Full o'Festive Spirits Read online

  Full O’Festive Spirits

  Zakarrie C

  Full o'Festive Spirits

  Zakarrie C

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Blurb

  Author's Note

  Copyright Acknowledgement

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Dedication

  December 3rd

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  6th December

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue: New Year’s Day

  Gabriel

  Dylan

  Gabriel

  Blurb

  Gabriel is staggered, upon overhearing two old dears declare that only 21 shopping days remain ’til Christmas. He hadn’t even noticed that December had dawned, far too busy being grim ‘n’ grumpy to be bothered. This, after losing his job—again—leaving him too fed-up of enforced thriftiness to differentiate days that did not. Let alone recall the date on the calen— A thought that sends Gabriel scuttling off the bus, in a belated bid to secure his favourite part of the festive season…an advent calendar. If they have any left. Upon clattering into the nearest shop, he finds himself coshed by the most splendid sight he e’er did see. A Christmas Feast for the eyeballs so sublime, it seemed—for a hectic heartbeat—that they’d all come at once. As the latter was an improbable feat in said company, they definitely had not.

  Dylan is much dismayed by the ramshackle litter of limbs and belongings that trips into the off-license, halfway through his shift. It being way too early for the drunk and determinedly irritating to come staggering in. In the wake of arriving too late to audition for a role he’d set his heart on, Dylan is no mood to deal with a human hatstand—doe-eyed and demented—intent upon purchasing a bloody advent calendar. On the third of December. For himself. Strewth. Could fate have dumped a less welcome portent of doomed to disaster festivities on the doorstep...?

  Author's Note

  If you are reading these words, thank you.

  To keep myself busy between books for my publisher; MLR Press, I thought it would be fun to release some stories that might be read for free.

  Self-publishing a few novellas on Kindle Unlimited felt the comfiest way for me to do so.

  This is my festive offering...I hope you have a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

  Every word has been written from my heart, with my tongue firmly in my cheek. All I hope is that you might enjoy my miscreant’s misadventures even a smidge as much as I loved writing them.

  xXx

  Copyright Acknowledgement

  This book is a work of fiction. Its characters, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part, in any form.

  Copyright 2018 by Zakarrie Clarke

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Snickers: Mars Inc.

  Rizla: Rizla UK LTD

  Frozen/Disney: The Walt Disney Company

  Lightsaber/Star Wars: The Walt Disney Company

  The Snowman: Raymond Briggs/Snowman Enterprises

  The Snowdog: Raymond Briggs/Lupus Films

  After Eight: Nestlé Group S. A.

  Ferrero Rocher: Ferrero SpA

  Tony Stark/Ironman: Marvel Worldwide Inc.

  Peter Parker/Spiderman: Marvel Worldwide Inc.

  Severus Snape: J.K. Rowling/Warner Bros.

  Captain Morgan’s Rum: Diageo plc

  Hatchimal/Pengualas/Draggle: Spin Master Corp.

  The Muppets/Kermit: The Walt Disney Company

  Captain Birdseye: Birdseye Ltd, Nomad Foods

  Aunt Bessie’s: Aunt Bessie's Ltd

  Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey: Unilever plc. The Unilever Group

  Dedication

  For everyone reading these words...

  Thank you.

  Merry Christmas

  xXx

  December 3rd

  Chapter One

  Gabriel

  “Where’s the time gone? It feels as if the bairns were knocking on the door dressed as wee witches yesterday…and now there’s only twenty-one shopping days ’til Christmas…”

  Gabriel sat, blinking a bit, upon being clobbered by this snippet of news. It had wafted his way from the seats in front of his own, with much the impact of a most unfestive fist. Wha—how? Twenty-one days? Already? It seemed that he hadn’t quite got around to realizing that December had dawned; far too busy being grim ‘n’ grumpy to be bothered. A meeny mite miffed in a most unmerry manner.

