The Virtues Of Literature

Part 15

Chapter 15

The first thing Arthur notices as he wakes up is a tingling of excitement and anticipation that had stayed with him throughout the night, left over from yesterday evening. Christmas Eve. He can't help his lips spreading into a wide smile as remembers the date, and feels suitably festive. He feels like a child still, like his child self who had stayed up late to try and see Santa but had fallen asleep from exhaustion before his mother could tiptoe in to fill up his stocking.

He moves his eyes from the ceiling to the man in his bed next to him.

A moment of panic is enough to wake him up, to get his heart beating. But relief follows as quickly as his memories just had, and he recalls the previous night.

They had clambered upstairs after their long evening of light drinking and Christmas television, Francis quickly changing into pyjamas in the bathroom while Arthur did the same in his bedroom. They reconvened and settled down in their beds. Arthur remembers feeling bad for Francis, having to sleep on the floor (even with the blow-up mattress and extensive collection of blankets), and invited him up to his bed for a while as they talked. They didn't talk about anything much in particular, mostly just Christmas and food and TV and anything that popped into their minds. They had been comfy, sharing warmth under the covers like a couple of children sharing a bed at a sleepover, and Arthur does not recall Francis returning to his makeshift bedding on the floor.

He sees him now, sleeping peacefully with his hair messy and spread over the pillow. Arthur's bed isn't massive and he can feel Francis' foot resting against his own leg. Arthur moves to the side slightly, enough to retreat from the unnecessary contact. He lies there for another couple of minutes, contemplating. The time reads 8:50am, and Arthur slides out of bed before poking Francis awake.

He groans and stretches, rolling over to his other side and not responding. Arthur sighs, and walks across the landing to the bathroom.

Some idiot had decided that they needed to decorate the bloody bathroom, and Arthur tries to ignore the red glittery tinsel draped along the mirror as he examines his weary reflection. He tries to neaten himself up a little, rinsing his face and pushing around his hair, though the darkness under his eyes stubbornly remains.

Francis is standing and looking out of the window at the recently risen sun when Arthur returns, the sky lightening from deep navy to the blue and yellow indication of day.

"Merry Christmas."

Francis turns and looks confused for a moment, and Arthur can see his eyes light up and his face brighten as he remembers the holiday. He smiles that lovely smile as usual, though he looks more excited, similarly more like a child again.

"Merry Christmas, Arthur."

They head downstairs, warm dressing gowns and thick walls keeping them from the sharp wintry air. They come down into the living room, their recently assembled Christmas tree standing in its proud majesty, twinkling with fairy lights. Harriet is in the kitchen frying bacon and brewing a very large cafetiere of coffee. Francis has been staying with Arthur and his family for a couple of days already, and Arthur knows he has seen the wrath of the household if they aren't presented with either coffee or tea or both first thing in the morning.

Aoife is sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading the newspaper with a mug of already brewed coffee in one hand, and Dylan is on the sofa with a steaming cup of tea, reading something on his phone. Sean and Alistair are nowhere to be seen.

They all wish each other Merry Christmas, exchanging a couple of hugs, Arthur attempting to pull away from the sloppy kiss his mother threatens to give. They comment on the lack of snow outside with grim acceptance, not too surprised since this area of the UK hasn't been blessed with a white Christmas in years and years.