Plans for Christmas

This is a bonus scene which takes place after the events of my novel Changer. Please note that this scene may contain spoilers for the book!

Greenwood wasn’t surprised to hear the faint sound of Christmas music coming from up ahead.

She stepped from the suspended metal walkway around the atrium and into the corridor leading to the sciences wing of level 2. The lighting was the uniformly harsh glare of fluorescent strips, and she had passed no-one since leaving her office, one floor below. There were no exterior windows in the base due to its location, but she knew that it was a little after 15:00 on a grey Friday afternoon in Brussels.

Reaching her destination, she pressed her thumb to the small plate next to the door, and an adjacent panel illuminated green. She pushed the door and it swung open. She paused in the doorway.

Neil Aldridge had his back to her. He was seated in an ergonomic chair pulled up to one of the many desk surfaces attached to the large room’s perimeter walls. He had his right elbow perched on the desk, with his chin resting in his palm, eyes fixed on a slightly curved display bolted to the wall above the desk. Every few moments, his left thumb tapped the space bar on the keyboard that sat in front of him, causing the document on the screen to scroll downwards. In the intervals between, he drummed his fingers on the desk surface in time to the music, which was currently Last Christmas.

Greenwood took the opportunity to glance around the lab, reflecting on the subtle changes that had occurred since Aldridge took ownership of it. A significant portion of the central floor area was taken up by work surfaces laden with equipment, and there must have been at least a dozen tablet computers of various sizes dotted around. There was a light table, a microscope that seemed to be attached to a larger piece of machinery, and countless smaller devices alongside any number of sample containers, safety equipment, and cabling. It was all scrupulously organised, and apparently even arranged at right-angles to the various edges of the benches and raised work tables that held everything. There wasn’t a scrap of paper anywhere, but then that was just standard Agency operating policy.

The conventional desks around the room’s edges, including the one he now occupied, were a different story. Despite her staff’s best efforts, Aldridge’s non-work areas were in a state of perpetual disarray. Even without entering the room, Greenwood could see a lab coat carelessly draped over another computer keyboard; a small plastic figurine of some kind, of a blonde man clad in a green tunic and holding aloft a sword; the discarded golden foil wrappers of chocolate coins, alongside the red string bag they’d presumably been sold in; and what she was fairly certain was a video gaming device, with a primarily black casing but also with a red section on one side and a blue one opposite. She suppressed her customary sigh of irritation, but she had to admit that none of it was surprising.

The duality of the man was probably his most vexing quality. It was a continuous challenge to handle a lifelong civilian on her team, but he had already proven his value — and his courage — beyond question. And somehow, he seemed to fit in.

Her musings were interrupted as Aldridge became aware of her presence. He swivelled his chair around, a half-smile already on his face, and he tilted his head at her in greeting.

“Captain,” he said, glancing briefly at his wristwatch. “Is that Dowling away, then?”

Greenwood nodded. “He left about fifteen minutes ago. I think he gets into Cardiff around 20:00.”

“Christmas with the family,” Aldridge replied. “Seems like the sort of bloke who has a lot of relatives.”

Greenwood folded her arms, and nodded again in agreement. “Larry’s the youngest of three brothers. He has a younger sister too; I met her once. And there are a lot of cousins and so on. It sounds like chaos, and he loves it.”

Aldridge grinned. “Of course he does.”

There was a long moment of silence, then Greenwood walked over to the central work area, letting the lab’s door close behind her. She glanced idly at a metal tray which held a variety of small, handheld electronic devices, then she turned to face him again, leaning back against the raised bench.

“What are you working on?” she asked, nodding towards the curved monitor.

“I’m researching shipping containers,” he replied, without missing a beat. “It’s surprisingly interesting.”

Greenwood raised an eyebrow. “And this pertains to which of our current responsibilities, exactly?”

“Oh, none at all. I got sidetracked on Wikipedia. You know how it is. Ten minutes ago I think I was reading about medical imaging technologies. Ten minutes before that, it was the Hindenburg.”

Greenwood opened her mouth to respond, then simply shook her head. “A productive day for you, then,” she said at last, and Aldridge shrugged.

“It’s the 22nd of December. Now that Dowling is away, we’re the only active-deployment staff still here. Aren’t we?”

Greenwood nodded. Lt. Goossens had left three days earlier, and was safely ensconced on his parents’ farm in the Netherlands by now. Corporal Ramos had briefly visited the base yesterday morning, before departing for Spain with her wife. She would return just before the new year.