  For the last fortnight, Gabriel had felt about as full of seasonal cheer as a past its sell-by-date plum pudding. Glum, drudging about with nary a flicker of festive spirit, nor glad tidings to tell. Unless, you counted losing his job. Again. This didn’t, in truth, feel too unfortunate while luxuriating in a lie-in, but was a bit of a bummer on the feeling flush front. Gabriel had been too fed-up of enforced thriftiness, to differentiate days that did not. Let alone recall the date on the calen—

  “Fuck! Oops, sorry ladies. I beg your parsnips,” Gabe apologized with a whoops-a-daisy wince, when the old dears who’d been gossiping about wee witches swivelled in their seats with identical, over-plucked frowns of reproval. Gabriel donned a reindeer-in-the-headlights expression and did his very best to look contrite. “I um, forgot to buy my nan’s ’nanas…” he explained. Not a jot, cos Nan was more partial to a bottle of sherry than a bunch of bananas, but that’s what flitted through his head, so he went with it.

  Why not indeed—it had been the first flicker of fancy to gate-crash his self-pity party for a fair few days—which was not to be sniffed at. The last time there’d been any sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling upstairs, he’d— Upstairs…fuck. That’s exactly where Gabe still was. On the bus. Somewhere between Wood Green and Camden. Ploughing a lonely furrow on the number twenty-nine. On the third of December.

  “Merry Christmas ‘n’ all that malarkey…” Gabriel bid the biddies while springing out of his seat…then almost landed in their laps when his legs got in a tangle with his guitar and plastic bags.

  “Aw, bless, you’re a good lad…hurry yourself up then, before ye miss your stop. Oh, don’t you be minding me. My Bert swears like a trooper when he’s had a few too many drams o’whisky.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel beamed, dinging the donger while attempting to untangle the cat’s cradle of limbs ‘n’ strings ‘n’ carriers wrapped around his person. Then bent, on impulse, to kiss a powdery cheek; as soft and sweetly scented as Parma Violets.

  “Oh, be off with ye, y’silver tongued divil…” she cackled as Gabriel clanged and twanged his way to the staircase.

  “See ya…” he beamed over his shoulder, and promptly tripped over his own feet. Again. Flipping flippers. ’Twas only a wonder he didn’t wind up surfing downstairs on his belly, like a penguin on a tea tray. This time.

  It was, quite clearly, one of those days, Gabriel decided, after clattering out into the street. It wasn’t until the bus trundled away; leaving him stranded, clutching all his stuff, that he wondered quite why he’d deemed it an excellent idea to alight fro
m the cosy confines of the number twenty-nine. Immediately. When there were plenty of shops in Camden from which to make his purchase. Asshat.

  Oh well, ’twas done now, so he might as well pop into a nearby store, to make it worthwhile getting off the bus in the first place. A cunning plan indeed, except—he would then have to cart that home too—which significantly upped his chances of becoming a mite peckish along the way. Nope-nope-nope. No peeping. Nor sneaky scoffing.

  This decreed, Gabriel headed into the first likely looking prospect; an off-license cum general store emporium, which appeared to be of the Greek variety. A fact that suggested Gabe was, quite possibly, a damn sight nearer his setting-off spot than his stopping-off one. Dang.

  Ding-a-ling-dong merrily on high…jangled the jaunty bell on the back of the door when Gabriel pushed it open. About a…footstep before stumbling over the threshold with an ungodly twang and ungainly tangle, of body bits ‘n’ accoutrements.

  “Oh, bugger…” he cussed, before belatedly glancing up to see who he may have mortally offended now. Blimey. Yes please. Standing behind the counter, glowering at either Gabriel, or the bell, for having the temerity to do its jingle thing, was the most miraculous apparition that had e’er bedazzled his eyeballs. ‘Either’ had p’raps been a smidge optimistic. The bell had announced Gabriel’s arrival, which did seem to suggest the scowl was a BOGOF deal. In both senses.

