IN THE wake of the afternoon’s rain, clouds hung heavy outside. It was dark, the twinkling lights from the small tree by the window casting multi-coloured shadows over the shape that lay, head resting on a plumped-up pillow. The scent of cinnamon hung in the air and ‘Last Christmas’ played quietly from the radio. If it hadn’t been for the whimpering figure in handcuffs being led away by the detective and the flock of crime scene investigators flooding the room, one might have thought the person on the bed by the door was merely sleeping…
* * *
Three weeks earlier
1 December
It was the dreaded Secret Santa draw in the office; after last year’s debacle, Gary Evans was well aware that everyone’s eyes were on him as he stood up to choose his recipient. Once more cowed into submission by the instructions of his personal assistant – and self-appointed office social manager – Nila to make an effort for the occasion, he was dressed, rather against his better judgement, in a turkey hat left over from last year’s festivities. After all, nothing said Christmas more than turkey, did it? With his heart hammering against his chest as he stepped into the centre of the circle, like a turkey to the slaughter, he prayed, Please not him again. Please not Mr Grimes, not after last year.
Nila, eyebrows raised, thrust the receptacle towards him. Not even the jovial tinkle of the bell on her elf’s hat could disguise the silent warning in her brusque actions. Why did she have to always be such a bitch? “You couldn’t just have worn a Santa hat, could you? Trust you to mess it up.”
Why did he always get things so wrong? He thought he’d nailed it this time, but apparently not and, with the memory of Christmas Past hovering in his mind’s eye, Gary wanted nothing more than to escape back to the safety of his office. If he could have, he’d have spun on his heel and left the canteen, but then they’d laugh at him even more than they usually did.
Already flustered by the situation and with all eyes on him, Gary lowered his gaze. Over the years they’d worked together, he’d allowed Nila to gradually become more and more dominant in their working relationship. It was his fault: if he’d only been more assertive and put her in her place when she first started at the company, she wouldn’t think it was all right to act like she was the boss rather than the other way round. Even when he managed to summon a modicum of grit and started to reprimand her, he always seemed to flounder at the last moment, allowing her to ride roughshod over him. He wasn’t the only one either. The office juniors and even some of the clients allowed Nila’s abrasive manner to go unchallenged. And now she’d made sure all eyes were on him. Everyone in the office would be on her side – they wouldn’t dare not side with her.
Trying to ignore Nila’s laser gaze, he slipped his trembling hand into the long, fur-trimmed hat. Eyes lowered, his fingers grappling inside the fluffy interior, he grabbed the first piece of paper he touched. Pulling his hand out he spun round, tripping over his feet, before rejoining the circle and sinking into his plastic chair. After the last name had been pulled from the Santa hat, Nila plonked her skinny backside down next to him and nudged him in the ribs. “Gonna read it then, Mr Evans?”
Gary inched away from her bony elbow, aware that his entire staff waited expectantly. A flush bright enough to match the circulating Santa hat warmed his face and he silently cursed his annoying PA. The last thing he wanted was to find out the identity of his Secret Santa recipient in front of all those eager eyes, each of them no doubt dreading that the boss had pulled their name from the hat. Of course, in previous years he’d begged Nila to do his Secret Santa shopping for him, but she’d drawn the line at that. “I already buy the individual gifts for staff members, Gary. The least you can do is show willing and buy your own Secret Santa gift. I mean, how hard can it be?” Her scathing look told him exactly how low her regard for him was, yet he was well used to being looked down on. Teachers, his foster parents, the other kids at school and later university had made the geeky introverted kid’s life hell: he’d learned to keep his head bowed and internalise his hurt.
Resigned to his fate, he nodded enthusiastically, feeling like the silly dog he’d seen sat in the rear window of Nila’s car, only, to make things worse, wearing a stupid turkey hat. “Y-Y-Yes, of course.”
As he began to unfold the small square of paper, he tried to purge the memory of Mr Grimes’s angry face when he’d opened his gift last year. He’d been so upset that he’d snatched his party hat off his head and stormed out of the room, stuffing both wrapping paper and gift into the bin as he passed. Not one to miss out on anything, Nila had immediately scurried over and grabbed the scrunched-up parcel. “For God’s sake!”
