Chapter 13

The day before I was leaving for Norway, James dropped by with his Christmas gift. It was a big, flat squared box that rattled faintly when I shook it. In return he received a rectangle box that didn't rattle at all. He didn't stay long, as he was in a typical pre-Christmas state of manic stress, having things to sort out and gifts to buy. We said hurried goodbyes and my door slammed shut in front of me. I realised I might not see him again for weeks, and already missed him.

            Going back to Norway was like going back to a different, but familiar life. Having moved to England had been like starting afresh, nobody knew me, or thought they knew me, and nobody knew my history. Hence nobody had any prejudices or misconceptions about me, I was a blank page and could just be who I wanted to be. It was nice seeing my dad, my siblings and my nephews and nieces again, I understood how much I had missed them. And looking at the kids to whom I was an aunt, I realised just how fast time flies. I hadn't been gone for more than three and a half months, but they'd grown and changed so much. Even though I had missed my family, it didn't take long before I missed England again. I missed London, I missed my job, my colleagues and the patients, and most of all I missed James.

            I was a good girl and held off unwrapping James' present for a long time. I let my nieces and nephews unwrap theirs, and we got them all to bed. Then it was the adults' turn, and we took turns unwrapping presents. My sister Elin and her husband Ken, my brother Eric and his wife Marianne, my dad and me. James' present was the last one in the pile, and everyone looked at me, wondering who it was from. I answered that it was my best mate back in England, and unwrapped it nervously. On top was an old, battered piano note-book. "Classical piano for beginners". I opened it, and there was a message hand-written on the first page. "This was my first piano book, I had it when I started learning. It's never too late to start playing again. Maybe your mum would even want you to? You're always welcome to come rehearse at my place. X James." The thought had never even occurred to me, that my mum would probably want me to start playing again, that she'd be happy to hear me play again. And I realised he was right, and I wanted to start playing again right now. Surprised I found myself having to swallow hard and make an effort not to cry. Underneath the battered piano book was a thick vinyl box set. The front said "Tom Waits - Orphans; Bawlers, Brawlers & Bastards." I'd wanted this set for ages, this particular album set was my absolute favourite by Tom Waits and I knew I'd said so to James, although I couldn't remember when. I didn't know what I had expected, but it certainly wasn't this. It was perfect. It was something I wanted, but not something I had specifically asked for, he had just paid attention at the right time. James had even admitted to having listened to Tom Waits quite a bit after he'd heard it from me. And the piano book meant so much to me, it was a long time since I'd been so touched by anything anyone had given me.

            The next day I got a message from James, late in the afternoon. It was a phone picture of him, with one of his sister, apparently outside, and he was wearing one of my presents for him. I had spent most of my quiet evening shifts, and boring evenings at home, knitting a huge scarf for him. It was stripey and resembled the scarf the fourth Doctor Who had worn. His cheeks were red from cold, but he looked happy, and handsome being bundled up in the big, fluffy scarf. I had also given him two books by Jared Diamond, the one about social evolution as well as the one about sex, just to throw him off a bit. The message said "Loved your presents, best gifts I had all Xmas. Sex-book slightly embarrassing in front of parents, though, even if I am a grown man. Have a good Christmas, come home soon. Hugs." The fact that he had written "come home soon" made me smile, because London suddenly felt just as much like home as Norway did. I enjoyed being home, catching up with the family and meeting a few friends, sleeping in and not having to go to work or school. But it didn't take long before I felt restless and uneasy, like I was out of place. Secretly I wanted to book a flight back and go to Richard's New Years Eve party, but I didn't have the heart to leave so soon. So I didn't book a flight back until January 3rd, which meant I still I had 9 days off when I got back to London. The day before New Years, when I'd finally managed to come to a decision and book that flight, I decided to call James.

"Frozen to death yet?" Was the first thing he said.

"Almost. Steady minus 20 outside, I'm spending most of my time by the oven in the living room as if I was an arthritic dog," I muttered sourly.

"Balmy plus three over here," he said, sounding gleeful.

"Gee, thanks. Listen, I just called to say I'm not going back to London just yet. Could you let Richard know I'm not coming to his party? I don't have his number. And tell him I'm sorry, I would've loved to be there. I just think they'd be a bit miffed over here if I left so soon."

"Oh, all right. I'll let him know." He did a bad job of hiding the disappointment in his voice.

"So, how are you? Had a good Christmas so far?" I changed the subject.

"Yeah, it's been good. Quiet. Had way too much fruit cake, I'm getting fat," he fretted.

"Aw, is mum spoiling you rotten?" I teased.

"Just a bit. I had to get out of there before I couldn't get into my jeans. Am in the garage now, just.. fiddling. Going down to Hammond's tomorrow, going to help a bit with preparations."

"That's nice of you. Believe me, I would rather be there than here. I'm just..."

"... Too nice to let anyone down," he finished.

"Yeah... something like that."

"Apart from being cold, how has your Christmas been then?"

"Much like yours, quiet and with too much food. Met up with some friends and such. Played around in the snow with my nieces and nephews, lost a snowball fight badly. Sat down by mum's old piano and played a bit, actually."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm. It's a bit out of tune though, drives me mad." For a moment the line went quiet. "I won't disturb your fiddling anymore. Just wanted to let you know about the party."

"You're not disturbing me. When are you coming back?"

"January 3rd. But I'm not going back to work until the 12th so I'm trying to come up with something to do in the meantime. I should see more of England really, I've hardly seen any of it. Maybe I should just.. go on trains all around the country, or rent a car. I can't sit still for over a week in my apartment..."

"Sounds like a good idea?"

"Anyway, sorry for ranting. You have fun at the party, all right? Say hi to people from me, wish everyone a happy new year."

"All right, I will."

"And no one get hurt or start bleeding, I won't be around to fix it."

"Are you worrying about me, now?" James' voice gave away that he was smiling.

"Just a bit."

"I like that..." He fell silent for a moment, then seemed to rally himself. "Listen, enjoy the rest of your time in Norway and with your family."

"I'll try," I sighed unhappily.

"Is it that bad?"

"I don't know, I'm probably just a miserable git, I feel like the Grinch. I'm restless, and most of all fucking cold all the time, and I miss my flat, and London, and proper beer, and you, and..." Wait, what? Did I just say that? I swallowed hard, trying to get my heart down back into my chest. It wouldn't budge. I couldn't breathe, and in that millisecond of silence I panicked and even thought about just hanging up. Thankfully, James' voice came through and pulled me back from a full blown panic attack.

"Well, for what it's worth... I miss you too."

"...yeah?" I breathed nervously, sounding hopeful.

"Yeah, I do," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say for him. He fell silent for a while, and when he started talking again he sounded different, as if he was in a hurry to get off the phone."It's just for another few days, you'll be back here in no time. I'll see you when you get back, all right?"

"I.. yeah, I'm sure you're right," I said, too perplex to know what to answer. This wasn't how I'd wanted the conversation to continue. How could he just say he missed me too, just like that, and not say anything else? "I'll.. see you in a few days, I guess."

 "You will. Bye, Emily."

"All right. Bye, James." The line went silent. I stared at my phone for a minute, still flummoxed by the end to that conversation. My mind was going into analyzing overdrive, calculating all possible variables; inflection, choice of words, pauses. In the end I concluded that he'd just meant "like a friend". He missed me as a friend. It was a perfectly legitimate thing to say to a good friend, wasn't it? Saying you missed them? Yeah, that had to be it. I cursed myself for getting excited, for thinking he meant it differently.

Everyone was going to my brother's house for New Years eve. Eric lived close to my dad's house, where I had been staying the past week. His apartment was over my dad's auto garage, it had a 2nd floor balcony and would have a much better view of the fireworks being launched in my tiny, rural town. We had a big, noisy family dinner where my two nieces and two nephews got most of the attention, which suited me fine. I was brooding, and trying to hide it. I hated New Years Eve, I had for as long as I could remember. After my mum had died, I'd spent quite a few New Years Eve's on my own, because my dad was a fireman and always got called out about thirty minutes to midnight, when the first rocket veered off into a nearby house. Everyone was always so cheerful and in a party-mood, talking about a new year, fresh starts and new opportunities. But all I could feel was melancholy. Another year passed and I often felt like I hadn't gone anywhere. Nothing had really happened, apart from another year going by. Even though a lot had happened in the past few years, I'd finished my education, done my stint in Syria, and had now moved to a different country and had a new job. A lot had happened, if I just thought it over. But something was still missing. I was missing my mum. And my mate who had died. And this year I was missing James, too, and he was alive. He just wasn't here. And knowing he missed me, in whatever way he meant it, just made it worse. My family was used to my moods and just left me alone, I'd spent all my teenage years being the very definition of an angst-ridden teenager. And they knew how I felt about New Year's as well. I managed to keep my brooding to a minimum as long as the kids were awake, but when they weren't around to distract me anymore it all became too much. I wasn't enjoying myself, I just wanted to be alone in my New Years misery, and decided to go back to dad's house. I made an excuse about not feeling well and having a banging headache, but they probably knew I was just a bit miserable and wanted peace and quiet. Hopefully they had learned not to take it personally by now, too. I made the half mile walk back, bundled in my enormous down jacket, listening to music on my iPod. It felt good to walk, even if it was freezing cold, or maybe because it was. It cleared my thoughts a bit. And it made coming inside, into the dark warmth of dad's living room, so much better. I curled up in his big, comfy recliner with a glass of warm, mulled wine. The only lights on in the room was the lights on the Christmas tree, the fire burning in the stove, and the window decorations. I sighed loudly to myself, turned on Pink Floyd and drew the blanket a little closer around me. Not exactly Christmas music, but the song had some good memories. In a moment of insanity I tried calling James. The phone was turned off. He was probably too busy drinking in a huge castle up in Herefordshire. I realised that even in my own private thoughts, I sounded bitter. I allowed myself to wallow in jealous thoughts for a bit, imagining James surrounded by gorgeous, party-clad women in a romantic Christmas castle in the countryside. I felt that awful sting in my chest that comes from jealousy, from hurt and longing. I turned the negative emotions inwards, directed them at myself. I had let my feelings for James become too strong and now I was paying the price for letting my heart run away with me. It wasn't his fault - he'd never made any promises, or done anything to make me believe he had feelings for me. Or had he? He'd just been there, hadn't he, been a good mate. This wasn't the first time I had confused up the two, the love of a friend and the love of a lover. I always misread signals, thinking no one could be that nice or caring without feeling something... more. Dully I thought that I was so used to taking care of myself, as soon as anyone else seemed to try to I was ready to marry them.

I had been slumbering in my chair when my phone woke me up. It was 11.30, and it was my sister calling to check up on me. She told me they were about to wake the kids up to get them dressed and ready to go outside for the fireworks.

"Really, waking children up at this hour only to drag them out in minus twenty sounds more like child torture than being good parents," I mused.

