Holiday Passion: A M/M Holiday Romance Read online

  “Uh?” Martin says, pushing his eyebrows together.

  “I mean ever since I’ve known you’ve been dancing around each other—”

  “Pining for one another,” Lin says. “In the most pitiful of ways.”

  “Yes, that,” Leon continues, “and I’ve always wanted to, you know, point out to you that that’s what you’d been doing.”

  “I wanted to knock your heads together actually,” Lin says, “but Gwen and Jacob were against it.”

  “It wasn’t our place,” says Jacob, getting a nod of acknowledgement from Gwen.

  “Oh my God.” Martin shares a panicked look with Luther. “That’s not embarrassing at all.”

  “I suggest we act as though we don’t know them at all,” Luther tells him, eyeing the door. “How about doing a runner?”

  “Fie.” Lin pats the pile of presents. “So you want to pass on the gift exchange? Give up on all your beautiful presents?”

  Martin and Luther share a look, then scuttle over to the tree, sit under it with the others.

  The exchange begins. Wrapping paper gets torn and set aside. There’s a lot of cooing over presents, vast amounts of ohing and ahing, kisses on the cheeks and slaps on the back. Martin smiles as packets change hands and marvels when the gifts are revealed.

  Leon gets a new cardigan from Gwen and Gwen a pair of earrings from Leon. Tristan has concert tickets for Sarah. When he hands them over, he says, “I hope you don’t mind I practically invited myself along.”

  Sarah embraces him, kisses him on the lips, puts an envelope in his hands. “You get a Spa weekender, with a plus one.” She makes a funny face, waggles her eyebrows. “And I’m not at all angling for the plus one spot here.”

  If Martin makes no mystery of approving the shenanigans between those two, he acts as though he hasn’t noticed Jacob hand Lin a square object. It’s still in the bag from W&H Smith, which means he bought it at the station, and replaces a pre-wrapped gift he has by and that he asks her to not take into account. “This is… much more personal.”

  Lin upends the bag and a book spills out. It’s a volume of poetry by Pablo Neruda. Lin opens the first page and says, “There’s a dedication.”

  “Read it,” Jacob says, leaning in to study words he must have put there himself.

  “Tonight I can write the saddest lines,” Lin reads. “I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.”

  Gwen makes a small noise in her throat. “I forgot something in my room,” she says and disappears for a while. Everyone but Leon acts as though this is par for the course and nothing to worry about, though they’re most probably only trying to do what Martin’s doing, and that is make an effort to lighten up the situation.

  Luther for all his silly Christmas chatter takes Lin’s hand and doesn’t let go. Leon’s face tightens and a frown settles on his brow.

  Lin and Jacob lower their gazes, shift apart.

  Sarah says, “Let’s see what Martin got everybody!”

  Martin tries not to worry about his friends, to distract himself with the unwrapping of the gifts he bought for the others. Everyone professes to like his choices, which is a relief, though Martin only relaxes when Gwen comes back, all smiles and with fresh make up on.

  Every one relaxes then. Lin sits up straighter like she’s not weighed down with concern anymore and Jacob gives Gwen his present, which she slips into her pocket and promises to open later.

  It’s then that Martin starts to unpack his own gifts. He gets a lot of stuff he wanted and some he can probably find a use for. But then again that’s Christmas for you. In any case he thanks everyone with the biggest of smiles.

  Somehow though the moment that comes next means a lot more to him, because it’s Luther’s turn to open his gift.

  With hands that shake a little, he hands Luther his present. “It’s not much.” He dips his head. “It’s not much but I thought you’d like it.”

  Luther rips the paper aside in one fell swoop. “It’s a tee,” he says, turning it around. “Death before dishonour.” He reads the lettering plastered across the shirt. “Coffee before everything.” He makes a face at Martin, all round eyes and mouth sticking out in a pout. “I’ll have you know I’m not useless before my morning coffee,” he says. Then he finds the case hidden among the folds of his new shirt and jumps up, eyes aglow with tenderness, and hugs Martin. “Thank you, Martin.” “What’s that?” Sarah asks. “What did you get him?”

  “An old Marlene Dietrich film they don’t distribute here,” Martin says, his shoulders up. “No big deal.”