“And,” Aldridge continued, “I bet Wuyts is at some appalling mansion somewhere out in the country, seeing in the holidays with her butler. She’ll have gone by helicopter. The boss is away, so we can just… enjoy ourselves a bit.”

Greenwood reminded herself, once again, that Aldridge was a valued member of her team.

“First of all,” she said, “Wuyts is in her office, about a kilometre from here. I spoke with her an hour ago. Second, I’m your boss. And third, if your idea of enjoying yourself is reading about shipping containers, then I’m sorry to have intruded.”

Aldridge’s grin widened for a moment, then he raised one hand in a placating gesture. “And what are you doing for the festive period? If I may ask, that is.”

Greenwood narrowed her eyes, considering telling him it was none of his business — which was true. But she found herself reluctant to draw the conversation to an end just yet. The base was quiet, and they were operating with a skeleton staff until the following Wednesday. There was a little less to do than usual, and she always vaguely dreaded this time of year. It was only a few weeks, but it had a way of shining a spotlight on the parts of her life that she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“Working, until Sunday at least,” she replied evenly. “Maybe you should try it.”

“Maybe I should,” Aldridge replied. “And I don’t have any particular plans this weekend either, since you ask.”

“I didn’t ask,” she replied. “Actually, I didn’t say a word.”

Aldridge shrugged. “Well, I could clearly hear you not-asking, then.”

Greenwood shook her head again, suddenly feeling tired. “You’re not going back to Edinburgh?”

Aldridge’s expression darkened for a moment, as if a shadow had passed over his face; there and then gone in an instant. He gave a brief shake of his head, and broke eye contact. “Nothing there for me,” he said. There was a brief pause, and then he spoke again. “Except freezing my arse off on the streets around the castle for Hogmanay.”

He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and she made a show of rolling her eyes. “I should let you get back to Wikipedia,” she said. “But I might read that article myself, so no spoilers.”

Aldridge’s eyes twinkled, but he didn’t immediately respond, and after a moment she nodded and turned away, starting towards the door. She had almost reached it when she heard his voice from across the room.

“What are you doing after work? Or after whatever you really do in that office of yours downstairs.”

Greenwood paused, then half-turned her head, still with her back to him. Her posture effortlessly conveyed the message I beg your pardon? and she knew he was going to say something else even before she heard his brief intake of breath.

“Thing is, I’m not doing anything either. There’s a pub a few streets over. Not too fancy. But they have books everywhere, according to Dowling.”

Greenwood turned around, and now she was the one who wore an amused expression. “Books,” she replied, and Aldridge nodded and shrugged at the same time, then quickly cleared his throat.

“I like books. Everyone likes books. Don’t they?”

Greenwood’s gaze flicked to the curved computer monitor just past Aldridge’s head. “You’re using the web for research. And we’re several storeys below one of the best libraries in Western Europe. They have lots of books too, you know.”

“But they don’t have whisky. I checked. Via their web site.”

She folded her arms, pleased with his response but unsure why. He looked uncomfortable, and it made a pleasant change. “Was there a question in there, Aldridge, or have you been researching the drinking establishments of Brussels too?”

He shifted in his seat, then spread his hands expansively, trying to look casual and not quite managing it. “I’m just saying that I’m planning to check the place out later. They do food too. It’s almost Christmas, after all. The others will be relaxing at home, so why shouldn’t we?”

She raised an eyebrow once more.

“Uh, I mean, why shouldn’t we go and have a friendly drink on a Friday night just before the holidays? No harm in that.”

Her eyebrow rose slightly higher.

“Friendly but professional,” he added. “Colleagues. Where you’re also my boss.”

Her eyebrow returned to its resting position, and after another moment she turned away again, tapping the panel beside the door to unlock it, then grasped the handle and pulled the door open.

“Eighteen hundred hours, topside corridor,” she said, then she left the room without looking back.

“Eighteen hundred it is, Captain,” Aldridge said to the empty room. Then he pressed his heels to the floor and spun his chair around in a full circle.

The pub was called Brel, and Aldridge thought it was just barely on the right side of hipster chic. The triple-language signage — French, Dutch, and English — proudly described the more than sixty craft beers on offer from around the world, and invited guests to visit the intimate beer garden on a hidden green space behind the establishment.

I’ll give that a miss until springtime, thanks, he thought, catching the eye of the bartender at last.

Greenwood stood nearby, looking around for a table. The place was already busy, but was also a maze of cul-de-sacs, short staircases, and cozily-lit spaces. She spotted a likely place, and then glanced around at Aldridge and pointed towards the far left corner of an area adjacent to the impressive bar. He nodded, and she walked off to find a place to sit.