"I distinctly remember doing it to you when you were four, and I was fifteen. And you fucking loved it," she shot back. Ah, the joy of having siblings over a decade older than you. She wished me a happy new year in advance, from her and everyone else, and hung up. With a sigh I got out of dad's cushy chair. As melancholic as the whole concept of New Years' made me, I liked the fireworks, they were still kind of magical to me. So I decided I had to go outside to see them. I laboriously got into my down jacket and thermal ski-pants, put on wool socks and huge snow-boots. Even if it took ages, I had decided I was too old to freeze my arse off, not when I had clothes to prevent it. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, pulled on a big, woolly hat and mittens and waddled outside. The chill hit me like a prickly wall, but for now I could only feel it on my face. The upside of icy cold nights like these were that they were the clearest, most beautiful nights you could imagine; the stars were twinkling, the sky was black and the first fireworks were already going off in the distance with a dull wheeze and a crack. I just stood there, in the snow, staring up at the skies. A mixture of warm clothing and mulled wine kept me warm. My mind wandered, back to the familiar melancholic thoughts I always had on New Year's eve. To my past life, to friends I'd had, and grown apart from, and whom I missed. To old boyfriends, and to those I wished had become so. To old choices, and regrets and what ifs. But most of all I thought about my mum, wondering for the millionth time what my life would've looked like if she hadn't died. Different, was the only answer I had found so far, and the only answer I probably would ever get. Inevitably I thought about my friend, my soul brother and lover, despairing in the unfairness of having lost him. Why did everyone important in my life have to disappear? Then I rallied, realising how defeatist and self-pitying I sounded. Neither my mum or my mate would've been impressed with this way of thinking, and would probably have told me to get over it and get a life. While throwing snowballs at me. Even when gone, they were my biggest supporters.

"I miss you, mum. And I miss you, mate. Happy New Year's, guys." I mumbled at the skies. Something closed around my shoulders from behind, hugging me at the same time as I heard a familiar voice.
"What about me, then?" I froze, more out of shock than out of fright. Looking down I could see jacket-clad arms with mittens wrapped around me. Skin brushed against mine, a cheek I could have sworn I had felt against mine before. I wanted to turn around, but the arms were holding me tight.

"James...?" I breathed, my voice had abandoned me.

"Happy new year, Emily," he said softly in my ear, and kissed my cheek. I squealed with joy as the realisation hit me, that he was really here. Right then he couldn't have held me back no matter how much he tried - I spun around in his arms and clapped my arms around him, clinging on to him for dear life. I didn't ever want to let go, as if by letting go he'd disappear again somehow, like some figment of my hypothermic hallucinations. The hug was slightly ruined by the fact that we were both wearing huge down jackets, it felt like hugging a duvet wrapped in a sleeping bag. But his cheek against mine, even if he was cold - I could feel that. I had a million questions, but for now just hugging him was more than enough.

"Happy new year, James," I whispered against his cheek when I finally found my voice again. His lips brushed over my cheek in search for my mouth, and he kissed me gently. I prayed that he kept holding me tight, because I was sure my legs wouldn't carry me anymore. His lips disappeared, and I opened my eyes to look into his for the first time that night.

"That would've felt so much nicer if I could actually feel something, but my face is too frozen," I giggled and leaned my forehead against his.

"Couldn't feel a thing," he said, half amused and half sad. He was bundled in the scarf I had knitted for him, but shivered all the same. "Emily, I am so cold, can we please go inside now?" He pleaded.

"Yeah, me too, let's go." We stomped through the snow towards the house. James snatched up an overnight bag that he'd  left on top of the stairs as we entered the house, and the question of where the hell he'd come from flitted across my mind. The hallway felt like a sauna compared to outside, and I tore off mittens and my woolly hat as soon as I came inside, then started to peel off my winter clothing. James had been sensible enough to put on a down jacket like I had, and a pair of mittens and the scarf, but for some reason that was as far as his reasonableness went. Jeans just wasn't going to cut it in minus 20. Despite being inside, and having shed cold clothes, I still felt freezing, and James could only feel worse. The fire was still going in the stove, and I shoved a few more logs of wood in. Then I pushed the big, cushy recliner to what had been my permanent spot all Christmas; closer to the oven "Go on, sit, warm up." I pointed at the chair, and James sank down on it, stretching his arms towards the heat.

"I'd forgotten how cold minus twenty is," he shivered.

"Kind of amazing, considering you've been to the actual North Pole."

".. in a slightly warm car," he pointed out. I picked up a fleece blanket from the sofa and threw it at him.

"Want me to make some tea or something?" I asked, standing in front of James but facing the oven, also trying to revive frozen hands.

"No, just... come here," he said, impatiently tugging at my arm, pulling me closer.

"James, I.. we both can't fit in that," I giggled, but I didn't really put up much of a fight. Awkwardly I crawled into the big chair and came to rest against him, head resting on his shoulder.

"See? Works for me," he said softly and pulled the blanket over both of us. For a while we just lay there, curled up together, feeling the life and warmth slowly trickle back into our arms and legs. All I could hear was the crackle of the fire, the odd very late firework going off in the distance, and James' steady breathing. His arm was wrapped around me, holding me close. My hand was resting on his chest, sometimes fiddling absentmindedly with the zipper on his knit jumper. His free hand closed over mine, and we watched as our fingers and hands explored and played with each other, getting to know how to feel each other. Suddenly I remembered all the questions I had.

"James?"

"Mm..?" He hummed, his fingers brushing slowly over my palm, light as feathers.

"I.. Why.. How...?" I began, not managing to decide which question to ask first. I sighed, and started over. "Ok, first things first. How did you get here?"

"I caught the last plane to Oslo out of Heathrow. I landed about 8, rented a car with sat-nav."

"But how did you find me?"

"Before I left I called up one of the researchers at the Top Gear office, gave him your full name and your brother's name, and told him to find your address."

"What if he hadn't found it?"

"In the end I would have had to call you and ask, wouldn't I? I knew you couldn't be a million miles away from Oslo. Or I hoped, anyway."

"And then?"

"Steve down at the office had found your brother's address, and your dad's." I just looked at him, waiting for him to go on. "So I drove here, trusting in blind luck, really," he finished with a shrug.

"I...," I began, but my voice failed me again. Even now, with his arm wrapped around me, curled up in his lap, I couldn't believe that he was here, holding me. Couldn't fathom that he'd done such a crazy thing, that the controlled, methodical James I knew had just jumped on a flight hoping he'd find me somehow. I wanted to ask him why, what had made him come here. Maybe he read the question in my eyes, because he never had to ask it.

"On the phone... You sounded sad. I was missing you, thinking about you constantly. And when you said you missed me, too... I couldn't get that out of my head, it was driving me mad, wondering...  So I just had to see you."

"I didn't mean to say that to you. That I missed you. It just... slipped out. And after, I kept over-analysing, wondering in what way you were missing me."

"So, basically we were like two confused, insecure teenagers?" James summarised.

"I guess. I just didn't... know how you felt, and I had all these..." I drew a deep breath, preparing to finally say it out loud. "...All these feelings for you and was just scared I'd get rejected and end up losing you as a mate on top of everything." I talked quickly, as if to get it over with faster. Even though James had come all this way, even if he'd hugged me and kissed me, telling him I had feelings for him was still nerve-wracking.

"Like I said, insecure teenagers," he repeated with a little smile and ran his hand gently over my hair. The warmth in his smile made my stomach swoop with giddy happiness, and I broke out into a huge grin.

"I still can't believe you're actually here."

"I'm not sure I can, either," James admitted. "But I'm glad I'm here."

"I am, too." I buried my face against his neck, taking in his scent, and he hugged me closer. "You do realise that you coming here means you will probably have to meet the family? And even.. the parent?" I teased.

"It did cross my mind, actually. But I wouldn't let a thing like that deter me," he shrugged.

"Wow, you must've really, really wanted to see me."

"I was desperate..." he sighed, giving me a long, hard look. He caressed my cheek and cupped my face in his hand, caressing me gently with his thumb. He broke the silence with a little smile. "Can you feel your face yet?" I was only able to nod slowly, bracing for what might come next. With his hand still on my face he pulled me in closer, but stopped a few inches away from me, peering at me searchingly. It was as if he needed one more reassurance that I really wanted this. Unable to bear it any longer I closed my eyes and pressed my nervous lips against his. I could feel it this time, warm and soft lips against mine, returning my kiss, a little nervous at first. My hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck, and I tangled my fingers into his hair. I had wanted to play with his hair for so long, feel it between my fingers. We kissed slowly and tenderly, savouring every second of this moment that had been lying between us for ages, an inevitability just waiting to happen. I knew that now. That no matter how insecure we'd been about each other and our feelings, this would have happened sooner or later, it was just supposed to. We smiled at each other as we broke apart, and I caressed the side of his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. After a moment I realised I was just staring sappily at him, grinning stupidly, and blushed. I kissed him and rested against his shoulder again. A silence came over us in which we just enjoyed our closeness, enjoyed finally being certain of what we felt for each other.

"You know, I hate New Years," I mumbled quietly, fiddling with a lock of his hair.

"What? Why?" He asked and kissed my forehead. And I told him why; what New Years meant to me, about the melancholy and sadness it made me feel, about the people I missed, how it always made me feel empty and miserable.

"It just made feel like... Something was always missing in my life," I finished. James had listened quietly, running his hand down my back every now and then, or kissed my forehead. "But this New Years Eve..." I said and sat up slightly to look at him. "This one turned out to be a good one. For the first time since I can remember, I don't feel like I'm missing something. Because what I need is right here with me." James stared at me in silence for a while, seemingly too stunned for words. Instantly I worried that I'd gone too far, that I'd said too much and made him feel awkward or smothered, and I looked away. He noticed my insecurity and took my face in his hand again, making me look at him.

"That is why I had to come here," he said simply. "Because I need you, too." Words to express what I felt at that moment didn't exist, all I could to was hug him tightly and give him a long, lingering kiss which he returned, hugging me closer. Suddenly a question popped into my head and I kissed him one last time and then looked at him quizzically.

"What the hell did you say to Hammond and the others? You must've told them something, since you didn't show up at his New Year's Party?"

"I tried to come up with a good lie, or at least a decent and plausible excuse. In the end I just called Hammond and said that I had to be somewhere, and that I wouldn't if it wasn't important. He seemed to understand that it was important to me, at least. Wonder what he told the others..." He mused, looking a bit worried.

"I can't even begin to imagine," I laughed. James' phone suddenly came to life, vibrating in his pocket and he fished it out awkwardly.

"Speaking of," he mumbled. "Just passed midnight in England. Got a message from Hamster." We read the message together. "Happy New Year's, mate, whatever you're up to. From all of us."

"Aaw," I crooned, smirking. "You're arguing and taking the piss out of each other on the telly, but really you're just big softies."

"That is a state secret, Emily. You know you'll never be safe again now, right?" He said, amazingly keeping a straight face, which he rarely managed to keep for long.

"The ninjas will follow my every move now, I know." I rolled my eyes at him, and typically he cracked first and chuckled. I kissed him quickly and rested into his shoulder again. Sitting in this chair, so close to the fire and under a blanket was getting way too hot, but I couldn't muster up the will to move from him. "James? If we can get tickets, can we go back to London tomorrow?" I asked suddenly. He looked at me, surprised.

"But I thought you wanted to stay with your family a few more days?"

"I did. But then you showed up. And.. as much as I love my family, it's not necessarily them I want to spend time with right now. I want to be with you, and just you, and not have my dad and kids running around."