  “That’s a masterpiece and a rare find. Respect Ms Dietrich, please.” Luther squeezes him tight once more before giving Martin his own gift. “Here,” he says, putting a box in his hands. “This is mine.”

  “Oh, coming last,” Martin says, shaking the box. “This means you’re trying to make a point.” “Just open it,” Luther tells him, pushing the package into Martin’s lap.

  Martin arches up an eyebrow but then obeys. When the paper comes off he sees the package. The moment the lid’s off, he realises what it is. “God, Luther, you shouldn’t have.”

  Sarah and Lin peek in, then share a look that’s half smile, half cooing.

  Luther says, “It’s not what you think it is.”

  “I think it’s a bloody iPad, you moron,” Martin says, scrunching up the paper it was embellished with. “I don’t even know if I should accept it. It must have cost you an arm and a leg.”

  Luther shakes his hands. “Well, no, the i-Pad is not your present.”

  “I don’t get it,” Martin says, not ashamed to admit he’s utterly confused. “This is an i-Pad.”

  “Maybe Luther got him a knock off,” Sarah says.

  “Not the type,” says Lin. “Luther’s somewhat snobbish when it comes to presents. Only the best.”

  Luther points at the device. “Just turn it on, will you, Martin!”

  Martin pushes the on button and waits for the screen to light up. “What now?”

  “Go to the videos folder,” Luther says, biting his lip.

  Martin obeys. “There’s a pre-loaded MP4 here.”

  Luther says, “Just play the video.”

  Martin chooses the play option. The video starts. The members of Coldplay are sitting like pigeons in a row on a long beige sofa. “Did you download some kind of interview?” Martin asks, but then the audio comes on and Martin’s fairly sure that this is not normal footage Luther got from somewhere. Mostly because Chris Martin waves and then says, “Hello, this is a message for Martin.” The other band members nod. “So, hi, Martin.” There’s more waving. “I’ve been told that you’re a great fan of ours and that you’ve been since we released our very first song. Well, let me that you that we’re honoured to have such a devoted follower.” The other band members murmur their agreement. “So we want to wish you a special happy Christmas and invite you for a meet and greet after our next London concert. You’ll find special passes in your mail. That’s it from us… And keep it on, Martin.”

  “Oh, my God,” Martin says, hyperventilating the littlest bit. “How did you get them to do this? Just how?”

  Luther brushes his fist against his jumper, blows on it. “I pestered a friend at ITV, who’s got a friend, who’s got a friend, who knows Chris Martin.” He beams. “So, Martin, do you like your present?”

  “I love it!” Martin says, putting the i-Pad down, because that’s not what matters now. “I don’t even know how you pulled it off or why since you just hate it whenever I mention the band, but oh God, Luther, this is the most memorable present ever.”

  “I just wanted to get you something special,” Luther says, ducking his head. “Something that you’d really love, and I knew it wouldn’t be material things. Then it occurred to me that perhaps, If I persisted a bit, I could get you this.” Luther smiles a lopsided smile at him. “And all those unreturned phone calls and shameless begging I had to do? They were worth it.” Luther’s Adam’s apple takes
a plunge. “Because you are. You’re worth it.”

  Martin pulls Luther to him and presses what must be a hundred kiss to his lips. “You too Luther. You too. You’re worth all of my… sizeable affection.”

  Over the blood roaring in his ears, Martin hears catcalls and whistles. He also definitely picks out the words, “High time.”

  * * *

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected],

  [email protected], [email protected], [email protected],

  [email protected]. [email protected], [email protected],

  [email protected], [email protected], [email protected],

  [email protected], [email protected], [email protected],

  [email protected]…

  Subject: Wedding Cancelled

  Dear Friends,

  I’m sorry to have to communicate to you that Gwen and I have called off the wedding. We’ll try to reach everyone by mail or phone, but, please, do pass on the word.

  I apologise for the inconvenience,

  Best Regards to you all,

  Leon Knight

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]. [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]…

  Subject: Wedding

  Hello everyone,

  I fear you might all have received a rather hasty mail from Leon. You might be wondering why and be worrying for us. (Hi, dad.) Well, there’s no reason to.

  Life as a couple isn’t always easy. Sometimes you’re in seventh heaven and sometimes you get the so-called pre-marital jitters.

