night together, completely hammered.

He tugged the bottom sheet back over the mattress and smoothed it out, remembering how Simon could feel the wrinkles beneath him. Then he tucked the top sheet and duvet tightly around Simon’s body. A quick glance at the vivarium showed the tip of Poppy’s tail sticking out from her fake log, which sat at the warmer end of the tank.

“That’s you snug as a bug in a rug,” he said when he finished.

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitched. “Ta. Much better.”

“Anything else?”

Simon opened his eyes. “Would you add a note to that jotter, please? Just write that I had neuralgia in all four limbs but it got better with the tighter covers.”

Garen picked up the red-and-white Liverpool FC jotter on Simon’s bedside table. “Ah, it’s the one your dad started at the hospital.” Mr. Andreou had documented every moment of Simon’s stay, every word and action by every hospital worker. It had been a godsend when the busy staff’s own documentation had been less than perfect.

“Thought about converting it to digital,” Simon said, “putting all my symptoms and exercises in an app. But that jotter is…I dunno, it reminds me of me da and how he was there for me.”

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