The promise of December Read online

  THE PROMISE OF DECEMBER

  Copyright 2016 K.L.Jessop

  Najla Qamber Designs - Cover Design.

  Lindee Robinson Photography - Photo Image.

  Book formatting by White Hot Ebook Formatting

  Amazon License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorised electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, organisations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is also available in print from most online retailers.

  Always believe.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About the Author

  Let’s Connect

  Acknowledgments

  Tamzin.

  Age 9

  “Tamzin, sweetheart what’s wrong?” Gran called in concern.

  I ran in through the door and up the stairs on a cold afternoon in late November, heartbroken at how mean the girls from school had been. I was never one of the popular kids. They often looked and treated me differently being raised by ‘older’ folk rather than the parents that stood in the playground talking about what holiday abroad they were going on next. Made fun of me because I’d never been on a plane or didn’t even know where the Caribbean was. I don’t know what other parts of the world look like at that age. London was my home and that’s all I knew. My grandparents were never ones to travel abroad. We just had to make the best in the holidays we could afford down by the coast. Every year we explored a different part of Cornwall to try and find whiter sand than the last. I loved my life. My grandparents didn’t have to raise me but they did, and I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. They’d taught me the respect I needed to give others as well as the rights and wrongs on how you portray yourself in the world. Just because they were older in their years to the other kid’s parents didn’t jeopardise my upbringing anymore than it would the younger couple next door.

  But Lucy Marshall was a nasty girl. Always had been. And the words she had spoken to me in the playground broke my heart in many ways.

  “Tamzin, honey, what’s wrong?” My grans sweet voice hit my ears as I cried into the pillow. Hot and sweaty as the tears streaked my face, I sat up to face my gran who’s sat in her floral dress and red apron. The house smelled of crumble and pastries.

  My childlike voice was feeble as I choked out my hurt. “Lucy said that he wasn’t real.”

  “Who, sweetheart?” Her voice was always soothing and pretty.

  “Santa. She said that none of it was true and that it’s your mum and dad that bought you presents and that I won’t get any anymore because I don’t have parents.” I sobbed, feeling confused. My grandparents made no secret of the fact my mother had died but Santa always brought me presents at Christmas.

  “Tamzin, look at me.” I wiped my tears with the sleeve of my green school jumper and looked up at her, her eyes twinkling in the light, her short blonde hair rolled back in curls from where her hair rollers had been placed. “I think it’s very unkind for Lucy to say those things. Take no notice.” She paused, looking into my grey eyes as if she was contemplating her next words. “Let me tell you something. Christmas isn’t just about Santa and presents. It doesn’t matter who brings them, how they get here or how many you receive. It’s more than that. Christmas is about the magic and the belief. It’s about spending that special time with those you love and care for, and helping out those who are unfortunate to be alone. It’s about the build up to the special day, believing in what you have and holding onto that forever.” She placed her hand on my chest. “It’s about what’s in your heart. The love that you share and what you feel. You just have to believe.” She stroked my long blonde hair and smiled. “Do you believe in the magic of Christmas, Tamzin?”

  I sniffed back my tears and nodded with a weak voice. “Yeah.”

  “Then that’s all the matters.” She opened her arms out for a hug and I entered her warm embrace, knowing that my grandmother was a wiser woman than what Lucy Marshall would ever turn out to be. “You just have to believe, Tamzin. Always believe in the true magic of Christmas.” She kissed my head and held me tight as she rocked us. “Always believe.”

  Tamzin.

  “THREE, TWO, ONE. IT’S CHRISTMAAAAS, WOOO HOO!”

  And so it starts.

  The run-up to Christmas where everyone seems more enthusiastic to get out of bed on a cold dark morning than what they did a month ago. I don’t see what’s so great about December. It’s a month that brings hyperactive children, frantic last minutes shoppers and annoying Christmas songs that have been on repeat since Halloween. I loathe everything about it. The only good thing is you can eat as much food as you want, and people never judge you for opening the Vodka after breakfast.

  But here I am torturing myself at yet another Christmas works party, where the coloured lights outside our building has just had its grand switch on and illuminates the night sky to match the rest of the city’s festivities. Mr Thompson, the elderly man that is my boss, is a strange one to work out. He is a nice man that keeps himself to himself, but as soon as you mention the word Christmas it’s as if someone has pulled his cracker and makes his eyes sparkle. Sometimes just watching him is exhausting.

  “Eeeek! Isn’t it exciting?” Evie squeals, gripping my arm with a tight excitable squeeze, reindeer head boppers bouncing up and down on her brown hair as she rocks the hell out of a skinny black dress.

  “Yeah.” I sigh, rolling my eyes, fed up with being here already. “Terrific.”

