Page 6 of The Night Before Christmas
‘I think I love you,’ he grinned, blue eyes flashing.
CHAPTER FIVE
True to his word,James the Penguin Man did return the next day.
He was respectfully late, presumably to allow Felicity a well-earned Christmas lie-in, but of course she’d already been up three times in the night checking the cats, and had managed to get zero sleep in between on the tiny camp bed the size of a matchstick. So, by the time James knocked on the door at 11am, she felt like a complete wreck. Her hair was beyond unruly, and her mascara was smeared attractively under each eye.Like a sexy panda, thought Felicity with a grimace, as she caught her reflection in the internal window of the puppy room. Despite this, there was an unmistakeable and unexpected bubble of anticipation in her stomach as she opened the door.
This time, he wasn’t dressed as a soggy penguin but a respectable human being with dry hair and everything. He was wearing a navy shirt and smart jeans, and something about his blue eyes made her think instantly of McDreamy fromGrey’s Anatomy. Only blonder, of course. She felt even more of a wreck by comparison in her scruffy ‘Animal Saviours’ T-shirt and old work trousers, but if he thought the same, he didn’t let it show.
If anything, Penguin Man looked rather pleased to see her.
‘Well, good morning,’ he said, a big grin on his face.
She tucked her hair behind her ear as he handed over a familiar-shaped present that was rather shonkily wrapped in cheap foil paper.
‘I thought you hated Christmas?’ she said, feeling slightly betrayed.
‘I do,’ he said, quickly. ‘But you’ll forgive me when you see what it is.’
She ripped the wrapping off to reveal a tin of Quality Street.
‘Bloody fantastic,’ she said, touched that he had remembered. ‘I don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said, pulling another parcel from the enormous bag for life at his feet.
The cheap paper this time revealed a box of cat food.
‘It’s all I could get from the dodgy newsagents on Bell Street. It’s some sort of bank holiday today, apparently.’
She smiled. ‘No, don’t worry, that’s super thoughtful. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to see them?’
James grinned and strode past her towards the nursery. ‘Why else do you think I came?’
They peered down at the two balls of fluff, who were snoozing contentedly in their basket in the middle of the room. Even little Bobby Charlton was asleep, tucked up in his favourite blanket in the corner of the cage, snoring gently.
‘Typical,’ hissed Felicity. ‘They’ve been up mucking about all night and waking me up with their noisiness every five minutes and now when you get here, they’re flipping asleep. But don’t you dare wake them!’ she added quickly, as James went to poke the mother with a finger.
‘It’s so tempting, though,’ he said, hastily retracting his finger. ‘Just look at that.’
They gazed at the sleeping pile of cat in companionable silence. Now that the baby had been thoroughly cleaned by mum, she looked less like a dirty cotton ball and more like a kitten, and there were even tiny glimpses of what looked like ginger fur emerging. The mother, meanwhile, had patches of black and ginger all over her body, except for one white leg and a tiny white bib under her chin that just made you want to reach out and touch.
When Felicity spoke again it was in a whisper, afraid to break the moment.
‘What shall we name the mother then? She’s stunning. Tortoiseshell, I think.’
‘Is that what you call that colour? She’s beautiful. I have no idea about a name though,’ said James, thinking very deeply. After a beat he continued, ‘Wait. It’s coming to me…’
Felicity shrugged. ‘I hope so. I’m out of ideas. I can only think of one woman in the whole ofDie Hard.’
James looked triumphant, as if she’d read his mind. ‘Gennaro. That’s it. As in, Holly Gennaro. Or is that a bit geeky? She could be Gennie for short.’
‘I love it,’ she said, a bit too intensely.
They stared at each other for a moment. Felicity pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling awkward.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time for Christmas lunch. M&S style.’
The dingy office managed to look a tiny bit cosy once they’d laid a blanket on the floor and nicked the bedding from thestowaway bed from hell. Felicity – face washed and hair hastily finger-brushed – laid out the M&S banquet, which seemed rather meagre now it was stretched to feed two, but James proudly produced his contribution, consisting of a crate of beer, a family sized box of (genuine) Maltesers and an enormous bag of (imitation) Doritos, and they tucked in happily.
