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Bright

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Doctor Eastman was almost as old as Klaus and more stooped over. He still wrote his notes by hand and told Bright that his secretary typed them out for him later. His handwriting was stereotypically bad — a chicken scratch that Bright could not decipher and he imagined was a nightmare to transcribe.

“You’ve put on a fair bit of weight,” the doctor told Klaus. “Good, good,” his father said, looking pleased.

“I don’t think that was meant to be complimentary, Dad,” Bright told him. “You were supposed to be watching what you eat.”

“I’ll look at a diet in the New Year,” Klaus said, holding on to the exam table while he put his shoes back on.

“You’re at high risk of developing diabetes,” the doctor

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said. “And your face is rather rosy. We’d better check your blood pressure.”

Klaus sat and waited while the doctor wrapped the cuff around his arm.

“How have you been feeling?” the doctor asked. “Memory any worse?” He looked at Bright when he asked this.

“I’m jolly well fine,” Klaus said.

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While Bright was settling the bill, he turned around to find Klaus sitting in the waiting room, playing with an abacus alongside a small boy at the play table. He said something to him and the boy broke into a beaming smile.

“Really?” he asked, and Klaus nodded. “I have been,” the boy said.

“I know,” Klaus told him, tapping the side of his nose. “Tyler, come on,” his mother called. The boy waved furi-

ously at Klaus as he was led into the doctor’s consultation room.

“Bye, Santa,” he called. Bright laughed. He could see why the boy had thought that, with Klaus’s white hair and beard. It really could do with a trim.

“How about we stop and get you a haircut on the way home?” he suggested.

image“I’ll look at that in the New Year,” Klaus said. “But I wouldn’t mind an ice cream.”

Bright picked up a couple of bottles of wine on the way back to Mary’s that evening. He wasn’t sure if she was a red or a white drinker, so he got both. The lights were on and he could hear music playing. Through the window, he could see her dancing around in the kitchen, a wooden spoon up to her mouth in what he suspected might be a pretend microphone. She wasn’t his type. He normally chose more sedate, ca- reer-focused women. Not that he’d had a girlfriend for a while. It had been ... bloody hell ... longer than he’d realised. His last girlfriend, Greta, had been well over a year ago. She had been in corporate law. Things had been fine with them, but it had fizzled out after about eighteen months when she had talked about him moving in with her. He wasn’t attached to his townhouse particularly, but he wasn’t attached to her apartment either. He’d imagined they might get a house to- gether, maybe a dog. Possibly even have a kid, although he wasn’t fussed either way on that. But Greta had looked at him like he’d suggested they become nudists and he’d real-

ised they had never talked about the future together.

Mary was nothing like Greta. Or Lisa the accountant, or Hayley the accountant, or, bloody hell, Kelly — who was also an accountant. What was that all about?

They’d all been tall and well ... sensible looking was what came to mind. Tidy haircuts and those suits with skirts and small heels. Not pink hair and mad earrings and T-shirts with cartoons.

But Mary did remind him of someone. His mother, he real-

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ised with a jolt. Not the hair and clothes, but her enthusiasm for life. The way she found joy in little things. How easily she laughed. And her kindness. He wondered if she was see- ing anyone? Would she have invited him around if she was? What sort of men did she go for? Probably not ones like him. He was too serious. Too boring probably.

She wasn’t his type, but he realised he wanted to be hers.

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The house smelt of lemon and pine needles when Mary an- swered the door and gestured him in. She was wearing elf slippers, he noted with amusement. They had pointy toes with little bells on the end. There were boxes of decorations and lights scattered around the tree and Count Basie was playing on the stereo. He handed her the wine and she gave him a beaming smile.

“Will I open one for you? I have a Pinot Gris open already but it’s likely not as good.”

“Whatever you have will be fine,” he said. “Thank you.”

She went into the kitchen and he heard her rummaging around, opening the fridge and a cupboard, glasses clinking. “I’ve made a risotto. I wasn’t sure if you had any food al- lergies, or if you ate meat ...” She came back in, carrying a

wine for him and handed it over.

“It smells lovely. And I eat almost anything. Except al- mond icing.”

“Good to know.” She gestured to the couch. “Shall we sit?

Or would you prefer to eat now?“

“Let’s sit if that’s okay? I had an ice cream with Dad ear- lier, so I’m not starving.” He took a sip of wine. “I feel a bit guilty. He’s supposed to be looking after his weight, but he insisted. I should have said no.”

