A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

The Last Twist

Dair pursed his lips. She wasn't sure whether he was holding back his amusement, or starting to feel frustrated.

"Eric, you said you wanted to get the ball rolling here for Monte Cristo," Billie went on. "Alexander mentioned a meeting with the Head of the Primary. And Bondarenko and the rest are staying in Fleckney till Christmas. It is still my job, innit?"

He was silent, and Billie gave him a shaky smile.

"And you did just say that you'd fly back in at the first opportunity," she added. "I'll be here, and we can–" 

She vaguely waved her hand in the air, not entirely sure how to put into words what it was that they could do when he dropped by.

Kissing. That's what she would very much fancy. And sex. And cuddling while reading to him. And eating breakfast together. And sleeping together. All the clichés and banalities of romance were now so very much desirable to her. And she highly doubted that she'd change her mind even if his chewing irked her.

Oh bother. Her Aunts had been right. She was so very much in love with him.

Dair studied her face, nodded, and rose.

"L-lunch is ready, cara," he said flatly. "I'll s-see you downstairs."

What the austen?!

"But– Eric?"

Billie stared after him bewildered, but he was already out of the room.

It's quite alright, she told herself. They'd have plenty of chances to talk before he left.

***

They didn't.

Between this and that - his cousins, their partners, their children, three dogs; washing up, chatting with various Holyoakes, half watching a Narnia film with the little'uns, and tea and biscuits - she'd remained distracted and busy. And then she'd fallen asleep on the sofa, incarcerated by said children and dogs, their warm sides tucked against her from every direction.

And then it was evening, and he murmured, "Ciao, amore" into her ear; she felt his lips brush at hers - and he was gone.

Billie gasped and sat up. She grabbed her glasses and gawked around. The lights were off; and only Vulcan, her initial canine acquaintance, was still snoozing next to her. Billie awkwardly climbed over the dog and plodded in the direction of jolly voices, ringing, as it turned out, in the kitchen.

The Holyoakes were cooking supper - and Billie felt a painful knot in her throat. The picture was so very similar to the last time when Fiona had lured her in - except there was one Holyoake missing. Billie's eyes prickled.

"I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep. I missed Eric leaving," she said, and her voice cracked.

"That was three hours ago," Lily exclaimed, and her sibling Pat shushed her.

"Oh," Billie exhaled.

The overwhelming sense of how little she belonged in this place, flooded her.

"I'll call myself a cab," she muttered and started backing off. "My Aunts must be looking for me."

An outburst of protests and reassurances erupted; but, unlike this one specific, now absent relative of theirs, these Holyoakes had no chance to convince her to stay.

***

While climbing out of the cab that she called for herself, somehow unconcerned with this unsanctioned expense, Billie - the clot that she was - flopped forward, scraping her palms on the chunks of ice hiding in the snow drift. She hissed and clumsily rose, foundering and grabbing to the side of the car. A sensitive pang of pain made her flip her left hand, and she saw that it was bleeding. Billie impulsively wiped it on her trouser leg, and cursed at the view of the stain and at the thought of all sorts of muck she'd just rubbed into her epidermis.

She dragged herself into her extension. Her whole body felt heavy, her skin unpleasantly flushed. There was a first-aid kit in the kitchen. Shaking off her jacket onto the floor, Billie trudged into the house. She'd have to face her relatives soon either way - and for some reason she couldn't care less.

Mid-way she turned around, returned to her room, and awkwardly rummaged in her jacket's pocket with one hand. When she'd woken up in Nana Holyoake's cottage, she'd found Dair's card, clearly left specifically for her, next to her glasses. It had a phone number and an address scribbled at the back with a purple marker. Billie assumed he'd picked up whatever the twins had lying around. She set the cardstock rectangle on her rickety desk, against the mug that said 'Uniquely portable magic' on it, which she used to keep her lonely two pens and a pencil. When moving back to Crow's Vespers - at the time still presumably 'only temporarily' - the plan had been to purchase an ungodly amount of stationary, stickers, and washi tape; and to spend her evenings reading and journalling. Just as any of her other delusions, it never came to fruition.

Billie was washing her hands in the kitchen sink, furiously lathering Delia's bestseller carrot and rosemary soap; when the door leading to the greenhouse flew open; and three of her Aunts and Phee burst in.

Billie didn't even flinch.

"Tell me you used protection, Sybil!" Aunt Hazel hollered with her usual refined gentility.

"Oh, please, Hazel, you've seen the boy's palm!" Aunt Thelma exclaimed. "His moral standards are beyond reproach!"

"And even Sybil isn't naive enough to disregard the precautions!" Aunt Sophia chimed in, and then gave Billie a suspicious look. "Are you, Sybil?"

Billie patted the ugly jagged cut with a gauze she'd pulled out of the kit.

"Goodness, Sybil, what happened to your hand?" Phee squeaked.

"That's not how you treat it!" Aunt Hazel cried out in an exasperated tone and took a step towards the sink.

And then immediately, she as much as jumped away - away from Billie with her glare, gritted teeth, and whatever it was that boiled over in Billie's noggin after all these years and was now, no doubt, splashing in her eyes. Paraphrasing Bradbury, metaphorically speaking, 'with the brass nozzle in her fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in her head.'  

It was, indeed, 'a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed' - and Billie narrowed her eyes and hissed, "Leave. Me. Be."

Her words hung in the air like Aunt Thelma's favourite Divine Harmony lemon, lavender, and cedar incense; and then she picked up the first aid supplies and marched out of the kitchen.

***

Two hours of crying. 

One hour of trying to sleep. 

One text to his number.

Left on 'read.' 

And no response for the next three days.

Clearly, as per P.G. Wodehouse, Fate had 'sneaked up behind her with the bit of lead piping' - and it was all her fault.