"You just want to get out of having to introduce me to them," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Oh no, you're not getting out of meeting them, you'll have to say hello," I teased back, poking his chest. "But I'd rather just... we said hello and goodbye and then fucked off to someplace where it'll be just you and me, instead of hanging around with them for days."

"Speaking of your family, where are they? This is your dad's house, right?"

"Yeah, they're all at my brother's, not far from here. Dad decided to stay up there too, he couldn't be arsed to do the half-mile walk at 1am."

"Oh, right. Of course we can go back to London, if that's what you want. I really don't mind where we are," he said sincerely. I grinned widely at him and gave him a grateful kiss, then scrambled out of the chair. "Come on, let's see if there's any flights out of this frozen pit." James trailed behind me into what had once been my old bedroom. These days it was mostly a guest room, but it still bore signs of when it had been my teenage dungeon of angst; some posters on the walls, stickers on the closet doors, CDs I'd left behind. My laptop was charging on my bed, and I sat down on it with legs crossed and opened the computer. I felt the bed give way slightly as James sat down behind me on the bed and wrapped his arms around me. Having left the warmth of the blanket, the oven and James' body, I felt a bit chilly, and he apparently did too. He hugged me, resting his chin on my shoulder and watched as I surfed for flight tickets. Despite being a day where a lot of people returned from the holidays, we had a few options.

"Ooh, can we take this one, at 3pm? That way we'll have to leave here by like... noon, it won't be so late when we get back to London and I'll get out of boring family lunch as well!" I said, clapping with childish excitement.

"All right, fine by me," James said, amused at my eagerness to get out of a family event. I booked the tickets quickly and closed the computer. "That means we're leaving in... ten hours." He looked at his watch.

"And I need to pack first." I turned around to face him. "Aw, poor thing, you're probably exhausted, you've taken a flight and driven here..." I said sympathetically, caressing his cheek. "How about I make some sandwiches, if you're hungry, and then we get some sleep? I'll pack in the morning."

"Sounds perfect," he smiled tiredly, and I wrapped my arms around him and we collapsed backwards on the bed in a shower of kisses and giggles. Tearing myself away from James I got out bed and made some quick sandwiches that we had in the kitchen. I wrote a quick message to my sister, telling her to call me when she got up. I knew I would have some explaining to do, and some excuses to make in the morning. It was already 2.30 by the time we crawled back into bed. James sank down on the bed next to me, stretched out an arm and pulled me as close as he could. I rested my head against his shoulder again and kissed his neck softly.

"I still can't believe you're really here," I whispered against his skin. He answered with his lips, but not in words. The kiss he gave me was so heartfelt and full of love, no one had ever kissed me like that.

"Believe it now?"

"Mm, not sure... If I'm dreaming or hallucinating, I hope I never snap out of it," I mumbled, already feeling drowsy.

"Hm. Well, I can spend days trying to convince you, I don't mind," he offered. We chuckled and shared one last good-night kiss, then drifted off to sleep. 

Chapter 12

The pneumonia was a tough bastard, and recovery was incredibly slow. The doctor had been right to give me a full week's worth of sick leave. By the end of it I still didn't feel like a hundred percent, but my blood tests were good and the doctor let me go back to work, provided I didn't take on any extra shifts, and tried to take it easy. James had been checking up on me, and had dropped by in the afternoon a few times when he wasn't busy outside of London. I kept arguing he didn't have to, as I was only getting better. But despite myself I liked it, and spent most of my days that week at home hoping I'd hear a knock on the door.

             With me going back to work, and James being busy either filming down in Guildford or doing interviews and meetings, we didn't have the time to see each other for over two weeks, leading up to the Christmas party. It was being in a big, fancy hotel where they'd rented the entire bar, lounge and dining area. Thankfully ball gowns weren't required, but it was a "frocks and suits" kind of event, which had resulted in me having to go buy a proper dress. And high heels. The party was for everyone who worked with Top Gear, from researchers and scriptwriters to production crew, along with all kinds of people associated with the show - reps from car companies, people from the stunt and special effects industry, expert mechanics. In short, it would be a big party with a wonderful assortment of different people. I hadn't been at a party, or had to dress up for one, for what felt like years - I felt most comfortable in a nurse's uniform.

            After my colleague Cathy had spoken to James on the phone she had been very curious as to who this soft-spoken man who had been taking care of me was. So I told her about who he was, how we met, and that he'd become a good friend. Not much about James revealed that he was a major celebrity in England, apart from a nice house and some very extravagant cars in his garage. When we spent time together it was mostly just the two of us, and when we had been out and about in public, I hadn't noticed much fuss around him, apart from a few people wanting to say hi or get an autograph. Which was absurd for me every time. But even so, I had kept my friendship with James quiet, not wanting people from work or school to know that I knew him quite well. I had no experience in being the friend of someone "famous" and had no idea what to expect, or how to deal with it. But now Cathy knew. She'd been surprised, and pretended to be offended that I hadn't told her. Personally she wasn't interested in cars, or in any of the presenters, she was happily married and found much amusement in teasing me for being mates with a man "who could be your dad". I had also told her about being invited to the Christmas party, which left her the only person I could drag along for dress-shopping. She didn't come willingly, and after hours of me rejecting dress after dress, mumbling constant criticisms of my body and of dresses in general, she broke out laughing.

"Why is this such a big thing for you?" She looked amused and exasperated. "I've never seen you be this ambivalent about anything, apart from which cupcake to choose in the cafeteria. You're falling apart!"
"This is a big thing, Cathy!" I shouted, getting into dress number twenty-three of the day. "This place is going to be crowded with like... rich people and business people and their snooty little wives. And the press might be there, and I have never been to a thing like this. It's terrifying!"

"Okay, when you put it like that...," she said, having turned serious. Eventually I settled on a dress, a blue silky one with an a-line, pleated, knee-length skirt. Underneath it was a strapless, but it had a see-through lace bodice and three-quarter sleeves, and a big silky bow tied at the waist. The bow made it cute, but the lace and the skirt length weighed up for that, making it sexier. When I mentioned shoes, Cathy nearly cried. Luckily it didn't take long to find a pair of high-heeled blue pumps to go with it.

Typically, I got held up at work the day of the Christmas party. Going into work that day was a bad idea on the whole, I probably would've been better off staying home, relaxing. To make matters worse a patient, a young woman with cancer I'd known since I started working in London, suddenly took a turn for the worse, chemotherapy was getting the better of her. She was terrified, alone and sick, I knew she trusted me and I didn't have the heart to leave her. I sat on a high-backed chair by her bedside, just keeping her company as she tried to work her way through pain and nausea. Surreptitiously I glanced at my watch, but nothing got past her, even in her state she was eerily observant.

"Didn't your shift end like an hour ago?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, it did, but don't worry about that."
"You keep checking your watch. You're supposed to be somewhere." It wasn't a statement, just an indisputable observation.

"Mm, yeah.." I admitted. "At a big, fancy Christmas party. At a poncy hotel."

"With tuxes and dresses and champagne?" She smiled weakly.

"The whole shebang," I returned the smile.

"What does your dress look like?"

"Want to see a photo?" She nodded, and I fished my phone out of my pocket to find photos of it. She started at it for a long time, longingly, with a sad smile.

"It's pretty, you will look gorgeous in that. I want you to go to the party," she said determinedly. "Go and look gorgeous, have champagne and dance with handsome men in tuxes. As long as you promise to live a bit for me, as well." I tried to protest, but she wouldn't hear it. "It's bad enough I'm stuck in here, it's a waste having you stuck in here as well. Just promise to take photos and tell me everything."

"I'll tell you what I can remember," I winked and patted her arm. Cancer patients would never stop amazing me, their strength and wisdom, and how they could change your perspective on things.

James had offered to get me a ride to the party, but I had said no, insisting I'd get a taxi. Now that I was running late I was glad I had. I noted that I was nearly an hour late when I got into the taxi and gave the driver the address. My heart was beating wildly, I felt hot and flustered and the drive to the hotel was over too soon. I didn't feel ready. As gracefully as I could in a short dress and high heels I got out of the taxi, having paid the driver. The pavement outside the hotel was crowded with security people, limo drivers having cigarettes outside their cars, chatting to each other, and of course a small pack of photographers. The photographers all peered at me, but quickly lost interest when they realised I was a nobody. The security men took an interest as well, but lazily waved me along when I held up my invitation.. Nervously I ascended the wide, stone stairs to the hotel. Apart from a long hotel clerk the lobby was empty. I came to a halt in the middle of it, looking around, feeling intimidated and lost.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah maybe. I'm supposed to be at this Christmas party, I'm late, and..."

"Ah!" The hotel clerk lit up, and immediately showed me the way. More stern-looking security men looked at me sourly as I approached a huge, heavy wooden double-door. I could hear muffled music, chatting and laughter seeping through it. Shakily I held up my invitation again and he opened the door without even looking at me. I entered another, smaller lobby where two women in what looked like uniforms greeted me from behind a desk with stiff smiles.
"Can we take your coat, madam?" They asked politely, probably as a response to my confused expression.
"Yes, thank you," I said and slipped out of my black trenchcoat, handing it to one of the women, and I recieved a stub with a number on in return. On the other end of the lobby was another double-door, and taking pity on me one of the women nodded encouraginly at me and then in the direction of the door. I drew a deep breath, straightened myself up and walked through the door. The room beyond was darker, and big, and full of people. They were milling around, holding different glasses according to what they drank, standing or sitting on little sofa-groups chatting. A wide doorway lead onto an even bigger room with more tables, sofas and chairs, and what looked like a dancefloor at the far end. Each room had a big bar. I looked around, scanning the crowd for faces I knew, but I didn't recognise anyone and I felt alone, stupid and anxious. The bar was calling me enticingly, promising how it could soothe my nerves. At least a glass in my hands would give me something to fiddle with. I walked over and asked one of the bartenders for a glass of wine. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice beside me.
"A pint and a cuba libre, thanks mate." I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Richard!" I exclaimed. He looked quickly at me, then did a double take.
"Good lord! Emily?"
"Hello!" I smiled, never been happier to have seen a familiar face.
"Welcome! Wow, you look great, I didn't recognise you!" He smiled and gave me a quick hug. Our drinks arrived, and I seized my glass of red wine and had a swig. "Come on, you have to meet the missus!" He said happily and nearly dragged me through the crowd. A short, blonde slightly bushy-haired woman stood on her own, looking as lonely as I had felt a minute ago. "Mindy! Meet Emily!" Richard said, handing the drink over to her. We shook hands, and Richard quickly recounted the story of how we'd met down in Syria.
"So how did you end up here in England?" Mindy asked.
"I'm taking a class in Tropical Nursing at London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. It's part-time so I'm working at  University College Hospital most of the time."
"Tropical nursing?" She raised an eyebrow at me.
"Yeah, most humanitarian organisations require that medical staff has that course if they're going to work in third world countries. I've been to Kenya and Uganda, many years ago, and would love to go back someday to work, if just for a little while. Going to Syria didn't change that, I'd still like to do aid work."
"That's really... admirable," Mindy began.
"She went to do aid work and ended up patching together a British tosspot," Richard laughed.
"Who are you calling tosspot?" Jeremy came stomping out from nowhere, having only heard the last sentence of the conversation.
"Not you, for once!" Richard said, even a little surprised himself. Then he pointed at me. "Look, it's Emily!" Jeremy eyed me up and down a few times.
"Wow. You clean up pretty good." He smiled sincerely, and I recognised the comment for what it truly was, even if it didn't seem like it; a nice compliment.
"Thank you, Jeremy. You don't look half-bad yourself," I winked, and he chuckled.
"Have any of you seen the last oaf?" Jeremy scanned the crowd quickly. We all shook our heads. Jeremy's wife Francie joined us and we were introduced. Mindy quickly told her the story from Syria, and before long we were all chatting about work, hobbies and all the normal things people small-talk about. Jeremy got me another glass of wine when the first one was empty. I smiled, laughed, answered questions and was polite, but I was scanning the crowds around me constantly on the look-out for James.