Shaking her head, she’d held up a box of socks, each pair depicting a caricature of one of the seven dwarves. Lips pursed, she glared round the room. A few people sniggered but were quickly silenced. Her eyes then rested on her ‘superior’, who had flushed brighter than Sneezy’s nose, and the truth was out. “How could you, Mr Evans? You know he’s very touchy about being only five feet two.”
Despite Gary’s explanation of an unexpected and quite complicated business issue raising its head at the last minute, stopping him from browsing for Mr Grimes’s gift in one of the brightly lit department stores, Nila had remained unimpressed. Up to his ears in work, he’d had the choice of showing up at the Christmas party empty-handed or dashing last minute to the petrol station. Unfortunately, the petrol station didn’t have much of a choice, hence the socks. The repercussions from his ill-thought-out purchase stayed with him all year. Even after numerous attempts at an apology, Mr Grimes had refused to be mollified. His eyes darted now to the man, whose glower was enough to force Gary’s gaze down to the piece of paper clutched in his sweaty hands. The memory of the incident still appeared to be the source of great anger for Mr Grimes, but Gary was just upset by it. He hadn’t meant to insult the older man, and yet, somehow, as usual, that’s exactly what he’d done. Even now, a full year later, he avoided Mr Grimes at all costs.
This year, Nila, her arms folded under her breasts and her lips pinched tight together, had sighed. The elongated sound emphasised, as loudly as a death knell, her expectation that he would fail again as she issued her warning, “You better not mess this up… or else!”
In trepidation – with flashbacks of everyone’s faces, Mr Grimes’s flushed angry exit and Nila’s condemnation flying before his eyes – he held his breath and, still reluctant to read the name of his Secret Santa recipient, he shut his eyes for a second, before finally flipping the final fold open. For a moment he couldn’t quite believe it as he read the name on the chit. He risked a glance at Mr Grimes, who glared at him with a frostiness that showed no signs of thawing, and his heart sank. Would he ever forgive him? Gary double-checked the name then, grinning, he refolded the paper and placed it neatly in his pocket.
Nila leaned over, a frown troubling her brow. “You look pleased.”
He nodded. “Indeed I am, Nila. Indeed I am.”
“Hmmm.” She studied his face, scepticism curling her mouth into an ugly moue. “Good! No silly mistakes this year then. You’ve got plenty of time to find the perfect gift. Show us what you’re made of, Mr Evans, for a change. Lead by example and show them who’s boss, eh?” Nila hesitated, then lowered her voice. “Whose name did you pull?”
With the heavy weight of her expectation on his shoulders, Gary’s early enthusiasm dimmed. He’d thought he’d be able to find a suitable gift for his Secret Santa, but now those kernels of doubt began to niggle again. He frowned and, pulling his shoulders back, looked at his PA. “It’s a Secret Santa, Nila. I’m not telling you. Besides, nobody will know which gift I’ve given.”
Nila snorted. “Yeah right. With the way your cheeks light up like Rudolph’s nose, everyone will know which present you bought. Better make it a good one.” She stood up and began to walk away, then turned back to him. “Or, at the very least, a thoughtful one. Maybe something personal. Something you know they will enjoy, not something from a petrol station.”
And therein lay the problem, for Gary Evans wasn’t the most sociable of men and had never spoken to the person on his chit, thus buying a personal gift seemed well out of his grasp. Still, this year he was determined to try, so after a few hours locked up in his office with the blinds down and his thinking cap on, and with Nila’s advice ringing in his ears, Gary came up with a strategy of sorts. One that he hoped would provide him with the inspiration he so desperately needed. After all, it seemed that all eyes would be on him at the Christmas party, and this year he was determined not to mess it up. Bring on Operation Secret Santa.
* * *
Of course, Gary had seen Miranda before, maybe even spent a few self-indulgent moments watching her. But, now, with phase one of Operation Secret Santa underway, he studied her. At break time he scrutinised her, unobserved through the small window that looked out from his office into the staff kitchen. With one finger pulling the closed blinds slightly apart, he stood close to the pane, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waited for her to enter the kitchen and flick on the kettle, before taking her neatly labelled packet of fresh Arabian coffee from the fridge.
