The Feature

XV

You woke with no idea of the time, stretching out your body with a satisfied groan before settling back into the mattress with a smile. It was your Christmas present to yourself; a blissful, comfortable, undisturbed lie in, and it had been entirely worth it.

You wandered barefoot around your flat, taking your time in the bathroom and forgoing breakfast for a glass of Buck's Fizz, sipping on it as you tore into the gifts your parents had left for you on the day they made their impromptu visit. There was the body lotion your mother bought for you every year, the scarf you would probably never wear, and the book with the handwritten message inside. It was all perfect, reminding you of home, and it almost made you wish you weren't spending the day alone.

They loved you. Sometimes too much. Growing up, your parents loved you so much they could have suffocated you with it, tethered you to them with concern. You were born after two miscarriages, and another three losses followed before they finally gave up trying for any more children. Which meant you were it. You were all they had, all they would ever have. So much so that even the thought of you spending Christmas by yourself, even as a fully grown woman, had filled them with so much guilt that they'd travelled all the way into London just to see you before they went away.

The sky was battling with itself; a constant cycle of rain and sleet sliding down your windows, heavy wind battering against the string of lights you'd hung outside. You were thankful you didn't have to go anywhere, much preferring the view from beneath the comfort of a warm blanket.

The momentary loneliness had quickly passed after a few cocktails, and by mid afternoon you had watched two of your favourite Christmas films and made a start on the novel your parents had bought for you. You glanced down at your phone to see a text from Nick, a Merry Christmas and another reminder that there was a place for you at his family's table for dinner. It reminded you of your last conversation with your parents before they left.

You were too busy looking at the armchair, your mind wandering back to what you'd been doing in it just moments before they arrived. You hadn't even registered your father's voice until he called your name again.

"Quinnie?"

You shook your head and blinked a few times. "Hm?"

"Dinner?" he asked again.

"Oh, yeah sorry. I er, I'll be eating with friends," you lied.

"Really?" He sounded sceptical. Not sceptical of where you would be eating for Christmas, but of the notion that you had friends at all.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, really. A friend of mine from work. His name's Nick, I've mentioned him before."

They both smiled at you.

"We're not together," you said bluntly.

"Oh leave us alone," said your mother. "You know we just want to see you happy and in love and-"

"Knocked up so you can finally have grandchildren?" you finished sarcastically.

"It would be nice..."

You shook your head and let out a laugh.

"Surely there's got to be someone special in your life," she pressed.

"Yeah actually, there is. You know the guy from my magazine thing? He was just here; I snuck him out when you first arrived."

"Oh Quinnie," she rolled her eyes. "Must you always be so sarcastic?"

The bad weather had made the sun set even earlier than usual, the string of lights outside barely hanging on as they began to twinkle in the darkness. You stood up and walked to the window, looking out over London with a slight smile, imagining all the drinks, songs, children playing with new toys, fathers in paper crowns falling asleep in armchairs.