A Pint of Beer, a Bag of Chips, and Thou (5 page)

“Better let you go,” I said at last, since neither of us

seemed in all that much of a hurry. “Don’t want you falling asleep

at the wheel tomorrow.”

“Wish…” Neil sighed. “Wish you could come with me. The

kids would love you.”

“Ah, but my mum would kill me. And serve me up cold on

Boxing Day.”

Neil’s eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t mind eating you on

Boxing Day. Make a nice change from turkey.”

“There’s nothing wrong with turkey. I like a good bit of

stuffing myself, I do.”

“That joke,” Neil said with a groan, “was old when I was a

nipper.”

“Joke? What joke?” I said, wide-eyed. “I was talking about

my Aunty Mags’s sage and onion.”

“Course you were. Course you were. And I’m Father

Christmas.”

“Will you take me for a ride on your sleigh?”

“No, but if you’re a good boy I might bring you some

goodies later.”

We walked out of the alley slowly, back to the street light,

and stood there again in its ersatz moonlight. The clouds up

above glowed orange from the lights of the city, and a couple of

stray snowflakes came down to dust our shoulders and gild our

hair. “So this is where we part ways,” I said, soft as the new-

fallen snow. “Drive safely, now. And come back to me soon. I’m

looking forward to our second date.”

Neil quirked an eyebrow. “On our first date, I’ve met your

entire family, celebrated baby Jesus’s birthday, and had a blow job

in a dark al ey. Is there anything left for us to do on a second date?”

“I should hope so.” I reached into my pocket and pulled

out Aunty Gerry’s Christmas present—a bumper-size pack of

novelty condoms. “My aunty would be really disappointed if I

didn’t use her present.”

He stared at the box. “What, all one hundred forty-four of

them?” I smirked. “Well, maybe we’d better go for a third date as

well.”

THE END

ABOUT J.L. MERROW

J.L. Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who

refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge,

where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that

she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one

regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-

handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.

She writes across genres, with a preference for

contemporary gay romance and the paranormal, and is

frequently accused of humour. Find her online at jlmerrow.com.

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