  “Hiya,” he greeted the godly devil glaring at Gabe as if he’d just popped round for a cuppa, uninvited, while his lordship was having a wank. Oh gawd…nooo. That image would’ve best been left unprompted, well, at least until Gabriel was out of the shop and safely on his way home…far, far away from lightsaber blues that blazed with flinty miffery. These resided in a face sculpted with such mastery it should be cast in bronze and placed on a plinth. In Gabriel’s bedroom. The stranger’s skin wasn’t a million miles away from said hue…a shade so luscious he appeared to have been drizzled in runny honey.

  The harsh fluorescent strip above his head merely seemed to bathe him in a glow so golden, it lent itself to a spot of piracy on seas a world away from a Dickensian Christmas scene. Needless to say, it made Gabe’s skin look three-days dead.

  “Was there anything you wanted? Or, do you just intend cluttering up the doorway like an unruly hatstand?” Enquired in tones so steeped in snark, they might have been snaffled from Scrooge himself. A hatstand…? How rude—and more than a mite astute, as comparisons went—it must be admitted.

  “Are you this charming to all your customers?” Gabriel wondered. In an airy a fashion as possible. Under the (crippling) circumstances.

  “Clearly,” snorted the strumpety ‘assistant’, slanting a pointed side-eye at the empty shop. “How may I help you, sir?” he added. Gabriel’s cock promptly twitched in a me-me-me manner.

  For a very compact man, the scoundrel managed to cram a very lot of sex and scathing loftiness into every twerk of that berry-ripe pout. Into every twitch of his lean, lithe body, poured into shrink-to-fit leather ‘n’ denim. Topped off by a Byronic tumble of dark tendrils that kissed the collar of his jacket. Strewth.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Mr Mad, Bad ‘n’ Dangerous noted.

  Bloody good job too…and a bit of a miracle, quite frankly, when Gabriel’s tongue was forever flapping whatever took its fancy. That would be Flinty, then. A fact that made it flicker out to moisten Gabe’s lips, before he could stop it. Following it with a word or three, sharpish, seemed about his best bet after that. Perchance Mr Snippypants took it the…right way and Gabriel found himself dispatched by a swift right hook. Without what he came for.

  Now, there was a happenstance that would never occur while in present company, unless all Gabriel’s Christmases came at once. With the tooth fairy and Easter Bunny hot on their heels. As Gabe’s chances of hitting the lottery o’life jackpot had long since proved as probable as the second-coming of Christ on a scooter, he should p’raps make himself scarce. Before The Occurrence Of A Most Unfortunate Mishap. One of those tended to be a bit of a dead cert, it must be admitted.

  A fate far more likely than that self-same fickle mistress electing to land ol’ blue eyes in Gabriel’s lap. Let alone, in Gabriel, full stop. Even if he didn’t appear to have donned the first things he found on the floor that morn. To sit on exactly that, for the best part of the afternoon. Freezing his nuts off, while serenading disinterested shoppers with his not-so dulcet tones, and dodgy renderings of a few old favourites.

  Gabe might have made a few more pennies had he thought to play something a smidge more seasonable than ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’…but, in his own defence; it had felt a mite more authentic than ‘Tis The Season To Be Merry’ at the time. Befitting, yes. Likely to line his hat with a cascade of coins from shoppers, flush with festive spirits? No ho ho.

  “D’you happen to have any advent calendars left lingering about?” Gabriel wondered. Aloud, which suggested that he was either batshit brave, or certifiable. The ever-charming assistant merely lifted a forefinger aloft to point beyond his right shoulder. When Gabriel glanced in the direction indicated, there were, indeed, a few stragglers sitting forlornly on a shelf. “May I please purchase one…if it’s not too much trouble?” Oops. Snippiness, it seemed, was as infectious as flu.

  “Yeah. The Snowman, or Frozen?” A query akin to having an icicle spat in his face.