Since he’d pulled her name from the hat, he’d enjoyed watching her small ritual. It had become a highlight of his day. One that sent his heart aflutter and one he could almost set his watch by. Holding his breath, he watched as, with eyes closed, Miranda held the open packet to her nose and savoured the scent before inserting an unbleached paper cone into the plastic dripper and placing it above her stained, glass coffee jug. When the kettle came to the boil, she poured a precise amount of water onto the filter, moving the kettle in a slow circular movement as she did so. Once satisfied, she discarded the water from the bottom of the jug and replaced the filter and damp paper on top. After another long inhalation of the coffee, she took her plastic coffee measure and scooped the grains up, levelling them off with the back of a knife. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the spoon’s contents. With a small ‘tut’ she repeated the flattening movement of the knife to dislodge a few excess granules, then smiled, before tipping the earthy grains into the waiting filter.
Again, she lifted the kettle and repeated her circular motions bit by bit with the hot, not boiling, water. It was mesmerising. Gary, on tiptoe now, licked his lips as the dark brown liquid began to drip slowly into the glass jug. It was an agonising wait until finally the jug was filled. As her lips curled up, her eyes flickering lazily, Gary wished he too could inhale the coffee aphrodisiac. With bated breath, he peered through the window as she took her first caffeine-filled sip, then at last he exhaled as her shoulders relaxed and she smiled.
Then, her lips scrunched up and the tip of her tongue emerged from her painted lips. With matching red nails, she picked a few stray coffee grains from her tongue before leaning over to flick the offending grit into the bin, inadvertently revealing a glimpse of smooth, stockinged thigh. A soft growling noise left Gary’s throat and, breathing heavily, he returned to his desk. For once, Nila had been right. The key to Secret Santa success was getting to know the recipient of your gift and because he’d taken his PA’s advice so seriously, he now knew what he would buy for Miranda. All he had to do was some online research.
* * *
18 December
Secret Santa Day
Gary had positioned himself at the back of the room and, resisting Nila’s persistent instruction to wear a flashing Rudolph nose, he focused on the flutter of anxiety that had taken up residence in his chest. As he’d wrapped his Secret Santa gift that morning, he’d been certain that his choice was perfect and that, after today, last year’s Secret Santa debacle would be a forgotten memory. Now, however, with Wham!’s ‘Last Christmas’ playing in the background and the swathe of brightly wrapped gifts in all shapes and sizes huddled under the Christmas tree, his habitual self-doubt invaded him. The flutter moved to his gut and sweat gathered under his armpits. What if I’ve made another dreadful choice? What if, as Nila fully expects, I’ve messed up again?
As Nila handed out gift after gift, the desire to run from the room accompanied by the taunting words of the famous track was overwhelming. Nila moved closer and closer to his gift – the one with the ice blue shimmering paper and matching bow. His heart clattered against his sternum as George Michael morphed into an enthusiastic if somewhat tinny rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’. At last, his present was in Nila’s hands and she announced in a loud voice that echoed tauntingly round the room, “Miranda.”
Miranda jumped up, clapping her hands and grinning as she hurried over to accept her gift. Gary hoped that her enthusiasm wouldn’t fade when she unwrapped it.
As she took it from Nila, her smile deepened. “Wow, so beautifully wrapped. Can’t wait to see what’s inside.”
Nila glanced across at Gary, her eyes lasering him with a you better not have messed up look. How did she know that he’d pulled Miranda’s name from the hat, anyway? He met her accusing stare with more confidence than the globules of perspiration dotting his brow would indicate.
As she peeled the paper from her Secret Santa gift, Miranda’s eyes widened. “My goodness! This is brilliant! Just what I needed. Whoever got me this clearly knows me so well. Has one of you been stalking me?”
With gentle hands she rotated the coffee pot, marvelling at the clear glass jug with the inbuilt coffee dripper. When she noticed her name engraved on the silver handle, her lips stretched wide and she scanned the room. “This is the best gift ever! Thank you, Secret Santa.”