  “Jesus, Tamzin, liven up. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

  “Over there in that bowl of punch. Merry Christmas, I’m off to get shit-faced.” I push my way through the crowd that congregates the office building ground floor, twirling for yet another fat guy dressed as Santa that’s grabbed my hand, faking my smile of happiness while my own head boppers keep slipping over my eyes.

  The punch looks more like something the dog brought back up than anything appealing, a mixture of Brandy, Vodka, cinnamon and orange juice fills the large bowl alongside a note that says ‘Keep away from Dave, he gets frisky after too much’. I can’t help but chuckle to myself, anyone that goes near Dave has to be on the brink of desperation or blind.

  “Holy mother of god,” I wheeze, grasping my chest. I choke down the rest of the punch, squeezing my eyes close as the never-ending burn slides down the back of my throat.

  “Good
, huh?” Evie chuckles. “I’d advise not to go near a naked flame.”

  “I think I’ve just lost a layer of my oesophagus.” Even though I can already feel the effects of the alcohol, I pour myself another, anything to get me out this hell hole that my brain is currently trapped in.

  “According to Will, Dirty Dave put a bottle of Whisky in it too; I think he’s wanting a Christmas angel to get lucky with.”

  We turn in the direction to where Dave is stood in the far corner of the office, sleazing over every woman that walks past and trying his hardest to look sexy in his thick-framed glasses, comb-over hair and a Christmas jumper that looks like something his grandmother knitted in the 70’s. Dave is a complete dick head that would give ‘Where’s Wally’ a run for his money. The only difference with this Dave is his pathetic jokes, bad body odour, and trousers so tight they burn him a new asshole as he walks. He’s such a geek.

  “I wonder when he got laid last?” Evie questions, tipping her head towards mine.

  “I don’t think he ever has.” I shudder from another mouthful of punch that’s going straight to my head. “He’ll need medical attention to help remove those trousers and see if his dicks still intact first.”

  Evie’s giggles hit my ears causing me to laugh along with her. In spite of my lack of festive cheer, she never fails to bring out the happy in me. We’ve been friends since the first day I started working at H.T. Limited. The second we met was a disaster, I slipped on the wet floor and threw my coffee all down her white dress. She called me a stupid bitch, I called her a mouthy tart and we’ve been best friends ever since.

  She pulls on my arm. “Come on, Sue and the mob are playing twister.”

  “You go.” I say, feeling my mood dive further as the alcohol fills my blood. “I might call it a night.”

  “You will do no such thing; It’s Christmas. Besides, I plan on showing Anthony what he’s missing.”

  I pour myself another punch. “Yeah, because sticking around to play the third wheel makes the evening so much better.”

  “Oh don’t be so dramatic. A few more drinks and you might even enjoy yourself.”

  I laugh sarcastically. “Like fuck I would. Hell would have to freeze over first and even then it’s highly unlikely.”

  I’ve worked at this recruitment company for five years, with the exception of some we treat each other like family and I wouldn’t change my job for the world, except for when the festive session hits. My pain never gets any easier as each month passes by, but it is December I dread the most. No matter how hard I try, the days fill with memories that never seem to fade and the empty hole in my heart gets bigger over time.

  I used to love this time of year, the open fire on a cold winters day, the buzz outside Santa’s Grotto on a weekend and the overall air of festive excitement that lingered around every corner. I had that giddiness inside of me. That sparkle. But it stopped the year I lost my grandparents, leaving me to become alone, lost, and the female version of Scrooge at the age of twenty-five.

  Evie’s attempt at twister is priceless. Her body’s bent like a bridge with her ass in the air. On the next turn, Dirty Dave has to move his left foot to a yellow spot. My giggle becomes snorts at the look on Evie’s face as the only free spot available is between her legs, making him positioned so her face is at his crotch.

  Within minutes, my amusement is brought to a halt and I curse aloud to the change of song. Why was is it that when you’re feeling alone this time of year Elvis likes to remind you with his ‘Blue Christmas’? Asshole!

  Swaying my unsteady body back to the drinks table, I fill up my glass, feeling more drunk than I expected as the room starts to blur. I lean against the wall looking out toward the room which becomes a wave of colour as the laughter from others pounds against my ears. Maybe I could try and enjoy myself. Make them proud of the girl they left behind. See what I’ve been missing out on all this time and bring the spirit back I desperately crave. It can’t be that hard, right?

  Ha! Yeah, who the hell am I kidding?

  More Punch it is then.

  Noel.

  She’s sexy. Like, knock you on your ass sexy. And from the minute I walked into the building, I thanked my father for his invitation. H.T. Limited is my dad’s recruitment company that specialises in helping people into the private sector. Built solely by himself thirty years ago, Dad worked his ass off over time to make the company one of London’s top businesses that everyone wanted a piece of. As for wanting a piece, my desires are now steering toward the girl across the room.