  “Is that a trick question?” Gabriel enquired, dumbfounded. Why might he reject The Snowman, in favour of such a Johnny-come-lately upstart?

  “Come again?”

  Oh, if only…I could come a first time, while sharing the same air as those lips.

  “Would you turn down The Snowman. For Frozen?” Gabe asked, aghast.

  “Are you drunk? Or deranged?” His tone suggested that wanting to own either would be downright demented. Or, any sort of advent calendar, for that matter. Or…even an expression vaguely discernible from a sneer. “Do I look like a Disney fan?” Flinty enquired, which was clearly a hypothetical question, as he continued apace, without waiting for a response. “I’m not psychic either, so how the hell am I supposed to know which one your kid prefers?”

  “My kid?” Gabriel gaped. “Crikey, to the best of my knowledge, I’ve sired nary a nipper. Definitely not one old enough to express an educated preference.”

  “It’s for you.” This was a statement, not a query, of any sort.

  “O’course it is. Is there an age limit? If so, then I was eight in March.” Gabe p’raps fibbed. A bit. Those bewitching blues were rolled up…and up. In a verrry exaggerated fashion, for the six-inch-or-so trip to the top of Gabriel’s head.

  “In that case, you should be off home to your mum, before your tea gets cold. Or you get snatched by a strange man,” he advised, arching a wry eyebrow.

  What the bejeezus? A sense of humour? Blimey. That was staggering on its lonesome, even without the devilish smirk that accompanied it. Gabriel was either imagining things, or delirious with hunger. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day either.

  The scoundrel had merely uttered the two things mums worried about most. The pervy interpretation of the latter fate had been all Gabe’s doing. I should be so lucky…sat on the tip of his tongue. If that flitted from his lips, his chances of getting his mitts on The Snowman (let alone the hot one) would be nada. So, he kept schtum.

  “One Snowman coming up.” An outcome that pretty much summed up the jammy-side down propensities of toast.

  “Thank you, dear sir…” Gabriel’s last words seemed to waft from very far away as he watched Flinty turn to reach for the calendar. Ooh…if there was a tauter, tighter arse on earth, Gabe cared not. He wanted that one. Dammit. If he hadn’t been so sniffy about the Frozen calendar, he would have been able to, belatedly, decide to buy two. Dozen. One by one. Strewwth.

  “Did you want anything else?”

  Sadist.

  “I, um, nothing I can afford to want,” Gabriel confessed, summoning up a smile he hoped
wasn’t too dog-in-a-manger.

  “You and me both…” was shrugged with genuine regret. “Three pounds, fifty isn’t bad for what…? Twenty-one days of paltry pleasures?”

  “You’re right, ’tis a snip. Every day, a new window of opportunity, in which something as splendid as a Rudolph might lurk, but most likely a soddin’ poinsettia. Ah well, no matter. I didn’t realize it was December until ten minutes ago, so I get to open three now,” Gabe found himself grinning, when that first flush o’festive spirit alighted on his shores.

  A sudden blaze of blue eclipsed the fairy lights, then—for the very first time—berry lips curved in a smile that was neither sardonic, nor perfunctory. Surly, sneering, or indifferent? Flinty was as sexy as fuck. Smiling? He was devastating.

  “So y’do. Only three?” This, with a far too knowing twinkle for someone who’d only met Gabriel ten minutes ago. Damn cheek.

  “Yes. Three. I promised.”

  “Who?” was followed by the filthiest sounding chuckle Gabriel had ever heard. A chuckle?

  “Me. So I can’t even fib, cos I won’t believe me.”

  “Have you ever had a window left to open on the twenty-fourth?” Devilish lips twitched, as if the answer was a foregone conclusion.

  “Um…”

  “I thought not. Bet you don’t last three days,” he challenged.

  “Bet I will. I win,” Gabriel declared.

  “How d’you work that out?”

  “Cos you won’t know if I’ve scoffed them, or not.”