‘Better,’ he remarked, before pulling me down on top of him and proceeding to kiss me very thoroughly. When I felt his hands tugging at my shirt and creeping underneath, I broke away, smiling coyly at him.
He sat back, folded his arms and studied me with a slightly perplexed grin.
‘Roxy?’ he said, and my heart lurched at the look in his eye.
‘Yes?’ I sounded a little breathless.
‘Mulled wine?’
‘Sorry?’
He pointed at the presentation box that was lying on the floor.
‘Oh. Yes.’ Smiling, I picked it up and took it through to the kitchen, then proceeded to unpack it with a grimace. As I stirred the ingredients on the hob, I heard the TV go on, blaring with some football match.
I’m actually not that keen on mulled wine. I remember telling Jackson this but I suppose he must have forgotten, and he looked so pleased with himself when he presented me with the package that I couldn’t bear to spoil his fun.
In the end, I managed to throw down almost a whole glass of the revolting stuff while we decorated the tree, hiding my impulse to gag fairly well, before depositing the rest in an ornamental jug on a nearby side table.
And now, lounging back happily on the sofa, gazing at the newly decorated tree, while Jackson makes a business call in the kitchen, I’m feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.
If I’m honest, the reason I’m feeling so blissed out and warm on this freezing late November night has less to do with the real tree (my first ever) or the effect of the mulled wine – and rather more to do with the fact that I think I might be in love.
In fact, I’m sure I am.
I’ve never met anyone like Jackson. He’s so gorgeous, brilliant and charming, and he could basically have any woman he wanted. But, for some weird reason, he seems to want to be with me. Plain, ordinary Roxy Gallagher.
I said exactly this to Flo earlier, before she went out with Fergus, and she gave me a severe look and said, ‘Stop it, Roxy. Jackson’s the lucky one, having you in his life.’
I laughed and said I was only joking.
And I was. Sort of …
We’d planned dinner out but Jackson keeps asking if I mind if we watch a bit more of the football. Until, eventually, I suggest I just make food here then he can settle down to watch the rest of the match.
‘You’re so good to me, Roxy.’ On my way out, he grabs my wrist and bestows on me one of his raffish, whiter-than-white smiles – the kind that makes me feel so incredibly special.
I smile back and head for the kitchen, and he calls something after me that sounds like, ‘I really love your melting green eyes.’
My heart cantering along happily at such a romantic comment, I pop my head back round the door, but he’s deeply engrossed in a free kick.
Suddenly aware I’m there, he says, ‘Oh yeah, I said I really loved those melted cheese pies? The ones we had last time. Don’t suppose you could …?’
‘Ah.’ I nod, smiling, feeling slightly silly for having heard what I wanted to hear. ‘Yes, I think there’s some in the freezer.’
He holds out a thumb without prising his eyes from the action on the screen.
In the kitchen, I manage to find some more pies at the bottom of the freezer and pop them into the oven. Then I pinch a can of sweetcorn from Flo’s cupboard and make a mental note to replace it next day when I go food shopping. Jackson likes plain, unadventurous food, which I find quite surprising in a man with such sophisticated tastes in everything else. I think he would live quite happily on chicken and chips, given the chance – and he can’t stand anything spicy.
We met two months ago, back in September. Flo had taken me to the pub one night, soon after I was made redundant from my factory job, to cheer me up. We’d already had a few cocktails by the time we walked into The Red Lion and I saw Jackson for the first time. He was standing at the bar with what looked like a group of work colleagues, all dressed in suits. Our eyes met and I smiled, emboldened by the alcohol, and he raised his glass at me.
Flo had made me get dressed up, so I was wearing my favourite pale blue tea dress and heels, and when Jackson came over to talk to us, I was glad she’d been so bossy.
I was a bit tongue-tied and awkward, but Jackson was charming and seemed to find me attractive anyway, which boosted my flagging confidence no end. He took me out for dinner the next night and we’ve been seeing each other a couple of times a week ever since.
At thirty-two, Jackson Cooper is a very successful businessman, having built up a large property management company in the time since he left university. I tell myself he deserves an evening relaxing in front of the football. He works so incredibly hard.
An evening in will probably be better for me, too, really. I’m out of work at the moment and money is really tight.
Flo has been so good to me since I lost my job at the factory back in late September. The redundancy package was okay, mainly because I started there when I was twenty-three, which meant I had seven years of service under my belt. But the money is draining away and I’m starting to get worried, having applied for dozens of jobs, so far with no luck at all – not even an interview. Flo has insisted on halving my rent until I get back into work, but I hate being a burden like this. It’s just not fair on Flo. Worry has been affecting my sleep lately and I’m forever nodding off on the sofa in the evenings.
We eat in front of the TV on trays, and after I’ve cleared away, I join Jackson on the sofa and snuggle into him, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift with the background noise of the football commentator. I can’t keep taking advantage of Flo’s generosity. I need to find a job. I know she doesn’t see it that way, but, the problem is, I do and I feel bad.
I’d started my working life far later than my schoolmates.
I was twenty-three before I found the confidence to finally push past the trauma that happened on my nineteenth birthday. But because I’d missed the chance to train for a career, I’d fallen into the first job I was offered – packing biscuits at a local factory. It wasn’t exactly challenging but it was so good to finally have a job and feel ‘normal’ for the first time in years that I stayed there and somehow the years passed by …
Recently, though, I’d started to wonder if I was brave enough to begin something new. An opening was coming up at head office for an admin assistant and my line manager had said she would fully support me if I applied. But then I was made redundant, and after that, my dreams of striking out in a new direction were put on hold.
There’s a loud roar from the TV. Someone must have scored. I snuggle more comfortably into Jackson’s side.
If I don’t find work soon, I might have to move back in with Mum and Dad. As much as I love them, the idea of returning to the little backwater town on the south coast, where I grew up, and sleeping in my old single bed is not an appealing thought. I’d be miles from all my friends in Surrey.
And miles from Jackson …
A log shifts in the grate and makes me start. I stare into the flames, lulled by the seasonal cheer of the blaze and the thought that it will soon be Christmas. Whatever happens on the jobs front, I’ll still be spending the festive season with Jackson. It will be our very first Christmas together!
It’s so snug in the room, I feel myself starting to drift off …
I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m choking.
My heart is thundering as panic flares inside me. The hands of a faceless stranger are squeezing my throat and pressing on my face, blocking my airways. Slowly suffocating me.
I’m