Chapter 99: Deck the Halls
The car interior held a new silence, thicker than before. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet of a long-married couple, but a charged, ticking space filled with everything that had just happened. Rupert focused on the winding lane, the headlights cutting through the deepening twilight. The taste of Libby—of them both—was a faint, ghostly memory on his tongue.
Margot shifted in the passenger seat, the leather sighing beneath her. She had been studying him in profile for the last five miles.
“So,” she said, her voice a melody in the dark. “Was the mince pie any good?”
He glanced at her. Her expression was unreadable, backlit by the dashboard glow. “It was fine. Homemade.”
“She makes excellent mince pies. Won third prize at the fete. I was robbed.” Margot smoothed her skirt. “And the brandy?”
“A generous measure.”
“I bet it was.” She let another mile pass, the fields turning to darkened blurs. “And was she… appreciative? Of her main gift?”
Rupert felt a fresh warmth creep up his neck. “You know she was.”
“I know nothing,” Margot chirped, turning fully toward him. Her eyes sparkled. “I wasn’t there. I have only my imagination, which is, admittedly, excellent. But I’d prefer facts. Details. Was she as eager as she said she’d be in the planning committee meeting?”
“The planning committee?” Rupert’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“Oh, yes. We had to coordinate. Dates, preferences, dietary restrictions. Not those kinds, though Libby is frightfully lactose intolerant, poor love.” Margot’s laughter was a low, delicious sound. “So? Eager?”
Rupert swallowed. The image of the mirror, of Libby’s silver hair flying, filled his mind. “Yes. Very.”
“Describe it.”
“Margot…”
“Describe it to me, Rupert. I want to know what my Christmas present did. I want to know he was well-used. That he performed his duties.” Her tone had a sharp, playful edge that brooked no refusal.
He took a breath. The road ahead was empty. “She… rode me. On the bed. There was a mirror.”
“I know about the mirror,” Margot purred. “I helped her pick it out. Go on.”
“She told me to watch. In the mirror. So I did.” The words began to come easier, spilling out into the confidential dark of the car. “She was… powerful. Demanding. She said she wanted to be stuffed. Like a stocking.”
Margot made a soft, approving hum. “Good. And did you? Stuff her?”
“Twice.”
“Twice!” Margot clapped her hands together once, delighted. “My word. She must have been beside herself. She’s been fantasizing about that for months. Ever since we drew names.” She leaned closer, her perfume cutting through the scent of the car. “And afterwards? The cleanup?”
Rupert’s knuckles went white on the wheel. He nodded, unable to say it.
“You did? Oh, you darling. That was my stipulation, you know. I told her she could have you, completely, but only if she made you tidy up afterwards. No wasting a drop.” She sighed, a sound of deep satisfaction. “The jealousy at the next WI meeting is going to be palpable. Brenda from the library committee will be livid she drew February. She’s already hinting she might swap with someone.”
The mundane horror of it—his life being bartered over scones and tea—struck him anew. “This is a… a schedule?”
“A roster, my love. A sharing circle. You’re the… communal resource.” She patted his thigh. “Think of it as a wellness initiative. You’re bringing a lot of joy.”
He drove in stunned silence for a moment. “And what do you get out of this, exactly? Besides tormenting me.”
“Tormenting you?” She feigned hurt. “I’m reinvigorating you. I’m reclaiming us. I look at you now, all flustered and secretly buzzing, and I see the man I married, not the man who fell asleep during the last series of Bake Off.” Her voice softened, losing its theatrical edge. “And I get the gossip, Rupert. The glorious, exclusive, firsthand gossip. I get to know my husband is desired. That he’s capable of… that.” She gestured vaguely behind them, toward Libby’s house. “It makes you mysterious to me again. It makes me want to unlock you when you come home.”
The heat that flashed through him then was immediate and confusing. He cleared his throat. “So who’s next? On this… roster.”
“Ah-ah. That’s for me to know and for you to discover. One month at a time. Though I will say, the themes get more… inventive. Libby was Christmas, sweet and traditional. January is with Dolores. She’s got something icy and strict planned, I believe. A sort of post-Christmas detox.” Margot giggled. “She’s been taking ballet again.”
Rupert’s mind whirled with terrifying possibilities. The calendar in his pocket seemed to grow heavier. “And this is all just… accepted?”
“By everyone but you, it seems.” Margot settled back into her seat, staring out at the night. “You’re part of the circle now, Rupert. You don’t get to opt out. The gift has been given. The rules are set. Your compliance is rather beautifully enforced, isn’t it?” Her gaze drifted pointedly to his lap, to the persistent, familiar pressure of the cage.
They turned onto their own street, the familiar houses sliding by. The normality of it was a bizarre contrast to the turmoil inside the car.
“It’s not fair,” he said quietly, pulling into their drive.
“No,” Margot agreed, unbuckling her seatbelt with a crisp click. She turned to him, her face serious for the first time. “It’s not fair that I felt alone in our bed for two years. It’s not fair that the most exciting thing you did was a new spreadsheet function. This isn’t about fair, Rupert. It’s about fireworks.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her lips warm. “Now come inside. I want you to tell me the whole thing again, from the beginning. This time, don’t leave anything out.”
She slipped from the car and walked toward the glowing doorway of their house, leaving him sitting in the dark, the engine ticking as it cooled, the ghost of another woman’s scent still on his skin, and the crushing, exhilarating weight of the entire year stretching out before him.