When he arrived with their drinks a few minutes later, he found her at a low, round table in one of two tastefully battered leather wingback chairs, all pushed right up against a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf populated with what looked like the trashiest pulp novels and bodice-rippers the interior designers had been able to lay their hands on.

He tilted his head towards the shelves as he placed Greenwood’s gin and tonic and his own Balvenie DoubleWood single malt whisky on the scarred tabletop. “See? Books.”

She nodded in thanks for the drink. “Highbrow literature; definitely your style.”

Aldridge briefly placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt, then picked up his glass and raised it towards Greenwood.

“What are we drinking to?” she asked, with the barest note of warning in her voice. “And which gin am I drinking, for that matter?”

“It’s Bombay Sapphire. I asked for Edinburgh Gin but they didn’t have it,” he replied, shaking his head. “And we’re drinking to whatever you like. How about… world peace?”

“We’d be out of a job,” she said dryly, and he nodded.

“To saving the world, then,” he said. “Plus the usual Christmas stuff about goodwill to all men. And women.”

Greenwood raised her glass and clinked it against his.

“Slàinte mhath,” Aldridge said.

“Do dheagh shlàinte,” Greenwood replied easily, enjoying his look of surprise. “And I think we’re both in pretty good health already. I have your physical training reports on my desk, remember.”

“Full of surprises, Captain,” he said, taking a sip of the amber liquid.

“I try.”

An hour passed, and a second round of drinks. She was surprised how effortlessly the small talk flowed. They discussed work only briefly, and in oblique terms, before moving on to politics — equally briefly — and then to their respective tastes in music, books, and movies. It turned out that Aldridge had a passion for romantic comedies on screen, science fiction in the printed word, and virtually any kind of music. Greenwood confessed to her enjoyment of period dramas; anything with a well-shot car chase; jazz, blues, and classical music; and historical novels — perhaps with the occasional work of fantasy thrown in.

“Huh,” Aldridge said, finishing his second glass of whisky and sitting it carefully back down on the table. “I had you pegged as more of a no-nonsense type. Tom Clancy and Robert Ludlum. Maybe some John le Carré. But not monsters and magic.”

Greenwood shrugged. “I’ve seen enough monsters in real life. The fictional kind are a lot easier to deal with. And as for magic, well…”

She tailed off, but Aldridge understood perfectly. A small frown creased his brow, and images flitted through his mind.

A cathedral in Germany, by night, lit by jagged lightning. A cold, concrete parking garage in Edinburgh, echoing to the sound of gunshots in the wind. An ornate library within a museum in Amsterdam. And his own outstretched hand, somehow taking hold of—

He shook his head briskly, reaching for the glass in front of him before he remembered it was empty. He sighed, then tried his best to smile.

“Fact can be stranger than fiction,” he said, and Greenwood nodded.

“No kidding.” There was silence for more than a minute before she spoke again.

“Is that why you’re not going back?”

He glanced up at her in momentary surprise before frowning once more, fixing his gaze on the table’s surface.

“No,” he replied. “Not really. It’s just that… I had my life there. First in Oxford, then in Edinburgh. My most recent life, at least. But there’s nothing there anymore. Just places. My life is here, now.”

“As simple as that?” she asked, and he took a slow breath as he considered the question.

“Could be,” he said. “If I want it to be.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “And do you?”

“Is this a staff attrition question, Captain?” he asked, but they both knew the flippancy was just a deflection.

“No,” Greenwood said. “Friendly question, amongst colleagues. Where I also just happen to be your boss.”

He grinned, eyes still locked on the table top, and she found herself smiling slightly too.

“I think so,” he said at last. “And I think I could probably do with another drink.”

Greenwood stood up before Aldridge could move. “Definitely my round,” she said, then she walked off towards the bar.

“None of your bloody business,” Greenwood said, her eyes sparkling a little more than they had when she and Aldridge walked into the bar two-and-a-half hours before. They had eaten, and there had been more drinks too. She’d gone a little beyond just feeling the buzz, but she knew she wouldn’t be having any more tonight.

He’d been prying into her personal life, in his usual faux-subtle way, and she was a little alarmed to realise she was considering answering his questions.

“This is what you think about when you’re slacking off in your lab?” she asked, and he only smiled and leaned forward a little, fixing her with a gaze that was entirely too confident.

