Page 7 of Must Love Christmas

“I’m an only child, but I’ve loads of cousins who live nearby in Liverpool. This Christmas I’m going with my parents and my nan to Greece to visit family. We do it every five years.”

“That sounds amazing.” Garen felt triumphant at having extracted three sentences in a row. Simon seemed the sort of man who was hard to get to know, and Garen relished the challenge of drawing him out of his shell.

Not only was he curious about Simon, but he also enjoyed his Liverpool accent, though it wasn’t heavy. Maybe he was modulating the unique, musical “Scouse” for Garen’s ears, or maybe he’d learned to suppress it to appeal to the wider UK job market, which notoriously favored those with southern accents.

“To be honest,” Simon said, “lately it seems Christmas is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I get that.” Garen cradled the takeaway bag as they hurried across the street. “Crowded shops, credit card bills, family expectations. But that’s all the more reason to make Christmas merry in your own way.”

When they reached the pavement on the other side, Simon stopped and turned to Garen, his face soft and thoughtful. “What if I haven’t got my own way?”

Garen grinned up at him. “Then you can share mine.”

* * *

Despite his mistakein choosing the wrong flat, Simon decided to proceed with the interview. He told himself it was just to be polite, but he couldn’t deny Garen was starting to grow on him, in the way an offbeat TV program started to make sense after two or three episodes.

“How do you handle the common space?” he asked as they ate their takeaway at the dining table. “Like this living room here, or the bathroom, or the kitchen?”

Garen looked up from his plate of aloo gobi, eyes wide and seemingly guileless. “‘Handle’?”

“Have you got a schedule for when each flatmate uses these rooms, or is it just squatters’ rights, like whoever’s there gets to stay?”

Garen tapped his fingertips against the pale wooden tabletop, clearly never having considered the matter. “Luca and I just hung out together. Not in the bathroom, obviously, but in the living room and kitchen.” A thought seemed to strike him. “We had a system for the telly, if we wanted to watch different things at the same time. Priority was given to programs needing a big screen—like, sports or a film with special effects and all—and the other person could just watch their own thing on their computer or tablet.” He nodded proudly. “It was a good system.”

Simon picked up the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses, though only Garen’s was empty. “What other systems did you have to keep the peace?”

“For me, the big one is food. My leftovers go in the red plastic containers. Red means stop, as in never, ever steal my food.” He pointed his scrap of paratha bread at Simon. “You can have any other color container.”

“Sound,” Simon said approvingly. Perhaps Garen wasn’t as disorganized as he’d first seemed to be. “It’s good to set boundaries.”

“Anything else I’m happy to share. Like, if you run short of shampoo or soap or whatever, you can use mine.”

Simon had an unbidden image of Garen in the shower, his hair and body covered in suds. “Erm…thanks.” He cleared his throat and picked up his phone to peek at the “30 Questions to Ask a Flatmate” article he’d downloaded yesterday. “Are you a morning person or a night person?”

“I’m a five-forty-five person. Which happens to be right now, so congrats on that.” Garen gave him a thumbs-up.

Simon’s brief attraction was morphing back into annoyance. “It’s important to know whether our schedules mesh. I’m a morning person—”

“There’s a surprise,” Garen murmured.

“—so if you’re making noise late at night, that could be a problem.”

Garen laughed. “‘Making noise’? Are you worried I’m a secret midnight trombonist?”

“Are you?”

“I’m quieter than you might imagine. And my job starts at nine a.m., so I’m a reluctant morning person.” He used the segment of bread to scoop up a piece of bright-yellow cauliflower. “How many more questions are on this list?”

Simon froze. “What list?”

“The one you keep reading off your phone.”

Simon pushed the device away. “I’m not.”

“Wait, are you new to this?” Garen gasped, his jaw dropping in glee. “Am I your first flatmate?”

You’re not my flatmate.“I’ve been living at home until now.” Simon felt defensive, even he knew plenty of people who stayed with their parents past his age of twenty-five.

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