"Hammond, we better mingle a bit," Jeremy said in a business-like tone, and Hammond murmured his agreement. Francie announced she better come with them, to keep them in line and behaving. "You two be all right on your own?" Jeremy asked.

"Yeah I think we'll survive," Mindy said carelessly and we waved them off. She had another sip of her drink and then looked at me curiously. "So, what about you then?"

"Bwuh?"

"Well, now you met us all, the husbands and wives. What's your story, then? Have any significant other? A boyfriend?"

"What? I.. No, I.." I stammered, flustered. How hard could it be to just answer "no"? It was a simple question, and it had a simple answer.

"What about James, then?" She asked innocently, raising one eyebrow. She's a witch. What is it with these people and direct questions?

"I, um... no, no boyfriend. James and I, we're.. He's a good mate," I stuttered. "Besides, James is dating someone, isn't he." It wasn't a question, more of a general observation.

"Is he? Maybe, I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I know he was, for a little bit, that that was over quickly. The only one I've heard him talk about lately is you."  I had one of those heart-stopping, stomach-swooping moments. My first instinct was to grab her by the shoulders and shake her vigorously, begging her to recount anything and everything he might've said about me. She looked at me pointedly, and I struggled with how to reply.

"Oh?" I tried to act calm and somewhat surprised, but I was sure she looked right through me. I was thinking frantically, trying to think of a response, but just as I opened my mouth to speak Mindy straightened up, seemingly having spotted something in the distance.

"Speaking of..." she smirked. I looked in the same general direction and her and after a seconds my stomach did another major lurch. On the other side of the room, in the distance, was James. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, black suit and a black bow-tie, with those staggering blue eyes and that floppy, grey-streaked haired I loved so much. He didn't seem to see us, and Mindy waved frantically at him, he noticed it and veered towards us. Unaware of it I had sidled backwards in an unconscious effort to hide behind Mindy. "Oh relax, you look great," she said in the corner of her mouth and nudged me. I felt a slight blush creeping up my neck and inwardly I cursed her and her blunt straightforwardness. As he walked towards us, his eyes were locked on to me, the stare burning me, and I shifted uneasily. Quickly he said hi to Mindy, they had obviously met earlier in the evening, then he turned his attention to me. He leaned in, slipped an arm around the small of my back and pulled me in for a quick hug.

"Hello, beautiful," he said in my ear, so quietly no one but me could hear it. I felt his warm, shaven cheek against mine, his breath in my ear, the smell of him and his hair as it brushed against my neck. My knees went weak, and for a moment I lost what little composure I had and blushed furiously, averting my eyes. But I had to look at him, I couldn't stop myself. I smiled and fidgeted with the lapels on his suit jacket instead.

"Hey, you..." For a moment we just stood there, fumbling.

"Right," Mindy said loudly, breaking the tension. "I'm off to find my husband, make sure he isn't completely plastered already. See you later, Emily. James," she nodded, and disappeared.

"Where is everyone?" James asked, his hand still resting on the small of my back.

"Richard and Jeremy went to err... mingle," I said with a frown.

"Oh god.." James said ominously.
"Francie went with them to keep them civilised..."

"Good," James nodded slowly.

"And then there's us."

"Want another glass of wine?" he asked, gesturing to my empty glass. I looked at it and sighed heavily.

"Red wine really isn't doing it for me. I know this isn't very ladylike, but could I please have a pint?" I begged and James chuckled.

"That's my girl."

"And can we sit down somewhere? I'm used to stomping around in orthopaedic sandals, my feet are already killing me."

"All right, go sit over there, I'll get some beers." He pointed to an empty sofa and I headed there. A few minutes later James sat down next to me and handed me a pint. "How long have you been here?"
"I don't know, forty-five minutes maybe?" I said, accepting my pint, then looking at him apologetically. "I'm sorry I was so late... I got caught up at the hospital. There's this cancer patient... she was having a really bad day and I just couldn't get myself to leave her." He looked as if he had half a mind to be annoyed with me, but couldn't quite find the motivation for it.

"Do you know how hard it is to be cross with someone so good-hearted?"

"Very?" I smiled hopefully. "I haven't seen you around before now, though. Where were you?"

"I was out back...  Trying to get hold of you, actually. I wondered where you were, if something had happened. So I was out there calling you. And texting you, " he admitted. I found my phone in my tiny handbag, the display showed 8 unanswered calls and one text.

"Were you worrying about me again?"

".. . no," he mumbled unconvincingly, studying the mysteries in the depths of his pint.

"I'm sorry, I should've sent you a text, letting you know I'd be this late. I was just stressed out and the thought didn't even cross my mind. But really, James. You don't have to worry about me. There's a 99% chance that I'm perfectly fine.. Just stressed and late."

"... which leaves that 1% chance of you lying at home half-dead from pneumonia, refusing to follow doctor's orders and let yourself be admitted to hospital," he observed dryly. I screwed up my face in a grimace.

"I should've seen that one coming," I said unhappily.

"I know it's ridiculous to be worrying about you. You're a big girl. Well, not physically," he said, measuring about four feet off the floor with his hand, ".. but the heels help a bit, I guess." I nudged him in the ribs and then we broke out laughing.

                                         

I was sitting by the bar, fiddling with an empty glass. My last one for the night, I had decided. It had been a long day, and a long night, and it was inevitably drawing to a close. The DJ had been gradually calming things down, having moved over to slow-ish cheek-to-cheek ballads. Definitely a sign that it's time to go. As the familiar keyboard chords of "Us & Them" by Pink Floyd faded in, a hand closed around mine and I felt myself being pulled into the crowd and towards the dance floor. The hand belonged to James, and he was determinedly weaving his way through the people. One on the floor he pulled me close and wrapped his free arm around the small of my back.

"It's my turn now," he said simply.

"Your turn?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"I've seen you. Dancing with Hammond. And Jezza. And even Andy," he said in mock affronted tones.

"Have you been spying on me?"

"... a bit," he mumbled with a shrug, looking down. I slipped my arm around his shoulder and rested my hand on the back of his neck, and this prompted him to look at me again. Naturally, like we'd been doing it for years, we started dancing. "How's your feet?"

"I haven't had any communications with them for the past hour. Either I'm drunk or I have permanent nerve damage." We both laughed, a liberating laughter that made me relax.

"So, have you had a good night?"

"I have, it's been great, met lots of people and had fun." This is my favourite part, though."How has your night been?"

"It became a good one, in the end," he answered mysteriously. "When were you going home for the holidays?"

"In exactly a week, on the 22nd."
"How long are you gone for?"

"Don't know yet, haven't booked a return flight. I have like three entire weeks off, I had to because I've worked too much this year."

"Are you staying in Norway that long?"

"I doubt it. What are you doing for the holidays?" I loved being this close, being able to just stare into those sparkling blue eyes as much as I wanted.

"Seeing family, mostly. Might get a few quiet nights to fix bikes. Probably going down to Hammond's for his New Years bash."

"Oh, right. He invited me to that tonight, actually."

"Oh really? Are you coming?"

"Haven't decided yet. Depends on how quickly I go crazy back home," I smirked.

"I have to drop by and give you your Christmas present before you leave," he said.

"You got me a present?"

"Yes. Possibly. If you got me one as well," he said, looking at me inquisitorially.

"Of course I have!"
"In that case - yes." I smiled at him, and he pulled me a little closer. In a moment of daft courage, needing to be closer, I wrapped my arm tighter around him and leaned my forehead against his cheek. For a while we said nothing, just revolved slowly on the spot in silence, heads close, probably looking like two soppy teenagers. James broke the silence by talking quietly, but not moving his face further from mine. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are tonight?" Again I blushed furiously, and was glad I didn't have to look into James' eyes.

"Hmm, no, not really... " I answered honestly, eyes closed.

"I mean it, you look gorgeous," he said with feeling, even more quietly.

"Stop it, or I'm going to tear up," I said with a nervous little laugh, having to swallow hard.

"No, please don't. You're always crying around me," he mumbled, I could hear in his voice that he was smiling a little.

"You know, you look pretty handsome yourself," I said sincerely and gently patted his back. "Thank you, James. For saying things like that.. And for worrying about me."

"I thought you didn't like that?" I didn't answer, just kept my eyes closed and enjoyed these last moments, knowing the song was drawing to a close. When the song faded over into a new one, as if on cue, Richard stomped out from nowhere, harassed and panic-stricken

"Jezza may or may not have fallen over and hurt himself pretty badly. We require a nurse! I think!" He shouted and looked urgently at me, swaying slightly on the spot, glassy-eyed. James and I had let go of each other when we'd heard his voice, and now I looked up at him with an exasperated and regretful smile, which he returned.

"Come on. Seems I have to patch up your mate," I said.

"He's not my mate right now," I heard James mumble behind me.

We followed Richard's lead and found Jezza sitting in a small, closed-off room, one probably used for small, private events normally. He had a bloody scrape on his forehead, but it was his hand, resting on a table, that caught my attention. Francie was there, and quickly recounted how he'd been out back having a cigarette and somehow stumbled over his own feet. The fall wouldn't have been so bad if he'd had the sense to drop his glass before landing. But he had instinctively refused to let go of his precious drink, causing him to smash the glass under his hand. He was bleeding, but not profusely. Jeremy looked at me sheepishly.

"I fell over a bit..." Was all he managed. He sounded mortified.

"I can see that," I said, giving him a little smile, sensing how I morphed back into my nurse role. "Ok, someone go to the hotel kitchen or find a staff member, they're required by law to have huge first-aid kits around for health and safety." At the mention of H & S, Jeremy grumbled. "Bring the biggest kit you can find." Francie nodded and strode out of the room, on the hunt for medical equipment. I pulled up a chair and examined his hand. "God, you're a bloody mess.  Hmm... you have at least three big shards stuck in there. I don't know how deep they go... You really should go to the A&E for this."

"What? God no, it'll be all over the news, Clarkson the drunken idiot. Not happening, I'm not going." He gave me his most stubborn expression. I sighed and started to explain.

"The problem is.. These shards. You're not bleeding so much now, but that might be because the shards are closing off the bleeds. If I start pulling them out, it can start bleeding pretty badly."

"Okay, if it starts gushing, then I'll go to the A&E," he persisted.

