Free Christmas Without Holly by Nicola Yeager Page A

soon as I’m inside, I notice that the Japanese-style
music has been replaced with a mildly funky calypso-style background wash, but
without steel drums.
    Once I’m ready, he uses the tips of his fingers to examine
the knots in my shoulders.
    ‘This is feeling a lot better now. How is it for you? Does
it still hurt when you turn your head from left to right?’
    ‘Well, apart from the excruciating pain from the bamboo
punishment you’ve been dishing out, I can tell that it’s made a huge
difference. You must have magic hands!’
    ‘Or magic bamboos! That’s good. The muscles around that
whole area seem a lot less tense now. Things like this are often due to
posture, you know. If it gets bad again, you could do a lot worse than joining
a Pilates class.’
    ‘I’ve heard of Pilates. I may well check it out!’
    ‘So you won’t be bothering, then.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I can’t blame you. I have to suggest it, though.’
    ‘It was a nice thought. Thank you.’
    ‘You’re welcome.’
    He takes a warm bamboo from his heat pad and starts to work
on the middle area of my back. This is so nice here, and the massage is so
relaxing. I’ll be sorry to go. On the other hand, I’ll always associate this
place with Clive’s awful text and Rebecca’s idea that I’m a younger version of
her, which is a bit disturbing.
    I’ve managed to put all the terrible stuff out of my mind
today, as all of my time has been occupied with something or other, but I’m
also aware of an anxiety knot in my stomach whenever any thought concerning
Clive appears in my head. And Christmas with his parents! Is he trying to
punish me for something?
    ‘I heard on the radio this morning that they’re expecting
snow in a few days. Maybe it’ll be a white Christmas!’
    I smile. ‘That’ll be nice, though I’ve heard that before and
it usually doesn’t happen!’
    ‘It has got a lot colder over the last few days, though.’
    ‘You’ve been taking chat lessons from hairdressers, haven’t
you.’
    ‘They promised me no one would notice.’
    ‘You’ll have to get your money back.’
    He pushes the bamboo into the muscles of my upper back. Try
as I might, I can’t stop a series of unpleasant, chaotic thoughts coursing
through my brain. My fictitious graphic designer boyfriend and our quiet
yuletide celebrations, Clive’s dad smirking and staring at my boobs, Rebecca’s
empty house, my reading and re-reading of Clive’s text, Clive and Caroline
making love across an office desk, Rebecca’s depressing predictions: There’ll
be plenty of men who’ll be only too pleased to…well, you know what I’m going to
say so I won’t say it.
    Before I can do anything about it, before I even realise I’m
actually doing it, I feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks, huge sobs racking
my body. Oh god! Oh shit!
    James stops immediately. He must think this is something
that he’s done.
    ‘Are you OK? What did I do? Was it one of those knots? I’ll
stop, I’ll stop. Sorry. Shit.’
    I sit up, holding the towel against the front of my body.
The last thing I want is to make a complete fool of myself and give a strange
man a flash of my boobs at the same time! I can’t stop crying. I run a hand
through my hair and try to wipe the tears off my face, as if I’m trying to
pretend what’s happening isn’t happening.
    James has gone pale. He’s looking slightly worried and
doesn’t know what to do. I think he realises by now that this is nothing to do
with the massage.
    ‘I’m (gulp!) sorry. It’s not you. It’s nothing to do with
you. Oh hell.’
    ‘Shall I go out for a while? Leave you on your own? Perhaps
we can continue later on. I’ll see if I’ve got any spaces before you leave. I
can…’
    ‘No. No. it’s OK. Really. I just…’
    Another series of big sobs. I am such an idiot. It feels
like a years’ worth of tears are pouring out. Maybe three years’ worth. James
walks over to his little table and rips half a dozen tissues out of