Christmas in the Air: A 'Something in the Air' Short Story

CHRISTMAS IN THE AIR

  by Marie Landry

  Copyright 2015 Marie Landry

  All rights reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ALSO BY MARIE LANDRY

  Blue Sky Days

  The Game Changer

  The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

  Waiting for the Storm (Angel Island #1)

  After the Storm (Angel Island #2)

  Take Them by Storm (Angel Island #3)

  Something in the Air

  CHRISTMAS IN THE AIR is a bonus story that takes place two months after SOMETHING IN THE AIR. If you haven’t read SOMETHING IN THE AIR, it’s available for just $2.99 at all major ebook retailers.

  DEDICATION

  While I was writing this story, I jokingly told friends it was basically a love letter to London. When I finally fulfilled a lifelong dream of visiting the city this past summer, I fell in love with it, just like Rose does. So I’m dedicating this short story to the city of London, where I left a piece of my heart.

  And, as always, to Mum.

  The train pulls into King’s Cross Station. I remain in my seat, waiting while most of the other passengers disembark. Business people pass, carrying briefcases and chatting with accented voices into cell phones. Or mobile phones as they’re called here in London. A nanny in a stiff-looking uniform the same muddy colour as the Thames ushers two little girls from their seats. They were amazingly quiet and well behaved, unlike the toddler a few rows back who screamed bloody murder for the first twenty minutes of the ride from Cambridge. Thank god for noise-cancelling headphones and the latest playlist Declan made for me.

  With only a few stragglers left, I stand, grab my overstuffed backpack, and make my way from the train. I weave through the crowded station and detour around to Platform 9 and 3/4. This has become a ritual every time I’m at King’s Cross. My first visit was with Declan just days after we arrived in September. He’d patiently waited with me to have my picture taken with the luggage trolley where Harry Potter fans from all over the world gather for a photo op while imagining they’re off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

  I linger a few feet from the line that snakes to the spot where people pose with the trolley. When Declan and I came, he’d insisted I get the printed photo from the professional photographer, even though it was ridiculously expensive. Still, I don’t regret it; I have the picture of me holding Hermione’s wand and wearing a Ravenclaw scarf (and a giant, goofy grin) sitting in a frame on my nightstand next to a picture of Declan and me in front of Tower Bridge.

  Christmas music filters from one of the nearby shops, making me smile. I can’t believe Christmas is just a week away. This year has been a whirlwind. It started with me stuck in a job I’d grown to hate, living with my controlling mother, and unsure what I wanted to do with my future. This past summer I met Declan, quit my job, moved into the apartment above Declan’s family’s pub, and then took a research internship in London. Sometimes I still feel like I’m dreaming, but if I am, I don’t want anyone to wake me.

  Suddenly eager to see Declan after three days in Cambridge doing research for Professor Gillingham, I head to the Underground. Being directionally challenged, I’d been nervous the first few times I took the subway (or Tube, as it’s called here), but quickly got the hang of it, and now I’m a pro at it. I’ve only ended up on the wrong train a few times, but I figure those are pretty good odds for someone who comes from a small town and never rode public transit before.

  I emerge onto the street a few minutes later, blinking in the weak morning sunlight and drawing my coat around me tighter. The sky is full of slate-grey clouds that look like they might carry snow, even though there’s been no sign of the white stuff yet this year. So far, winter in London hasn’t been as harsh as back home in Canada—Dad told me the other day it’s already dropped to -10 degrees Celcius in Bellevue—but it’s chilly enough I was able to justify splurging on a gorgeous dark-purple vintage wool coat from a shop on Oxford Street, along with a matching set of mittens, hat, and scarf.

  After a short walk, I let myself into the flat I share with three of Professor Gillingham’s other interns. I strip off my outerwear while admiring the additions my roommates have added to the Christmas decorations while I was away. We got a wonderfully pathetic-looking Charlie Brown tree the day before I left for Cambridge, and as promised, my roommates have waited for me to decorate it. I can’t wait for the four of us to crowd around it and add the baubles we’ve collected around London the past couple weeks. John will be leaving tomorrow to spend the holidays in Scotland with his family, but Denny from Australia and Lynnette from South Africa are staying in London.

  I climb the steps to the main living area. Denny strides into the room carrying a menorah and humming to herself. She doesn’t notice me, so I clear my throat and she whips around, brandishing the candelabra like a weapon.

  “Jeeze, Rose, you scared me!” She lets out the tinkling laugh I’ve come to love over the last couple months. You can’t help but smile when Denny is around; she’s like a ray of sunshine. She’s a bit high-strung, but she’s a genuinely good, happy person, and I love being around her. “Did you just get back? How was Cambridge? Did you get what you needed? You don’t mind if I put this menorah in here, do you? I know Hanukkah’s over, but this was my mother’s and I’ve had it in my room and I thought it would look nice out here.”

  Clearly she’s been into the coffee. John, Lynnette, and I try to moderate her intake, otherwise she’s a hyper, fast-talking ball of energy. The others must not be home.

  I pause for a minute, waiting for her to realize she asked me four questions in a row. She simply smiles at me expectantly. “Yes, I just got back,” I tell her. “Cambridge was great. The professor there was really helpful, and I got to see a lot of the area, plus the college. And no of course I don’t mind if you put the menorah in here.”

  “Great!” She sets it on the table, adjusting it so it’s perfectly centred. “Your dad and stepmom are getting in tomorrow, right?”

  “Yep. I can’t wait.” When I left for London, my dad said he’d try to get some extra time off around Thanksgiving to come for a visit. Once I arrived and Professor Gillingham gave me my schedule for the next six months, I realized it wouldn’t make sense for him to come so soon after I got here. With Canadian Thanksgiving being in early October and no coinciding holidays in England, I told him to wait for his two weeks off at Christmas.

  “Are you heading over to Declan’s soon?” Denny wiggles her eyebrows, the way she always does when she mentions Declan. The first time she met him she’d stared in stunned silence, then almost swooned when he spoke. I can’t blame her—I still get weak-kneed over his deep voice and lilting Irish accent.

  “In a bit, yeah. I want to unpack and do a few things here first.”

  “Okay, cool beans. Just make sure you’re back in time to decorate the tree. John said six so we can do dinner first, and then he still has time to pack. Tell your hot Irishman he’s welcome to join the festivities. Oh, and if you’re anywhere near Borough Market, will you grab me some of those meat pies I love?”

  She’s out of breath and my head is spinning by the time she finishes speaking. I cross the room and grip her sho
ulders. “I will be back in time, I will bring Declan, and I will even get you your meat pies if you promise me something.” She nods vigorously. “No. More. Coffee.”

  She giggles. “I guess I did overdo it a bit on the java this morning.” She pulls my hands from her shoulders so she can step forward and hug me. She squeezes and jiggles me a bit, and I can’t help but laugh. The girl is a caffeine-fueled nut, but I adore her.

  She releases me and goes back to arranging decorations on the table. I grab my backpack and head for my room, where I pull out my laptop before slinging my bag on the bed to unpack later.

  I’ve barely got the computer turned on before Skype alerts me to an incoming call. I accept it and slip into the chair at my desk, smiling when my best friend’s face appears on screen.

  “There’s my girl,” Dante says. I still can’t get over how tanned he is, even in December. All that Greek sunshine has agreed with him over the last couple months. “How was Cambridge?”

  “It was great. I got everything Isobel asked for, plus had time to explore the area. I even got a personal tour of the campus, and I joined a walking tour that described the history of the city.”

  “So basically it was nerd