"And possibly bleed out on the way," Richard slurred, looking somewhat excited at the prospect.

"Hammond has a point, even if he has drunk his own body weight in beer. All right, fine, on your own head be it," I sighed as Jeremy still looked at me with stubborn refusal. Francie returned with a huge, red suitcase with a red cross, and put it on the table. "Okay, before I start poking around in that... How's your head?" I looked at the abrasion in his forehead, which looked like a painful scuff mark but nothing else. Gently I examined his nose, in case he'd broken it, but he didn't flinch. Drunk people could do that, break things without even knowing it.

"Head hurts, but nothing major. I think my hand got the worst of it," he mumbled. I opened the suitcase it and found gloves, bandages and to my amazement, a few wound care kits that would have all I needed; tiny plastic forceps, saline, cotton balls and more gauze. Quickly I opened it, opened a little container of saline and poured it over the cotton balls, then snapped on my gloves. "Right. Man up, Clarkson." I picked up a pair of forceps and gently nudged the smallest looking shard of glass, then pulled it out of his hand. I held my breath, expecting a rush of blood but it didn't happen. The other two came out just as easily, they weren't lodged as deep as I had feared. Examining the rest of his cuts on his hand I couldn't see any more bits of glass, and proceeded to rinse it with saline. Jeremy bit his lip and drew a sharp intake of breath as the saline stung. "I said, man up," I smirked and covered his wounds with gauze pads before bandaging it up. I ordered him to move his fingers and curl up his hand into a fist, and he did. The scuffmark on his forehead got a quick rinse and a band-aid. "If there's any change in movement or loss of sensation, go to the doctor. If that hand goes red, or swollen, or warm - go to the doctor. Okay? " I shot Jeremy my most authoritarian, militant nurse-look, and amazingly he seemed to cower slightly under  it.

"Yeah, all right, I will, I swear."

"I doubt that even can get infected," Francie mused. "He has so much alcohol in his blood that wound is basically sterile."

"Get him home, yeah?" I said to Francie as I snapped off my gloves, gathered up the debris of bandage wrappings and bloody gauze and threw it in a bin, and she nodded her agreement. While I'd been sorting Jeremy out James had been standing behind me, watching with morbid fascination. Richard had gone quiet, he was sitting in a chair with heavy eyelids, obviously crashing. "Seems like you're about ready to find a bed too, Hamster," I said and patted his shoulder. He just sighed and mumbled something unintelligible. "James, keep him awake will you? I'll go find Mindy." I said good night to Jeremy and Francie, who was trying to usher her husband out while calling for their driver. I returned the suitcase to the kitchen, and headed off to find Mindy. She was sitting in a sofa in the middle of the first room, looking sour.

"Have you seen my idiot husband?" She snapped.

"Yeah, come on, I know where he is." On our way back to the closed-off room I hastily told her what had happened to Jeremy, and this seemed to lift her mood. It evaporated again when she saw her dishevelled husband half-asleep on a chair, however.

"Thank god we have a room here at the hotel, imagine trying to get that home!" She pointed at her husband.

"I'm so glad I don't have a drunken dinnum to carry home," I sighed with relief. Mindy said goodnight and somehow managed to get Richard on his feet and marched him out of the room. I couldn't resist laughing as I watched them go, and rubbed my face tiredly. "Oh my god, what a bunch."

"You try working with them...!" He pointed out. I found my phone in my handbag and looked at the time, it was 2am and the party was almost over.
"Now that my job here is done, I guess I can go home," I smirked.

"I'm staying here, at the hotel..." James said. "I knew it would be late and I'd be on the piss."

"Probably a smart move," I smirked. "If I could've afforded it I probably would have too." He followed me to the lobby where I retrieved my jacket, and then through to the hotel foyer. There were taxis waiting outside, the hotel had probably ordered up a bunch as people were going home. James just looked at me, not saying a word, but I thought I knew what he was about to say. "Yes, I'll text you when I'm home. Don't worry."

"I will anyway," he said and pulled me in, hugged me close while he rested his chin on the top of my head.

"Thanks for a really good night," I mumbled against his shirt, still being hugged.

"Sorry about my stupid mates. Thank you for coming, it made my evening a lot better." It felt like something inside me exploded when I suddenly felt his lips kissing my forehead gently. Then his lips, and his arms, vanished. We looked at each other, awkwardly, I wanted him to kiss me so badly, internally I was screaming for it. Unable to bear the tension I averted my eyes, and when I looked back up again he'd taken a step back. My heart sank to the floor in a sad, wet puddle.

"Good night, James."
"Night, Emily. See you soon, Christmas gift swap," he winked. I smiled, albeit a little sadly, and walked out the door into the cold December air and hailed a taxi home.

Chapter 11

" 'ello?" I croaked into the phone. I had no idea what time it was, if it was night or day, or even what day it was

"Um, Emily? Is that you?" But I recognised James' voice.

"Yeah, it's me..." I said with a sniff.

"What's wrong?" He asked urgently.

"I'm a bit.. sick." To underline how sick I was I launched into a coughing fit.

"Just a bit? You sound awful."

"Okay, maybe more than a bit," I conceded unhappily. "It's driving me mad, I've been like this for four days already. Missed two shifts. And this fever won't break." Speaking was exhausting, I had to speak slowly because of the effort of it. The clock on my TV said 6pm. I'd been dead to the world for six hours.

"You've had a fever for four days straight? You need to get yourself to a doctor. Why am I telling you this, you're a nurse." James sounded exasperated.

"I know, I know, I've reached the same conclusion... I'm going in tomorrow morning. Did you call about something?"

"Oh yeah, just wondered if you got that invitation to the Christmas party yet?"

"Yeah, I got it.. yesterday, I think."
"Good. Listen, go back to sleep, or at least just rest. And call me when you've been at the doctors tomorrow? Really, you don't sound good." I smiled a little to myself when I heard the concern in James' voice.

"I will, James." We said our goodbyes and I returned to my hazy, feverish state of just existing. I felt so drained even that seemed like too much of an effort.

Loud, incessant knocking brought me slowly back to life. At first I couldn't understand where the sound came from. Was it outside? Some of my neighbours? Was the TV on? No, it was too loud for that. Eventually I realised it had to be someone trying to knock my door down. I scrambled to my feet, swaying on the spot for a minute and then lurched unsteadily towards the door. On the other side was James, wild-eyed and pale, phone in hand.

"Bloody hell, Emily, I thought you were dead." He sounded almost angry, I'd never heard him like that, and it made me take a step back.

"What? Why?" I mumbled, a bit confused, raising my eyebrows innocently at him. He came inside and shut the door behind him, then shot me a stern look.

"You said you'd call me after you'd been at the doctor's."

"I'm sorry.. . I forgot, I fell asleep, I was so exhausted..." I rambled apologetically.

"And you look like death, too," he grumbled, a bit milder.

"Nice seeing you too," I said sulkily as I landed heavily on the sofa and looked up at him unhappily. James had taken off his jacket and sat down next to me on the sofa. He didn't seem angry anymore, but disappointed, which was a million times worse.

"I was worried," he sighed. "What did the doctor say?"

"He thinks it's a bacterial respiratory infection, maybe pneumonia. Was given a tonne of antibiotics. And an entire week's worth of sick leave."

"That sounds bad," he said sympathetically. "How are you feeling?" He looked at me searchingly. I had a pillow on the armrest and was slumped over it, curled up in my pyjamas.

"Exhausted. Dizzy. A bit cold," I whined. He sat a bit closer, put his hand on my forehead, it felt cold.

"God, you're burning up. Have you taken anything for that?"

"Not since this morning. I think it's on the kitchen counter." James got up and wandered into the kitchen, found a pill and a glass of water which he placed in front of me.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Um.. not for a while. Not today, I think." I said, slightly startled at the realisation. He didn't say anything at this, just went back to my kitchen and browsed my fridge. I took my paracetamol and slumped back down on the sofa. Through half-closed eyes I could see James walking towards me, then kneel down in front of me so I could see him.

"Listen, I'm going to go to the shops, ok? Get you some food and things, you have to eat. And you need more paracetamol. I'll take your keys, be back in a bit. All right?" He ran a hand gently over my hair in paternal manner.

"Okay, " I said weakly, looking gratefully at him, then closed my eyes. I could hear him rummage around a bit, putting on shoes and jacket again, the rattle of my keys and the door slamming behind him. Then I was out like a light.

When I woke up again I spent a minute trying to figure out who was in my kitchen. Then I remembered James had come by, how he'd told me about getting food and had taken my keys. Clumsily I sat up, my joints aching and feeling stiff. Immediately I launched into a coughing fit that made James look around.

"Hey, " he smiled. I grumbled back and rubbed my face groggily. I felt less feverish, but clammy. "Good timing, food is just about ready." Slowly I got out of the sofa and padded into my kitchen. He'd made pasta with my favourite tomato and basil sauce. How did he even remember that I'd mentioned that once?

"Aw, you did the dishes as well?" I said, looking at what had been a sink full of dirty dishes.

"I have OCD," he shrugged. "Go sit down, I'll bring the food over." I smiled gratefully at him as he came over with a bowl and a glass full of apple juice.

"Aw, thank you. For everything," I croaked, picking the bowl up into my lap. He got some for himself and sat down to join me. Eating was an effort, but it also made me realise that I actually had been quite hungry. James flicked through the channels on my TV, passing over a few channels that had reruns of Top Gear on them with a sigh, finally landing on a Mythbusters. Probably because he knew I watched it sometimes. We didn't talk much, mainly because I didn't have the energy to. I slumped back down on the sofa again, trying to watch some TV, but my brain felt fuzzy, and my body heavy. I registered vaguely that even though I didn't feel much better, at least I felt safer with James around.

James' voice, and his hand on my shoulder, gently roused me from my sleep.

"Emily. Wake up. Let's get you to bed, it's more comfortable for you."

"Mno, leave me alone. Too much effort," I mumbled, not opening my eyes.

"Emily, come on," he said sternly, taking hold of my arms and hosting me up into a sitting position, then practically lifted me up from the sofa. I wobbled to my bedroom with James' arm around my shoulder, dragging my feet heavily. Crawling into bed felt wonderful and horrible all at once, the bed was so comfortable but the sheets were cold. James sat down on the edge of my bed, tucking the duvet around me. The walk had made me marginally more awake and I looked up at him.

"I talked to Cathy earlier," James began, looking a bit insecure. "From your ward?"

"... what?" Was all I managed to reply, wondering how that could've happened. Cathy was a nurse in the same ward as I, and probably who I'd consider my best friend from work.

"Your phone kept ringing when you were sleeping just now, I thought she might be worried about you, so I picked it up. Hope that was all right?"

"Oh... No, I don't mind. I bet she was worried," I admitted.

"She was." James paused a while, looking intently at me. "Emily, why didn't you tell me they wanted to admit you to hospital today?" There was the disappointment again, it made me flinch. Cathy must've told him about it.

"I hate hospitals," I said childishly.

"Emily, you're a nurse," he retorted, looking amused.

"Yeah, but... there's one thing being a nurse in a hospital. Being a patient in one is quite another!" I looked stubbornly at James. He wasn't convinced, so I decided to change tack. "You said it yourself - I'm a nurse! The hospital is full of nurses. Waste of time, being in the hospital."