  I want you all to know that Leon and I discussed the situation, had several heart to hearts, and have found that we’re now back on solid ground and in a place of mutual understanding. In short we’re ready to embark on a new adventure together!

  Therefore you may consider the wedding to still be very much on. We’re both looking forward to seeing all our dear friends and family gathered together on this occasion.

  In the expectation of having you all there to share in our joy,

  Yours,

  Gwen.

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Are you alright?

  Hey, Gwen, getting a tad concerned here.

  Talk to me, please.

  M

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  RE: Are you alright?

  I’m fine, Martin, no need to worry. I won’t hide that Leon and I went through a rocky patch and that part of it was my fault.

  Seeing Lin and Jacob together was a bit of a shock. As happy as I am when something good happens to the people I love, the notion that I’d lost Jacob for good was really brought home to me.

  It’s not as if I hadn’t made the choice myself, or that I regretted it, but over Christmas I realised that that part of my life was truly over and it was a painful realisation. Perhaps I was a little selfish. I think I believed Jacob would take some time to move on and finding that he did do so more quickly than I thought was a surprise that came with some pain. It hurts to think about how I reacted. And I hope that I didn’t hurt anyone.

  Leon, of course, saw it all unfold. As I think you did. He thought, he later confessed, that I wanted out. He believed that I was rethinking my choices. I wasn’t. I truly wasn’t.

  I love Leon deeply. I think we make a fine pair. He’s tender, considerate, and there for me, which

  is something I need in a relationship. I told him all that. I told him I hoped I hadn’t ruined everything because I did want to marry him and be his wife.

  I made him a big declartion. And he apoligised for acting studiply, for being rash and jealous and sending that email out. (Yes, I was angry over that one.)

  We’re fine now. And we’ve had the talk we both needed to have.

  So you see, there’s no need to worry for me. I know what I’m doing and am quite happy.

  Dying to have you as my guest at the wedding,

  Yours,

  Gwen

  PS: I hear you and Artur are doing fine :p

  * * *

  Epilogue

  “And cut!” the director calls out, taking his eyes off the monitor and looking at his actors.

  Lucius Jones makes a victory sign. Jenna Lake drops her umbrella and says, “Do you want me to do another?”

  The director takes off his headphones and says, “No this one was good.”

  Luther claps and leans close to murmur, “I know your humongous crush on Lucius hasn’t abated.”

  “I have no crush on him!” Martin protests, perhaps too much.

  “But what do you think of Ms Lake?”

  “I can hardly believe she’s hanging around at mine,” Martin says, relieved Luther’s not needling him about his minor actor infatuation. He’d be in the same state if Cary Grant walked in. Well, were he alive and well. “This seems like some kind of weird parallel world of something, where telly people loiter in my garden.”

  “Well, she’s not exactly hanging at yours for the pleasure of your company,” says Luther, feigning stiffness. He waves at Ms Lake as she strolls to the catering van. “She’s working.”

  Martin rolls his eyes skywards. “As if I didn’t know that. The fact they’re filming your series here is the only reason I’m staying.”

  Luther presses his lips together, gives him a hip nudge. “The only reason?” “Shut up, you idiot,” Martin says, “you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” says Luther looking into the distance at the actors and crew milling around on set. As he watches, the tech guys shift cables and light equipment. “And you know what: this is going to work out. Before long you’ll get tourists knocking on your door to see the filming locations. You can re-open the B&B.”

  Martin takes Luther’s hand, squeezes before letting go. “It really means a lot. That you did all this for me.”

  “Martin,” Luther says, turning a little so he can look Martin in the eye. “I did want you here.” His gaze roams around but he wraps an arm around Martin, pulling him close to his side, so Martin can feel the warmth of his body. “But the truth is the people over at ITV liked the house. And that’s because it’s a unique place.”

  “I know,” Martin says, his mum had always said as much. “My mum loved it. She really put her heart into it. Preserved it. And now I get to keep it as it is.” He sees the dollies and cameras littering his garden. “More or less.”

  “So happy ending?” Luther asks, looking back at the house. It doesn’t look like itself. Most outwards sings of modernity have been removed to make the place fit in a period drama. “What do you think?”