  Her short blue dress clings to her body like a glove, and her celebratory head boppers rest effortlessly on her beautiful blonde hair. Hair I want to lace my fingers through to see if it’s as silky as it looks. Flawless legs I want around me as I bury myself deep inside her and make her mine. I don’t know who she is but I want every part of her. She is not a woman to go unnoticed, every guy in the room has been eye-fucking her at one point. But something is missing. An unblemished woman like her shouldn’t have a look of solitude on her shoulders.

  “How are you getting on, son?” Dad inquires with a slap on the back. “Anyone noticed you’re here yet?”

  “Believe it or not, no. Then again there are twenty other guys here dressed as Santa.”

  Even though Dad is a hard working businessman, he is also the biggest kid at Christmas. As soon as December hits, every office floor has to be filled with Christmas decorations while the outside building gets decorated like a grotto. Christmas at the Thompsons is filled with laughter, tinsel and a tree that needs three foot cut off the bottom in order to make it fit. Us boys were brought up to experience every meaning that Christmas brings, and even as adults my brothers, Harry, James and I never wanted it any different.

  “Who’s the girl in the blue dress?” I question, pointing to the beauty from afar. Dad's grin is priceless as he rests against the table. He knows where my mind is going.

  “That my son, is Tamzin King. She works on the second floor. Fantastic little worker.” He clears his throat. “I’ve worked in this business a long time and had endless encounters over the years. You get to learn people’s vibes. With Tamzin it’s this time of year.”

  I frown. “How do you mean?”

  “Her spirit is lost.”

  “The only spirit she consumes right now is that vile shit on the table.”

  “That is true.” Dads chuckles, brushing his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. “I dread to think what’s in that punch.”

  “I don’t know but I saw that Dave guy adding a whole bottle of Whisky.”

  “Christ, I’ll have half the building on sick leave tomorrow.” He cups my shoulder and stands. His 6ft frame towering over me. “Anyway, son, you go and enjoy yourself. I’m off to find your mother and take her for a stroll down Oxford Street to see the Christmas lights.”

  “See ya, Dad.”

  My eyes work the floor to find Tamzin. She’s moved from the group that play drunken games and props herself against the wall, drinking down the punch that makes her face scrunch with each mouthful. Drink after drink, I notice her mood reduce and slowly drift into a world of intoxication. I can’t watch any more. I make my way over to grab another beer, nodding and acknowledging my new work employees I’m due to be responsible for in the spring. As I reach the table, Tamzin moves a step, misplacing her footing and falling forward. I reach out to stop her tumble as she falls into my chest.

  “Oops, forgive me, Santa… for I am very drunk.” She slurs with a giggle. “Someone spiked my drink.”

  “Are you ok, Tamzin?”

  “Arrr, you know my name.” Her eyes are glazed, alcohol fumes bouncing between us as she quickly turns to a few of the others and shouts, “Hey everybody! Santa here knows my name!” People pay no attention to her what-so-ever. Suddenly, her face drains, her eyes narrowed as she clings her hand to her chest.

  “You ok?”

  “I need air.”

  Fuck sake, why me?


  I hold her hair away from her face and rub her back while she holds the wall for support. “I’ve made such an ass of myself.” She cries, in between emptying the lining of her stomach onto the pavement. “I always do this.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.”

  “Even you, Santa?” she whimpers; I couldn’t help a chuckle.

  “Even Santa.” She straightens, wiping her mouth on a napkin and taking the water bottle with a shaky hand that I grabbed on the way out. She slowly wobbles her way to the nearest bench, the side glance and half a smile were enough to know she’s embarrassed. “I got so drunk at a party one time I threw up in my mother’s shoes,” I say, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Oh my god, always miss the shoes. No matter how bad you get, you always miss the shoes.”

  I place my jacket over her shoulders and look down at her. “Seems like you’ve had enough practice.”

  She lets out a disappointed exhale. “Yes, Santa. I’m forever on the naughty list.”

  Finally, she meets my eyes, a beautiful mixture of light grey and silver that should sparkle against the light like diamonds. Only they look hollow. The untouched tear from her watery eyes starts to fall, and I reach out to catch it with my thumb, sweeping it across her cheek and cupping her jaw. She’s beautiful, even in her drunken state. Her eyes are focused on mine; I don’t want to look away. A blow of excitement tightens my gut as the tip of her tongue slips out to wet her lips. Lips I want to claim as I hold her against me.

  “Thank you for looking after me, Santa,” she whispers. Her words are sincere as if she’s not been taken care of for some time.

  “No problem at all,” I murmur. “But please, call me Noel.”

  “Noel?” Her eyes go wide as a soft giggle leaves her small frame, her once ash looking face now a rosy glow from the cold night. “That’s a good one. What’s your real name?”