He sat in his favourite armchair with a glass of whisky. The roaring fire warmed his outside as the drink warmed him inside. Aside from the fire the only other light came from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. He looked at the presents under the tree with a slight melancholy look on his face, knowing that most of them would have to wait a few days before they could be opened. That was the worst thing about Christmas. Waiting until his two lovely boys could come and open them. It had been a fairly polite divorce; they'd just drifted apart and decided it was for the best if they ended it. She'd got remarried within the year, and he was happy for her, her new husband was a decent enough guy and they obviously loved each other. Due to this they decided the boys should spend Christmas day with them, in a family atmosphere, and then they could visit him for a few days.
As he drained the glass he heard a noise outside, followed by a hissing as water was poured down the chimney and doused the fire.
What the hell?
He stood up and went towards the window. As he looked out all he could see was bits of the garden through the fog. Then a bang from the back door made him spin round and rush toward the kitchen. Just as he reached the door it burst open and whacked him in the face. He stumbled backwards and tripped over the rug, crashing through the coffee table and to the floor.
As he lay there he felt a sharp pain as a foot connected with his groin, making him sit up in pain. This was followed by a foot to the face, knocking him back down again. He could taste blood in his mouth, and spat some on the floor in disgust.
'Do you think it's funny you little prick?' a female voice asked him 'dumping me just before Christmas when you knew I'd been out and got all the dinner.'
He tried to speak but he hadn't yet caught his breath
'2 years and you end it just like that. I warned you there'd be trouble if we ever split up didn't I?'
Catching his breath slightly he just managed to mutter
'What? Who are you?'
'You cheeky bastard. Its Caroline, who else would it be?'
'C'ŚC'Ś. Caroline? I don't know anyone called Caroline.'
'Stop pissing me about Bill, if you hadn't gathered I'm not in the mood.'
'Bill? I'm not Bill. I'm John. Bill lives next door.'
There was silence.
'This isn't number 98?'
'No it's number 96.'
'Oh shit. Look I'm really sorry. Sorry about the face, and the balls. Sorry about the back door. Sorry about the car.'
'The car?'
'Yeah, it might be a little bit dented. Look I'll give you my number and I'll pay for all the damage. I'm so sorry.'
He sat up and shook his head unbelieving.
'Listen I know it's a bit cheeky, but I don't suppose you know if Bill's in do you?' she asked.
