Page 83 of Must Love Christmas

Garen hurried to fold the chair and place it into the taxi’s boot before it got too wet.

Once they were underway, Simon said, “I could’ve gone to the doctor on my own. You didn’t need to miss work.”

“It’s only for a couple of hours, and anyway, I’ve earned plenty of goodwill being the only employee not taking leave for Christmas.” There wasn’t much point—he wasn’t traveling, and the museum was closed Christmas Eve through Boxing Day anyway.

Simon peered out the window at the rain. “Good job we didn’t take the bus.”

“I cannae imagine waiting for one in this weather.”

“And there’s no direct route without transfers,” Simon said.

“Hm, yeah.” Garen set the wet umbrella on the floor of the taxi, then put his foot atop it so he probably wouldn’t forget it.

“But of course you already knew that, didn’t you? My doctor’s office is directly beside the hospital.”

Garen realized Simon was now looking straight at him. He reviewed the last two sentences. “Sorry?”

“When I was in hospital, you told me it was a single short bus trip to get there from home.”

Garen froze. “Did I?” he asked, his voice too high.

“When in fact, it’s a two-hour return trip, including transfers.”

“Interesting. Hey, what if we put a giant spider on the roof of our haunted gingerbread house? We could use a black gumdrop for the body and black licorice for the legs. And draw a big web with icing, of course.”

“Garen.” Simon reached forward and flipped on the taxi’s privacy switch. “Why did you pretend it was easy to visit me in hospital?”

“Erm…” Garen felt his cheeks flare as he searched for the right words. “I didn’t want you to worry or feel guilty. You had enough to deal with.” He lowered his chin so he could hide his face behind his hair. “And I didn’t want you to know how much I cared.”

“Why not?”

“It might’ve scared you away. I mean, not literally, since you couldn’t move, but…” He fidgeted with a loose button of his pine-green raincoat as he spoke. “You might’ve thought, och, this guy’s a bit of a creeper. But it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t trying to woo you or whatever. I just couldn’t stop thinking what it must be like, how scared and frustrated and bored you must have been lying in that hospital bed. I couldn’t switch off those thoughts. I tried, believe me. I tried to focus on myself, like usual. But it didn’t work.” He finally lifted his head to meet Simon’s eyes. “I couldn’t rest until I’d made your hell a wee bit less hellish.”

Simon’s entire face softened. “That’s exactly what you did. I’ll never forget it.”

Garen relaxed into his seat, relieved Simon hadn’t been dismayed by his declaration. “Isn’t it exhausting being with someone who blurts out so much rubbish?”

“Just the opposite. It saves me the energy of wondering what you’re thinking.”

They rode the rest of the way to the doctor’s office in companionable silence, and by the time they arrived, the rain had ceased. They checked in with the receptionist and retreated to a corner of the waiting room where there was space for Simon’s wheelchair.

Garen sifted through a pile of magazines beside him. “Let’s see…archaeology, gardening, multiple sclerosis. These are things I’d never normally think about. I don’t understand people in waiting rooms who just pull out their phones when they could be learning about all these new subjects.”

Simon glanced at him over his phone.

“I don’t mean you,” Garen hurried to add. “You’ve got work correspondence to catch up on.” He opened the archaeology magazine. “That’s one lovely thing about my job—I leave it behind each day when I walk out the door.”

He was halfway through an article about a new discovery at Orkney’s Ness of Brodgar when the nurse called Simon back to see the doctor. Garen instinctively stood to follow.

“You can stay here,” Simon told him.

“I don’t mind.”

“Stay.” Simon wheeled away through the door.

“Okay,” Garen whispered to a now-empty room. He sat down and reopened his magazine, but it took him nearly twenty minutes to finish the article. While his eyes followed the words on the page, his mind wondered what was happening back in the exam room. Was Simon’s progress satisfactory, or would his doctor urge him to move home with his parents or even back into the rehab unit—anywhere but their flat?

At last Simon reappeared, with a folded sheet of paper in his lap and an inscrutable expression on his face.

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