“Ah well, Gran always said ‘Life happens right now, not tomorrow’ and I tend to think she was right. I see all these elderly people who have regrets, some for what they did do, and some for what they didn’t, and I think either way, you have to live for the moment, make your own happiness, you know? Eat the ice cream while you can.”

She had lovely lips. Wide and plump and kissable. Bright found himself staring at them too long as she talked. He looked around for a distraction.

“Are all these boxes for the tree?” he asked.

“Well, let’s see. The tree’s probably too small and it’ll keel over with the weight of them, but they all have meaning and I love seeing them hanging on the branches.” She took a gulp of wine and put her glass down on the table. “I was sort of hoping I could rope you into doing the lights? With you be- ing so tall, I won’t have to get out the step ladder.”

“How short are you anyway?” Bright asked and she laughed.

“I’m a perfectly respectable height, thank you very much.

You’re just over-tall.”

Bright grinned and got up to help string the lights.

“I’m not that tall,” he said. “My brother tells everyone he’s

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an inch taller than he is, but I’m sure he’s the same height as me. How do you want these?”

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They stopped to eat, opened Bright’s bottle of riesling, and gradually hung the bulk of the decorations, with Mary tell- ing him about which ones she had picked with her gran and others she had picked up on her travels. She’d seen a lot of the world, mostly backpacking. He had done only a few trips with Bern in his twenties and the odd conference to the States. He was envious of her spirit of adventure.

“I did a bit of travel in my twenties and after Gran passed as well.” Mary untangled the string from a glass bauble with a snowflake suspended inside it. “She was a good budget- er and a saver so I inherited her life savings, as well as this house. She never went far from home but always loved hear- ing stories of my trips. Especially England, where her mother was from.”

“What did you do there?”

“All sorts. I travelled around and did a bit of bar work, cleaning, that sort of thing. My boyfriend at the time was a plumber. He ended up finding a permanent job and staying on.”

She passed the untangled bauble to Bright. “I think this would look nice near the top over there. I brought that one back from Switzerland, because Gran loved the snow but she’d never seen it. Carried it in my hand luggage all the way

home.” Mary stopped and put her hands on her hips, observ- ing the tree. Bright wanted to pick her up and put her on the top.

“Gran got sick and before she died she told me to make the most of life. I try to do that every day.”

The daily grind was how Bright thought of his life. Work, business commitments, trying to figure out how he could make more money. No time for fun.

“Now just some of these tinsel strands and we’re done.” Mary hung a Mickey Mouse figure on a lower branch.

“You’re lucky you don’t have a cat,” Bright noted.

“Oh, but I’d love one. Gran had a big tom called Purrbury when I first moved in and I adored him.” Mary went to top up his glass, but he stopped her.

“Better not, I’m driving. Any reason you haven’t got one since?” Mary filled her own glass, finishing the bottle.

“I was travelling too much initially, and then my ex was allergic, but now ... I’m waiting for the cat to find me.”

“Huh? How does that work?”

“Oh, you know, animals have a way of coming into your life and then they’re meant to be. Purrbury was a stray and he just turned up and owned us.” Mary unwrapped an angel from some tissue paper. “Would you like to do the honours? I can’t reach.”

“Why don’t I give you a lift,” he said with a laugh, pick- ing her up by the hips and lifting her easily up to place the decoration on top of the tree. She squealed and they both

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imagelaughed while she popped it on and then he slowly lowered her down, wishing he had a reason to keep holding on to her. There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence as they stood looking at each other and then he cleared his throat and Mary went over to the wall, bending down to turn on the switch. He tried not to look at her bum. It was getting a bit

ridiculous how often he had to stop himself.

“Ready? Voilà!” The lights glowed on the tree, catching the silver tinsel strands and reflecting like stars. Bright had forgotten how nice it was seeing the end result of dressing a Christmas tree. He thought again of his mother and how she would let him and Bern put on the decorations in any hap- hazard way they chose, insisting it was the best tree they’d ever had, year after year. How his dad would lift one of them up to put the star at the top and then the other to ‘reput it’. A lump formed in his throat.

“I’d better get going,” he said, a little brusquely. “Thanks for dinner.”

“No, thank you,” Mary said gently, and then he left, driv- ing home feeling like an idiot for crying in the dark of his car.

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CHAPTER  12