"Why do you think the doctor wanted to admit you?"

"They took blood-tests.. They weren't great, some infection markers were a bit... really high. He wanted to give me antibiotics intravenously for a few days, I guess."

"Maybe you should've listened to him, then?"

"It's just pneumonia!" I argued feebly. "I'll be fine." I knew how utterly unconvincing I was.

"You know, as amazing as you are at taking care of others, you really are rubbish at taking care of yourself," James sighed and ran a hand over my temple and cheek. I closed my eyes, and to my surprise I felt tears run down the side of my face. Sobbing was too much effort, all I could do was let tears leak out of my eyes. I was crying because my body was aching, my head was throbbing, I felt weaker than I ever had before, so weak it was actually painful.

"I know," I squeaked. "I'm just so... exhausted, James. I've never felt this awful. I don't even have the energy to think straight."

"Move over a bit," James said quietly, and when I did he laid down and wrapped his arm gently around me. For a while he said nothing, just kept his arm around me and ran his hand slowly up and down my fever-warm arm. "It's just... strange seeing you so lethargic. I'm used to you taking care of everything and everyone."

"I'm sorry..." I whispered when the crying stopped, and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

"I'm staying here tonight," he said. I looked at him and opened my mouth, but he cut me off. "Don't even try to argue with me, you don't have the energy for that anyway." I closed my mouth again, realising he was right. "If I go home I'll just lie awake and worry about you all night anyway, so there's no point. I'm better off here. And frankly, so are you."

"Don't you have somewhere to be tomorrow?"

"Just a meeting up at the BBC. It'll just be a few hours, I can go straight there from here. And I said no arguing."

"All right, then," I sighed, giving in. "James... Thank you," I finished weakly.

"Do you need anything?"

"I guess it's time for more antibiotics. And probably some paracetamol." James got up from the bed and immediately I missed the safety of having him close, watching over me. Her eturned with a glass of water and boxes of medication and sat down on the edge of my bed again. I took my pills and laid back down on the bed, looking up at him. "You know, you would have made a good nurse," I observed.

"Oh god, I would've killed people by the thousands," he frowned.

"I said "nurse", not "the black plague"..."
"Keeping you alive is the only thing that matters to me, really. That's why I'm making an effort."

"You're doing just fine," I mumbled drowsily, patting his arm and closing my eyes.
"You know. Having the dreaded lurgy like this.. You're properly British now."
"I've achieved my life's ambition then," I smiled, already half asleep.

"I'll just be out in the living room," James said quietly. "Shout if you need anything."

When I woke up again everything was quiet, and dark. Even the traffic outside was quiet, it must be late. My heart was racing hundred miles a minute, and I had a painful knot of anxiety somewhere in my diaphragm. Had I been dreaming? I couldn't remember. The quietness was unsettling, I didn't like it. The only light came seeping in from the living room. Quietly I padded out of my bedroom, not wanting to wake James if he was asleep. He wasn't, he was lying under a blanket on my sofa, reading a book. He looked at me over the top of his glasses and put the book down.

"You okay? Need anything?"

"I... don't know. No, I don't think so," I said hesitantly.

"No, you don't need anything, or no, you're not okay?" He peered at me searchingly.

"Both. I think." I suddenly realised I was shaking, both from cold and anxiety. James took his glasses off and got up. "I just... woke up scared," I said feebly.

"Go on, back to bed, you're getting cold," he said quietly and ushered me back into the bedroom. I crawled back under the covers, still shivering. James sat down on the bed and put a hand on my arm. "Bad dream?"

"Don't know," I shrugged. For a while I looked at him, fiddling absentmindedly with my duvet. "Stay here with me...?" I asked quietly, ashamed. I felt stupid for wanting him to stay, like a child being scared of monsters under the bed and refusing to sleep alone. To my surprise he didn't say anything but just crawled in under my double duvet and wrapped an arm snugly around me. "Thank you," I said feebly and leaned my forehead against his for a moment.

"You're welcome," he whispered back, caressing my arm. The feel of having him close, his body next to mine, his arm around me, hearing his slow breathing was soothing, Slowly my sensation of dread receded and my heart calm down. Soon I felt myself relax again and drift off to sleep. When I woke up again during the night I expected to be alone, thinking James would leave and go back to the sofa when I had fallen asleep. But he was still there, one arm around me, sleeping heavily.

When I woke up again the bed was empty. I squinted against the light, sat up by leaning on my elbows, gauging how I felt. Surprised I registered that I felt a bit better, not as lethargic and weak as the day before. I looked at my nightstand, looking for my phone, wanting to check the time, I felt incredibly disoriented. Under my phone was a hand-written note. "Went home for a quick change of clothes. Have meeting at noon, shouldn't last longer than 2pm. Coming by later to see how you are. Stole your keys as you are not going anywhere. Please be alive. If you are - eat something! James."

I smiled at the note, and then checked my phone. It was 12.15. Except for the few hours I'd been awake while at the doctors and when James had been here, I'd been asleep for a day and a half. I wobbled into the shower, and stayed there for half an eternity. After the shower I dug out another pair of comfy pyjama pants and a t-shirt from my wardrobe, and padded into the kitchen. Even though I felt better than before it didn't take much effort before I was exhausted, even the shower had worn me out slightly. James hadn't bought me just dinner but also more bread, juice, Pepsi and even a tub of ice cream. You perfect man I thought as I made myself a few sandwiches, making a mental note to dive into that tub of Ben & Jerry's later.

     
   James found me slouched on the sofa under my duvet watching TV when he dropped by at 3pm.

"Hello! You look a bit better today!" He said happily as he sat down, looking at me searchingly.

"I feel better, too," I smiled. "Had a good day?"

"Yeah, we actually got some things done. Andy says "get well soon ". Did you eat?"
"Yes, dad," I teased.

"You're definitely better," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I was just about to get some ice cream that you were fantastic enough to buy for me. Want some?"

"Yeah. But I'll go get it, you relax. I've been sat on my arse all day." He disappeared into my kitchen and returned with two big bowls of ice cream.

"I could get used to being a patient," I smiled at him as I accepted the bowl.

"Think you'll be all right for the Christmas party?" James asked.

"Oh god, I hope so, it's two weeks away. I'm not planning on being sick that long! I feel better already and I've only been on antibiotics for a day. I'll be fine." James stayed for much of the afternoon, we just watched TV and talked. I started to nod off a bit, getting more tired and shivery. James noticed and sat closer, feeling my forehead.

"You're getting a fever again," he mumbled.

"I know," I sighed sadly and leaned against his shoulder. He slipped an arm around me.

"Poor baby," he said, somewhere half between teasing and sympathetic.

"Time for paracetamol again. And maybe bed soon," I sighed, feeling the energy drain out of me. "James, you don't have to stay here just to watch over me, though. I mean... You have no idea how glad I am you came by yesterday and stayed over, I was actually in a pretty bad shape ..."
"Yeah, you were. You kind of scared me," he said, squeezing me slightly.

"Thank you so much for helping me out, taking care of me, and for being there," I said, squeezing him back. "But I'm a bit better now, the medication has started to help a bit. And I'm sure you have other and more fun things to do than stay here and babysit me." He looked down at me searchingly, looking sceptical.

"You sure you'll be all right?"

"Yeah..." I nodded. "I'm a big girl, I should be able to take care of myself. Even if I am a bit sick. I have food and stuff now, thanks to you. I'll be fine." I already felt bad for having caused James to waste an entire day just sitting around watching me sleep, more or less. I was incredibly grateful that he worried about me, that he'd showed up and insisted to stay. Having had him around was an incredible comfort, and made me feel safe. If I was completely honest and selfish I wanted him to stay. But I felt guilty about it.

"Hmm, all right," he said hesitantly. He gave me an extra squeeze and got out of the sofa. He went to my bedroom and found my tablet boxes again, and handed them to me.

"See, you would make a good nurse," I smiled and accepted them, and took my antibiotics and paracetamol.

"Sure you'll be all right," he asked again.

"Yes, I'll be fine James," I said as I got up. I followed him to the hallway and he got his shoes and his jacket on. He gave me another searching look. "I'll be fine!" I maintained.

"Okay.. Please call me if you're not, all right? I'm not that far away." I smiled at him, and pulled him in for a hug.

"I will, James. And thank you again, for everything. You're... such a good friend," I mumbled into his hair as I hugged him. My instincts told me not to let go, but I had to - I had said he didn't have to stay.

"Just get better, all right? I'll call you tomorrow." He squeezed me and then walked out the door. 

Chapter 10

After that day down at the test track, James and I seemed to be on the phone to each other almost daily. He'd gotten into the habit of calling me whenever he was in his car, driving to or from somewhere. Especially when he was on his way home after a day down in Guildford. I desperately wanted to come with him again but suddenly I seemed to work every damn Wednesday. The conversations weren't necessarily long, or particularly profound or important, but they didn't have to be

"Hey. This a bad time?"
"Hello! No, no, just elbow-deep in bike parts, trying to figure what is wrong with this old heap of...." James grumbled, sounding frustrated.
"Call Doctor Who. Or a mechanic. But I know either of those is equally impossible to you, so all I can say is good luck, really."
"Thanks. So, what are you up to?"
"Walking home from work. Well, nearly home, actually. "
"Thought you had today off?"
"I did, but they called this morning, desperate for help. I agreed to take this shift instead og going in tomorrow, gives me two whole days off in a row!"
"Woooow," James said in mock awe. While talking I had reached my door and locked myself in, then checked my letterbox.
"Hey, don't knock it, I haven't had two days off in a row since I-- Oh shit...!" I had been reading a piece of paper I had found in my letterbox and had stopped in my tracks, horrified.
"What's up?"
"I've been given a neighbourhood warning by the girl on the ground floor. She's having a massive party tomorrow night in her flat and the backyard , apparently. Fifty plus guests."
"Go downstairs and join it? She'd never know you were there with that many people."
"She is a 21 year old girl who is into rave music... I think I'll pass, James. So much for a quiet weekend," I sighed sadly as I entered my flat.
"Well... You could always come over here if you need to get away. We could.. I don't know, make some food or something."
"Oh god, could I?" I said pleadingly. "The last time she had a party, and that was a small one, I ended up going in to work four hours early."
"Sure. I should be home from around five tomorrow, come over whenever you like."
"Great! You're such a lifesaver. So, what are we making?"
"Here's a fair division of labour; you sort out food, I'll sort out drinks."
"I wouldn't know about "fair", but sure, I'll sort out... something," I said vaguely.
"Take-out would constitute as cheating," he pointed out dryly.
"Damn! All right, I'll try to be creative," I sighed. He gave me his house address and we said our goodbyes. Funny how one potentially bad thing can turn into a good one.