Gary’s heart rate slowed and a huge grin covered his face as Miranda’s eyes swept the room, her smile radiant. Had her gaze rested just a tad longer on him? He thought so. His lips twitched, realising that she sensed he was her Secret Santa. He was sure of it: the thought sent a warm glow through his entire body, distracting him so he almost missed his name being called to fetch his own gift. Even after the disappointment of receiving from his Secret Santa seven pairs of novelty socks with insults on them – Grumpy Old Git being the least offensive of the lot – the toasty feeling remained… although he couldn’t help wondering who had sent him that somewhat uncharitable gift. Never mind, though. Miranda loved her present and, more importantly she, he was convinced, knew that he was the sensitive, intuitive thoughtful giver.
* * *
19 December
The following day, Gary bounced lightly on his toes as he waited by the window, his warm breath leaving bubbles of steam on the glass through the gap in the blinds. Finally, he heard Miranda clipping along the corridor and strained to see her carry her new coffee pot into the kitchen. He watched her repeat the motions he’d seen her doing for weeks now, but this time there was a lighter spring to her step – a more intense feel to her coffee ritual. Her scarlet nails rested momentarily on the silver handle and her finger traced her engraved name before she removed the filter paper. Humming to herself, she poured the rich coffee into her mug – unaware that behind her, in the quiet sanctuary of his office, Gary observed her as she drank, a new plan formulating in his head as he imagined joining her in the kitchen and declaring his love for her. After all, surely, he knew her better than anyone else now. Hadn’t he been the one to buy her the perfect gift? Wasn’t it he who knew everything there was to know about her; from where she lived to what she ate, to where she parked her car and the route she took from home to the office? They were compatible in every way. The Secret Santa gift had proved that. Still, Gary wasn’t prone to impulsive acts, so he decided to leave it a few days before confiding his feelings for her. Let her enjoy her new coffee ritual for the time being, then he’d introduce his matching pot to the kitchen and they’d take it from there. He suspected that she hadn’t worked out yet that the handle with her name on made up one half of a love heart.
* * *
21 December
Persistent rain had soaked Gary on the quick walk from the car park to the office; nevertheless, he hummed as he shrugged his raincoat off and hung it on the hook by the window. A sudden crash of thunder rattled the pane and Gary turned to watch as the deluge outside worsened. Drenched pedestrians danced round puddles and huddled in shop doorways. Cars, their wipers barely fast enough to scrape their screens dry, slowed in unusual deference to the elements. Then, through the waves of water obscuring his vision, a car pulled right up to the kerb outside the office. The passenger door swung open and, holding a briefcase above her head, Miranda stepped out, skirted the large vehicle and approached the driver’s side. Immediately, a frown formed on Gary’s forehead. What is she doing in someone else’s car? He squashed his nose against the window and his eyes screwed up, peering down at the street below. No, not just anyone else’s car. It was Mr Grimes’s car. What was she doing in his car? Had hers broken down or something? Was he giving her a lift because hers was out of commission? An uncomfortable lump settled in Gary’s throat as he tried to make sense of the strange situation.
Oblivious to the rain, Miranda dropped her briefcase to the floor and, as she leaned down, the car window purred open. Gary scraped his nose further up the glass for a better view. Then, unmoving, he released a long hissing sound. She was kissing the driver. His Miranda was kissing the driver! No, not just the driver. His Miranda was kissing Mr Grimes! Out there, in front of the office. Right under his nose. With both hands splayed against the glass, his enraged hiss faded to a whimper and then died to nothing as he slid downwards until he was huddled against the wall beneath. Like a monkey rocking senselessly in a tree, Gary remained where he was until activity in the outer office roused him.
With a deep breath, he dragged himself to his feet – the last thing he needed was Nila finding him like this – and adjusted his suit, rubbed his wet face with his hands, and sat down at his desk just as his PA entered, full of pointless chatter about the weather. Despite being dazed, Gary responded as normal and eventually, armed with a list of tasks, Nila left him alone to contemplate Miranda’s betrayal.
