"Season of Love?"

There are several sure fire signs that Christmas-is-a-comin’. For one, the red Christmas cups are now available at Starbucks. As is the Christmas menu, which includes my addiction: the Eggnog Latte. Another sign is the Big Issue vendors who have now started wearing Santa hats in an attempt to get people to give that £1.50 for a magazine most won’t even read. “Merry Christmas, Sir!” Slightly early, I thought to myself, but it was from the heart.

Fast forward to that evening and I was in Oceana, partying, again. Faye was there, but had to leave early as she was on placement at a primary school the next morning. After a few sly, short kisses, she said she was leaving.

“Why do you always text me at five and six o’clock in the morning?” I asked her, in an attempt to make her stay longer.

“Because I want some!” She replied, with no hesitation and a raised eyebrow. She turned and walked out.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I said, as I watched her walk away. Maybe she expected me to follow her, opening an invitation for her bedroom and my Durex, or maybe she was just ‘throwing it out there’.

The next morning I woke with a steaming hangover, not remember much more of the events from the night before after Faye had left. I came out of my bedroom and made myself a cup of tea. Christian was in his room, playing PS2. I sat myself down on his bed.

“Hey dude, good night last night?” He asked.

“Um, yeah, from what I remember. I don’t even know when, or how, I got home.”

“It was about 4ish, you didn’t wake me, don’t worry. I was getting some work out of the way.” What was he, I thought to myself? A drug dealer? A pimp? Who works at 4am? “You and Faye then?”

“What about me and Faye?” I responded, in mock shock, thinking he was referring to the Trojans on my shelf.

He rolled his eyes. “You must know that she has her eyes on you to be her boyfriend.”

Oh shit. “You think? I thought she just wanted, you know, friends with benefits. I don’t even think I want a relationship. I can just about deal with my own life, never mind having to deal with anyone else’s. Nah, she can’t want a relationship. She doesn’t.” Then it dawned on me. “Oh shit, she does.” I was trailing on. I was possibly still drunk.

“Noah, dude, chillax.” Christian was forever coming out with stupid little phrases like that. “You’ll need to decide whether you want to be with her, because she definitely wants to be with you. It wouldn’t be fair to string her along.”

“Wow. Philosophical.”

The next night, and still slightly hung-over, I played host to our very own flat party. A very inebriated Faye was in attendance. I had decided to analyse her signals. I had to work out: Faye...friend or girlfriend?

“Why do you never talk to me except when you’re drunk?” She slurred, in her very sexy Northern Irish accent I might add. Girlfriend.

I chose my words wisely. “It’s you. I always talk. You only ever seem to text me when you’re drunk.” I grinned.

“That’s not true.” She replied, playfully punching my shoulder. Friend. She lay back on my bed, eyeing me up. Girlfriend. “Can I borrow your belt?” Friend.

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes, and she kissed me goodbye, in a non-friend, but definite girlfriend, type of way. Girlfriend.

A day later, with Faye still playing on my mind, and after an expensive lunch in a Tapas bar with a course mate, I was pre-Christmas Christmas shopping. You know, looking at potential gifts for others, in hope of finding something for yourself. Looking at the fragrances, I smelt something familiar. It was ‘The One’ by Dolce & Gabbana. I had bought it for Ella last Christmas. Sentimental, sexy and understated. It reminded me of everything I had ever liked about Ella. I picked it up and sprayed it onto a test card. I fingered the simple, golden logo that was printed on the bottom of the card. This time last year Aidan and I were shopping for our respective girlfriends. The only difference now was that Aidan and Skye had made another year, where as Ella and I only managed three more months. I slid the card into my back pocket, and left the store.

Several streets and too much money later, Ella was still on mind. I needed to shake this. I dumped my purchases back at the flat, changed into my joggers, grabbed my iPod and went jogging. Was I hoping that maybe I could run away from the memory of Ella? I went to wipe a bead of sweat from under my nose, and ‘The One’ lingered on my hand. I had a thought: maybe it was time to talk to her.