Ringing a door bell had never been so nerve-wracking. Being this nervous was ridiculous. James had been at my place, this couldn't be so much different? But it was. It felt like another step in getting to know him better. Getting closer. Which was terrifying and exciting all at once. After what seemed an eternity the door opened, and James greeted me with a smile.
"Hey, you found it!"
"Sorry I'm a bit late, I lost track of time in Morrisons..," I mumbled, holding up a bundle of grocery bags as proof.
"Should I be scared?" He eyed my bags suspiciously.
"Nah, not unless you're more fussy about food than Hammond."
"Not at all. Come in!" He waved, grabbed a few of my bags and disappeared inside. James' house wasn't as I'd imagined it. Looking at James, it's easy to imagine huge chintz armchairs and dark mahogany, pipe smoke and dark velvet curtains. Or maybe that was just my stereotyping of British gentlemen shining through. James' house was a lot brighter and modern than I'd thought, with some simple, functional retro-feel to it. And a bit of colour, which actually wasn't that much of a surprise. He deposited the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and surreptitiously tried to have a peek in one.
"Ok, this doesn't look like anything. Did you go food shopping with a blindfold? Is that why it took so long?"
"No no, there is a method to the madness. Not much, but that is kind of the point." James didn't say anything, but his entire face looked like a question mark. "I'm keeping it juvenile, seeing as I'm a student," I explained. "We're making pizzas."
"Plural?"
"Well, yeah. More like... mini-pizzas. They say you can put almost anything on a pizza if you're creative enough, so I went and got..."
"Everything?" He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Nearly...!" I laughed.
"If this is going to call for creativity I'll need a beer first," James said and got two bottles out of the fridge, opened them and disappeared into his living room. Happily I sank down onto a comfy sofa next to him and accepted a bottle. A movement in the corner of my eye drew my gaze to the armrest next to James.
"James... Please tell me you have a cat?" I said quietly, staring intently at armrest, where a black cat with white markings now sat gracefully, staring at me like only a cat can.
"What...? No?" Amazingly James kept a straight face for quite a while, and he almost had me going, but then a twitch in his eyes revealed him and he broke out giggling. "Yes, I do have a cat. Meet Fusker," he said and scooped him up into his lap. Fusker accepted this without fuss and started purring immediately. I reached out a hand and scratched the cat gently behind his ears. When I stopped he demonstratively stomped from James' lap and into mine, walked around in a circle once and curled up, like I'd always been a normal thing in his household. Unable to resist I resumed the gentle scratching, and Fusker resumed purring.
"He owns you now. Or at least he thinks so," James warned, and petted him with a finger. Predictably, Fusker tried to bite him lazily. "Oy, thats not very loyal of you."
"Cats don't do loyal," I observed, still petting the purring cat. "They're all psychopaths, to varying degrees."
"Not a cat person, then."
"Nah, I'm a sucker for all animals. I just wouldn't trust a cat. I'd love it and cuddle it as much as any other fluffy animal, but I wouldn't put it past it to try and eat me when I lay dead in my own bed and wasn't feeding it anymore."
"Fair point, actually," he chuckled.

When we had finished our first beers we heaved ourselves out of the sofa and trailed into the kitchen.
"Right. Pizza dough," I said, clapping my hands together and dove into grocery bags to dig out the ingredients along with the recipe I'd jotted down from the internet. "OK, we need um... pint of lukewarm water. Salt. Tablespoon. Olive oil. The rest I've got," I read as I ran my finger down the recipe, and James found the things I needed. Then he rummaged through a cupboard and found a big bowl. "You're supposed to be able to do this without a bowl," I waved.
"How? Magic?" He said defiantly, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking sideways at me, arms crossed.
"No no. You start like.. this..." I said, opened the big bag of flour and poured it gently onto his kitchen counter, making a flour mountain. "Then you do this," I continued, making a deep crater in the top of the mountain with my hand. "See? Bowl made out of flour. Flour bowl!" James didn't say anything, just looked from me to the kilo of flour dumped on his counter, and back to me, doubt etched in his face. Determined not to cave to his scepticism I added salt, yeast powder and olive oil to the lukewarm water, and picked up the measuring cup.
"Where did you read about this, Emily?"  James asked innocently, but I could hear in the way he asked that he half expected I had dreamt it.
"Jamie Oliver did it this way. Have faith, man!" I said affronted, trying to pour the liquid gently into the flour crater.
"I don't trust a man with that much of a speech impediment," he said dryly.
"Don't make me laugh, I'm trying to concentrate!" I said, trying to not splash water and yeast everywhere. "Also, that is actually quite a mean thing to say," I added as an afterthought.
"It is, actually," James agreed, hanging his head slightly. "Sorry."
"Right, there. See? It works!" I said excitedly when I had emptied the measuring cup.
"That still isn't pizza dough. That is just a... flour volcano with a crater lake of water. Now what?" he said stubbornly.
"Well, you sort of... stir it..." I said, unable to hide the insecurity in my own voice. Gingerly I started to stir the liquid with the tablespoon, taking more and more flour with me into the mix as I went. To my own amazement it sort of worked.
"Aha!" I exclaimed triumphantly when the mess started to look like proper dough and I could knead it with my hands. James didn't respond at first, just looked down at the lump of dough as if it had been rude to him. The mocking scepticism trickled from his face.
"That isn't a bad way to make pizza dough, actually" he muttered unwillingly, not looking at me. Jokingly I scooped up a sprinkle of left-over flour and threw it at him as punishment for his lack of faith in me. It was barely visible on his stripey jumper.
"Oh are we throwing food, now? That is juvenile!" In return I received a small handful of flour, covering my shirt, chest and face. Without even thinking I chucked as much flour as I could straight at James' face, turning it white. His hair looked like it had suddenly gone light grey. For a moment we looked at each other, narrow-eyed, pondering our next move. Then we cracked, and broke out laughing.
"Okay, fine, it was a perfectly ingenious way of making it, I'll freely admit, can we call a truce now?" James snorted.
"I'm sorry!" I laughed, trying to wipe some of it off his face with my shirt sleeve. Still giggling we brushed flour off our shirts, face and hair as best we could over the kitchen sink. "Right, that needs to be left alone for about 20 minutes." I gestured towards the lump of dough.
"Beer break?" We said in unison, and laughed some more.

"Here's a question," I began as I sat down on a kitchen chair after having accepted a new bottle of beer. "Where the heck do you keep all your cars? I only saw the Fiat out front. And bikes? And where the hell are you whenever you are mending things?"
"I own the industrial building next door, which is connected up to mine. Used to be a wood-shop. When they had to close down I bought it - was tired of walking or having to take a cab to some rental garage when I fancied a drive. So that's where I keep it. Well, most of it."
"That must've been a boyhood dream come true? Have your own, huge workshop in which to keep all your toys and tools?"
"Pretty much," he said with a satisfied smile and had a swig of his beer. Then his eyes lit up with child-like excitement. "Wanna see?"
"Of course!" I trailed after James, beer in hand, through his house and to a heavy, industrial-looking bright-red door. A few steps down, and I was suddenly in workshop. Which was also a garage. And a boys' playground. Most of the tools lived on one very pedantically neat wall. Rows of wrenches and screwdrivers all in ascending length and sizes hung over a huge workbench, dotted with marks from oil-spill and grease and years of tinkering. "You never figured out what was wrong with that starter dynamo?" I teased, pointing at a dismantled heap of metal on the bench.
"I'll figure it out..." he muttered, throwing the dynamo a dirty look. Bike leathers were hanging neatly on hooks, boots on a shelf next to safety helmets. Bikes in varying states and ages were parked a little hither and thither. A run-down sofa was tucked into a corner, next to a small kitchen unit with a kettle and a sink. Every mechanic needed his tea. At the far end of the building was a huge double garage door, and what looked like a small, and rather schizophrenic, car park. Old classic Bentley and a Rolls Royce, a few spangly new Ferrari's, a tiny little Mini, a few Porsche's... I just walked slowly in between cars, staring lovingly at each one. After a while I came to a halt and just stared at James from across the workshop over the roof of his 458 Italia.
"You like it?" James asked.
"It's.. all right, I guess." I gave a nonchalant shrug of feigned coolness, and I heard James laugh. "No really, it's.. Amazing. I am very jealous. You're a lucky sod," I sighed as I made my way back across the workshop and sat down on the run-down couch. Closing my eyes I tilted my head back and breathed deeply. "I love the smell in here. Smells like my dads' auto garage back home. That smell of... oil, and metal and exhaust and rubber. And cigarettes. Reminds me of spending hours in the garage with my brother when I was a kid, in the evening, while he was doing up one of his cars or his bikes. Me mostly just staring, wide-eyed, not daring to ask questions because I felt stupid and he might kick me out and send me back to mum. And so thrilled whenever I was allowed to help with something. Reminds me of home." Slowly I opened my eyes, taking myself out of a vivid and rather rare flashback to my childhood. James stood rooted to the spot, looking at me with wonder. "What?"
"I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my garage." He sat down next to me.
"It's a good garage," I said, looking around. "Must be a nice place to hide away and just.. be. Leave everything else outside, clean your mind and fix things."
"Mm.. Exactly," James said. "See, you get it."
"Daughter of a car mechanic. What did you expect?"
"Frankly, not that," he said, and for a second everything seemed to stop as he just looked at me. There was something in those eyes I hadn't seen before, something... warm, and tender. Nervously I drew a deep breath and looked down at my hands, holding my beer.
"I'm full of surprises," I said with a half-smile, trying to sound confident. James got up with a sigh, looking at his watch. Whatever tension had been there a moment earlier was gone.
"Come on. Twenty minutes are up. Let's make some food."