He should never have listened to Nila’s instructions to get to know his Secret Santa giftee. He should never have taken advice from that interfering know-it-all. As for Miranda herself, how dare she? How dare she build his hopes up like that? Making him believe his feelings were reciprocated. His turbulent mind rested on Mr Grimes. Was this payback? Was this the other man’s way of getting back at him for last year’s mistake? He wouldn’t put it past the mean-minded git.
As it neared morning break time, Gary, an empty weight dragging in his gut, left his office for only a moment and returned with his lips creased into a humourless line. Just before eleven, he hefted on his half-dry raincoat and left the office, ignoring Nila’s calls and expressions of concern. “Leave me alone. You’ve done enough damage. Just do your work and mind your own business.”
* * *
Later, after he’d slipped indoors, out of the rain, Gary stripped off his wet clothes, pulled the plump duvet back from the bed and lay down in a foetal position, naked, the soft fabric covering him. The overpowering stench of coffee that had irritated his nostrils on the journey from the office dissipated, replaced by the soothing Christmas cinnamon scent that rose from the satin-covered pillow. He pulled the duvet tighter around him and, cocooned in its fragrance, breathed slowly and deeply, until finally he slept.
* * *
Back at the office, Miranda gasped when she entered the kitchen on her break. Her slender fingers covered her mouth as she tried to make sense of the mess on the floor. A strong coffee aroma hung heavily in the air and in the middle of the floor in a small mound, was a pile of pungent coffee granules with a moat of sludgy foam around it. Sitting on top of the heap, like a turret, was her beautiful coffee pot, smashed into shards, the handle with her nameplate scratched and disfigured at the side. Wordlessly, she bent and picked it up. Then, with tears rolling down her cheeks, she collected a dustpan and cleared the mess away.
* * *
When Gary finally woke, the rain had nearly stopped. He lay, his stomach knotted with a rage he’d never experienced before, listening to the infrequent melodic drops on the skylight. And as each slight, each nasty word, each impatient gesture flashed into his mind, he devised a strategy. When he was happy with his plans, he stretched, rolled to the side of the bed and hopped onto the rug. Time for payback. Finally, after rummaging through drawer after drawer, he found some clean clothes, got dressed, and walked through to the darkened kitchen to prepare. When he heard the car pull up outside, a strange calmness settled over him. Cold as ice, he picked up the house phone and dialled 999. When it connected, he stammered as he recited the address, then in a panicked, breathless rush that was a key component of his plot, he added, “She lured me here. She’s going to kill me. Please help. She’s got a knife. Come quick…”
By the time the key turned in the lock, he’d hung up. Eager to see her reaction, he faced the door, wearing her oversized hoodie and joggers and gripping her carving knife. With his lips pulled into a sneer he savoured her confusion that was soon replaced by fear as the homeowner faced him.
“What the hell…?” She stepped forward, her brows gathered together in a dark frown, her voice trembling just a little. “What are you…?”
But Gary stepped forward as well, grabbed her, and dragged her through to the cinnamon-scented bedroom. “You set this all up, didn’t you? All the ‘get to know your Secret Santa giftee, find out their interests, make it something personal’. You did this. You.”
She struggled, but his rage made him strong and she was skinny. Ignoring her strangled protestations, he flung her onto the bed. “You and your interfering caused this. You’ve only got yourself to blame. You knew she was seeing him. You wanted to humiliate me. That’s what you do, Nila. That’s what you get joy from, humiliating people! But your time has come. Secret Santa’s got a gift for you now.”
All trace of his PA’s usual irritation was replaced by a flicker of fear as she backed away from him, edging closer to the headboard. A pulse thrummed at her temple and, as her shaking fingers gripped the neck of her blouse, she said, “I don’t—”
But Gary was having none of it. With the sound of sirens growing ever louder, he had to act quickly if his plan was to work. He’d showed willing, made an effort… He was determined not to mess this up.
Gary lunged forward and pushed her over the edge of the bed onto the floor by the window, with the duvet trailing after her. Before she could stand up, he rolled onto his back, rested his head on the pillow and, using both hands, thrust the knife into his own heart. As the detectives burst through the front door, his dying words for her ears alone were, “You got what you deserved in the end, you interfering cow. Tell Miranda that coffee break’s over.”