“You know very well, Captain, that the only reason I get away with the man-child act is because I’m absurdly productive most of the time.” His accent made him roll every “r”, and she could swear that he was exaggerating it at this point.

“Is that what it is, then? An act?” she asked, a little too earnestly, then she immediately regretted the remark. Dangerous, she thought. But he only tilted his head to one side, apparently content to let her off the hook.

“You never did tell me what you’re doing for Christmas,” he said. “In fact, you always seem to avoid telling me much of anything. Should I call Dowling and ask him instead?”

“You already know what Dowling’s doing for Christmas,” she quipped, and he gave a brief grin before looking down at his drink.

They sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes, then Aldridge heard her sigh. He glanced up, and saw her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You alright?” he said, and she nodded without meeting his gaze.

“Just thinking. It’s been a tough year. For you too.”

“Aye,” he said after a long moment, and now she did look up at him. He only tended to slip into his own dialect when he was distracted, and she could see that his eyes were unfocused.

He’s thinking about his father, she thought. About Dr. Taylor.

“I don’t suppose you ever have easy years, right enough,” he said, and she knew it wasn’t a question.

“You have no idea. Some of the stuff that our group has been through. You might come to regret taking that job offer. Even with all the new toys.”

“I doubt it,” he replied, and she couldn’t quite read his expression. There was a hint of amusement in it, but at some private joke he wasn’t going to share. “And I’ve seen a fair bit already, I think.”

“That’s true. Still, it’s a rapidly… evolving world. Geopolitically. Technologically. Our job only gets more difficult.”

Evolving, he thought. He knew she’d substituted the word at the last moment, mid-sentence. He’d been guilty of that himself, during recent months; attempting all sorts of linguistic contortions to avoid the innocuous term. Changing.

“It is what it is,” he said. “And the work is important.”

She nodded. And then another minute or so of silence, before she began speaking without realising she was going to.

“The agency used to have a Christmas party, you know. Ridiculous thing.”

Aldridge’s eyebrows shot up. “Did Wuyts go?”

She laughed at the incredulity in his voice; a free and easy laugh that crinkled the corners of her eyes and showed her teeth. He tightened his grip on the lead crystal tumbler of amber liquid in front of him.

“Twice, I think,” Greenwood replied. “She can hold her booze, believe me.” Aldridge watched as she smiled at some memory or other, and then the smile faded.

“It was different then,” she said, in a quieter voice. “We used to–”

“Lately I spend more time thinking about the future than the past,” he interjected, twisting the glass slightly before meeting her eyes again.

She was looking at him, her lips pressed together in a fine line. Green eyes, but they might have been brown in the subdued lighting. Auburn hair, reflecting the flickering glow of the small candle that had appeared on the table at some point during the evening.

At last, she broke eye contact, taking a sip of her own drink. “It’s getting late,” she said.

“It is,” he agreed.

You seem to avoid telling me much of anything, her mind whispered.

“And,” she said quietly, “I’m your superior–”

“Everything, pretty much. I’d noticed that too.”

She looked up at him again, and he couldn’t tell whether she was frustrated or amused; angry or relieved. Or something else.

“Aldridge,” she began, but he abruptly lifted his glass as if to give a toast. She watched him carefully for a moment before picking up her own drink and looking at him expectantly.

“To friendship, Captain,” he said. “Between colleagues.”

“To friendship,” she said, after a moment, and their glasses clinked together.

Greenwood swallowed the rest of her drink and then stood up, and Aldridge just smiled. He sat in silence as she put on her elegant dark grey woollen coat, drew her scarf around her neck, and pulled on her gloves. They were maroon leather and slender, and he wondered how they could possibly keep her hands warm.

“Thank you,” she said. “For tonight.”

He nodded. “I told you it’d be fun.”

“No you didn’t,” she said. “But it was implied.”

He smiled again, and after another moment she simply nodded and began to turn towards the door.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you never answered me,” he said, his voice warm and with just a hint of bravado that was probably more whisky than personality.

“About what?” she asked, turning quickly back around and eyeing him cautiously. He noticed that there was the hint of a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“About… you know. Your plans.”

“For Christmas?” she asked, and she sensed that this was more of a dance than a conversation. Right now, that seemed just fine.

“Sure, that too,” Aldridge replied, blinking with exaggerated innocence.

She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered how many times he’d seen that gesture today. Then she turned gracefully away, and he heard her call back over her shoulder as she walked to the door, amusement now very clear in her voice.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said.

I hope you enjoyed this bonus scene from Changer. Find out more about the book here!