Back in the kitchen we deposited empty beer bottles and James found new ones.
"James, does this thing actually have an iPod dock?" I said, pointing at a little stereo radio standing on a shelf.
"Yeah."
"I didn't think you had one of those newfangled gizmos," I smirked.
"I'll have you know I even have an iPad!" He huffed, pointing at me with his beer.
"Woooow," I said sarcastically. "Can I put some music on?" James nodded and I rummaged through my handbag, fishing out my iPod and put the whole thing on shuffle. Which was taking a risk, I knew. Surprisingly, Bob Marley started singing about how I shouldn't worry about a thing.
"I didn't peg you for a reggae kind of girl," James frowned.
"I'm not an anything kind of girl, I listen to lots of things," I said as I started emptying the remaining grocery bag onto the counter. Curious, James started fiddling with my iPod, investigating my musical preferences.
"Hey, there's stuff on here I've actually heard about," he exclaimed sensationally.
"Like what?" James started at the top and listed through.
"Beatles."
"Doesn't everyone listen to The Beatles?"
"Mmmmno. Particularly not at your age."
"Dad played in a band in the late 60s. Turtlenecks, Beatle-mops, the whole deal. They were namned after a Beatles song and played mostly them and Buck Owens."
"Ah. Elvis?"
"Always loved him. I had a cassette tape with him when I was like.. four. I swear he was the only one keeping me sane on endless car holidays with my parents."
"Guns'n'Roses?"
"Stole CDs from my sister without permission." Use your illusion" was probably the first ones I nicked. "Civil War" probably
changed my life."
"Johnny Cash?"
"I'm a country bumpkin, what can I say."
"Pink Floyd?"
"I built all my teenage self-destruction and depressions around The Wall. Bob Geldof was my hero for years."
"Bowie, Stone Roses, Velvet Underground, Tom Waits, Queen, Patti Smith, Neil Young, Genesis... Emily, this is all music from before you were born!"
"That's just... ageist! Just because you were born in the 60s doesn't make you entitled to all the good music. And hey, I'd marry Tom Waits, not one bad word!" I warned, pointing a spoon sternly at him. James raised his hands as a sign of surrender.
"Honestly, I haven't listened enough to him to make any kind of judgment."
"I'll play you a few good ones later," I promised and James joined me at the kitchen counter. "Right. Pizza can be good with anything, so I bought a bunch of stuff; lots of pizza sauce, peppers, mushrooms, pepperoni, chicken, spring onions, different kinds of cheese... And if you have anything in your fridge you want to try on a pizza, go for it." I started dividing up the lump of dough into eight little ones, punched one into a flat circle and pondered for a minute about what to put on it. James was half-buried in his fridge.
"Hm.. wonder if blue cheese works...?" I heard from the depths of the fridge.
"You're welcome to try, just keep it on your pizza."
"Hm... Anchovies...? HP sauce...? Spam...?"
"For the love of... James, this is supposed to be human food.
"How do you think humanity discovered what was edible and what went well together, and what didn't, over the years? Pioneer work! Trial and error!" he argued. "You have to try everyth-- Oh, marmite!"
"NO!" I shouted, turning around. "I draw the line at Marmite pizza! This isn't culinary Russian roulette, you know." Gratefully I noted that James extracted himself from the fridge without holding a jar of Marmite. The music changed as James came over and started with his own pizzas.
"What's this?" He asked.
"Mumford and Sons. They're a London band, actually. "Indie folk rock", isn't that what they call it?"
"I have no idea, I just heard a banjo. It's not that bad, actually."
"Yeah, it's... I don't know, cosy. Happy." We focused quietly on making food for a while, making little mini-pizza and putting them on a baking tray, drinking beer all the while. I couldn't help but hum along to the music, feeling happy. "They should be in for about.. 12 to 15 minutes," I said as James shoved them into the oven. "Did you actually put blue cheese on one?"
"Yes, but I'm not telling you which one," he smirked and had a swig of his beer. I just sighed exasperatedly and went over to the iPod.
"Tom Waits, was it?" A song called LowDown started up, with the familiar backbeat rythm and guitar riff I loved so much. I started clearing up on the kitchen counter, stuffing most of the left-over food in James' fridge as I couldn't be bothered to take any of it with me later. I was half-dancing all the way, humming along. "I love this song. Sexiest song ever, it just begs for a striptease, " I observed absentmindedly. When I looked up at James he just stared at me, wide-eyed, an eyebrow raised. I stared back, thinking, then suddenly I realised what the look was about. "Don't worry, I'm not going to erupt into an impromptu striptease. That would call for a lot of tequila."
"I wasn't.. worried..," James said, shrugging, then hanged his head slightly in mock disappointment.

When we'd finished eating we cleared up, waddling into the living room and landed heavily on the sofa. We complained a bit about eating too much. Incredibly, the food turned out nice, to our mutual surprise. James hadn't snuck any surprise ingredients on my pizzas, but he had been a bit adventurous on his and made a few research notes for future culinary history. Mainly that all cheese didn't work on pizza. We were both on our fifth beers, and I started to feel it a bit. Food would probably help. Fusker, who has occasionally been lurking around the kitchen hoping he'd be invited to dinner, jumped on to the sofa between us and curled up. James had brought my iPod with him from the kitchen and connected it to the stereo in the living room. We spent the next hours talking about music, skipping between tracks, sometimes arguing amicably but mostly agreeing with each other. We drank beers and laughed, and I absentmindedly petted Fusker while he purred and stretched luxuriously. James' phone suddenly rang, and he looked at it and hit pause on the stereo.
"I think I might have to take this," he said apologetically.
"Yeah, sure, go for it," I waved, and James disappeared out of the living room and into a room down the hallway. For a while I sat looking around, at his books and DVDS, the paintings on the walls, the photos in frames. Inevitably my eyes were drawn to his piano. I knew James used to train as a classical pianist so finding a piano in his living room hadn't surprised me much. Gingerly I got out of the sofa, nervous to find out how drunk I really was. After a few steps I decided I wasn't too bad off after all. I padded over to the piano, sat down on the bench in front of it and lifted up the lid as gently, trying not to make a sound. Absentmindedly I let my fingers brush across the keys. Quietly, to not disturb James on the phone, I started plonking, feeling how old melodies I once knew trickled back into my muscle memory. Lost in the effort of trying to remember I didn't hear James returning from his phone call.
"I didn't know you could play?" The sudden sound of his voice made me jump several feet in the air.
"Waah! What? Um, no.. I can't."
"That sounded like Beethoven to me, so I'd say you can?"
"I tried to learn, many years and moons ago," I sighed as I closed the piano lid and returned to the sofa. "I took classical piano lessons for like.. 7 years, from first grade until the year I turned 13. I've forgotten nearly everything, but a few songs are just... stuck in my hands."
"That's a long time to be taking lessons, why did you stop?" He asked.
"Do you want the easy answer or the emotional one? I'm giving you the choice this time," I said, looking sideways at him with a little smile.
"I think I'd prefer the emotional one, actually. If you want to give it, that is."
"Okay," I nodded. "I stopped playing after I played piano in my mum's funeral. She died suddenly when I as 12, heart failure, she had really heavy asthma all her life and it wore her out. I know, much of my life is a Greek tragedy," I said when James didn't speak but just looked at me, horrified. "She was the most important person in my life. My siblings were twice my age and had lives of their own, and my practical mechanic-dad had no idea how to help a morbidly depressed teenager. So I was left to figure it out on my own. That took me about 10 years of being a wreck. It's all right, I'm fine with it now," I said with a sad smile. "It's been a long time, fifteen years already. But after that funeral I just couldn't deal with pianos for a while."
"No wonder you couldn't. Can I ask what you played?"
"Um, have you seen that film Schindler's list?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Remember the main theme from it? I played a piano arrangement of it. I can't remember any of actually playing it, have no idea how I did it, feels like I wasn't even conscious. All I know is that I didn't make any mistakes."
"I'm sure it must've been very special to hear that," James said, sounding emotional. "I can't even being to understand how you managed to do that."
"Frankly, me neither. But I'm glad I did. I remember the funeral um.. guy, who was one of my mum's old classmate incidentally, said something to me that has stuck with me: "This is your chance. Even if you don't feel like it - if you have the tiniest doubt about it, do it. Or you might regret it for the rest of your life."
"I'm starting to understand why you're so...," James began, but trailed off.
"So what?" I urged, curious.
"You've always seemed so... independent, and somehow older than your age. You know, strong. And with a lot of thought and compassion for other people." These words rendered me speechless for a moment.
"Aw, thank you," I said quietly when I had regained the ability to talk, feeling blushed. "That's.. probably one of the nicest things anyone has said to me."
"People haven't said much nice things to you, then."
"People generally don't, do they," I observed. "We're so much better at niggling and criticising each other, rather than supporting and encouraging. Now, put on some music, and nothing sad. I hate being such a buzzkill." James turned on The Stooges and I nodded approvingly. Another plonky sound emerged from James' phone, notifying him about a message. "At least someone is popular," I teased and had a drink.
"Not exactly popular. Wanted dead, more like."
"Uhoh, what did you do?"
"Remember that date Jezza mentioned when we were down at the track?" Another stab shot through my heart, and I tried not to flinch and act casually.
"Mm yeah?"
"She's angry with me," he said, looking more annoyed than anything.
"Why?"
"God knows why. Hell if I can suss it out. I doubt she even knows herself."
"Ugh, women," I scoffed sympathetically. "Who the hell understands them." James laughed, albeit a little sadly.
"I certainly don't get this one," he sighed and put his phone down.
"It'll sort itself out. If you want it to," I added, not wanting to be too encouraging. He made a noncommittal grunt.
"Now I'm being a buzzkill," he grumbled. Yes, you are. Suddenly he seemed to remember something and lit up a bit. "Oh, I meant to tell you!" I just raised my eyebrows quizzically at him. "Christmas Party. Over at Top Gear. You're invited. I reckon you'll get an invite in the post soon."
"What? Me? Why?"
"Well, we all met you on a Top Gear shoot. You've sort of become a.. Top Gear..."
"... nurse?" I supplied.
"Yeah. And friend. Mostly friend."

We went back to talking, conversation flowing easily like it always did between us. But the mention of James' mystery date kept cropping up in my mind, I couldn't shake it. It made me insecure, and jealous. I kept wondering if she'd been the one who had called earlier. Had he mentioned me? That I was there? Was that why she was upset with him? I knew I should just leave it, stop fretting about it, because obviously it wasn't any of my business.
"Bloody hell, is that the time?" I said the next time I had the impulse to look at my watch. The surprise was genuine, as it was already half past midnight. Time flies when you're having fun.
"Looks like it," James said with a whistle, examining his own watch.
"I better be getting home," I sighed. "Didn't realise it was getting this late."
"Will you be all right getting home?"
"Am I that drunk?" I smirked.
"No, no. I only meant.. It is late, and cold, and.."
"James, I'll be fine. There's night buses, and taxis. It's fine."
"Sure? I have a guest bedroom if you want to stay over."
"That's really nice of you, but I didn't bring anything. And I'll spare you my lovely, hungover morning personality," I smiled. "Plus, I have to see if my building is still standing."
"All right, then... "he said reluctantly. Fusker had been sleeping heavily in my lap for a long time, and I looked down at the ball of cat, feeling guilty.
"I'm really sorry, kitty-cat, but you will have to move a little bit..." I gently tried lifting him off my lap, and he woke up, meowing sadly when I put him down on the sofa. "Aaaw, don't give me that, Fusker..." I whined. I scrambled out of the sofa, relieved that I didn't wobble when I got up. James trailed after me into his hallway. "Hey, James, I've had a really good evening. Thanks a lot for inviting me," I said as I slipped on my jacket.
"I'm glad you came over," James said. "It's been fun. Being with you is always fun."
"So is being with you."
"Listen. Be safe, yeah? Send me a text when you're home safely."
"Will you worry an awful lot if I forget?"
"Yes," he said simply. I couldn't help but smile, loving the way he worried about me.
"All right. Then I won't forget." James' arms closed around me in a long, warm hug, and for a fraction I buried my face against his
shoulder and got lost in the smell of him. He gave me a last squeeze and let go of me.
"Good night, Emily," he said, smiling a little.
"Night, James." And I was out the door.

I spent the entire bus ride back to Bloomsbury in a heated argument with myself over whether I did the right thing, going home. What would've happened if I stayed? Nothing, intoned my inner pessimist. Maybe I would've just lain there, in the guestroom, wide awake, hoping. James was kind, and thoughtful, which was probably his only motive for asking me to stay over. And the thought of that date kept bugging me. Keeping my distance would be best. When I got home I crawled out of my clothes and straight into bed, feeling drunk and exhausted. I picked up my phone and typed in a message.
"Hey. Home safe and sound, just crawled into bed. Again, thanks for a good night. Sleep tight. Emily." Not long after my phone beeped.
"Good to hear. Means I can actually sleep now. Fusker misses you. Sleep tight, sweetie." Bastard. Maybe I should've stayed?