“I don’t know anything about him, Mrs M.”
“That’s the whole point, love. The fun is in getting to know someone.”
“But we head back to England next week.”
“Then make the most of your time together, because that’s how you’ll know whether there’s a reason to stay in touch, or to want more. Trust an old woman when it comes to matters of the heart—”
“You’re not old.”
“Let me tell you something. I haven’t seen you looking this happy in years. Yes, years. So go with your heart and tell that little man in your head to keep his big fat interfering mouth shut.”
Trevor laughed. He had only ever told Cheryl about the critical little head voice who pitched in at the very worst of times.
“Okay, I’m going to shower,” he said, heading to his room.
“Oh, and Trevor?”
He spun around in the doorway. “Yes, Mrs M?”
“You called me Brenda earlier? Do you remember?” she said, smiling and causing Trevor to laugh again. “I liked the sound of it. Is that something you’re going to continue?”
“Sorry. You’ll always be Mrs M to me.”
* * * *
Served from seven-thirty, the cold Christmas buffet proved to be its usual resounding success. After napping or relaxing, everyone had worked up brand-new appetites, any tension from lunch forgotten. Mrs M, Cheryl and Mary moved around one another to serve the fare together with mugs of tea. Mary even rustled up a couple of hot vegetarian pasta dishes to share with everyone, which became an instant hit.
When the fourth person asked Trevor where Rudy had gone, and for the fourth time he had to explain, he checked his phone. Instead of checking in front of them all, he headed out into what could now officially be called a snow blizzard. One step across the doorstep the security light came on, and he scanned the display on his phone. No calls, no messages.
He thought about calling Rudy but decided not to pressure him, to let him deal with whatever had happened even though he longed to help out. Instead, he fired off a short message.
Trevor: Hope everything’s okay. In case you’re not back in time for supper, I’ll put a plate of cold cuts in the fridge for you. Miss you.
On a second glance, he removed the last two words, even though he meant them. Standing there in the raw chilliness, he looked around himself and shivered. How could he have been gifted such a wonderful Christmas present only to have it taken away? Wrapping his arms around himself, he stared up into the night sky and did something he never did, something entirely out of character.
He asked for help.
“Monica? Tell me what to do?” he whispered, as flake after flake of snow landed on his face. “Because I really like him, and I don’t know what to do.”
He listened as the wind danced circles with spirals of snow, but no words came back to him.
Chapter Twelve
Fairytale of New York
Rudy didn’t return that night.
Trevor woke alone, the way he had every night since Karl had left—every night but one. But today felt different. Something felt amiss. He thought back to Mrs M’s words from the night before, about mourning the warmth of someone’s body lying beside her, and wallowed in the dream of actually having Rudy permanently in his bed. Bleary with sleep, having stayed awake until after one, listening out for the sound of footsteps at his door, he had overslept. Now he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. What had happened last night? Why had Rudy not returned when he’d promised he would? Or at least have gotten a message to him? Maybe they’d had a legitimate medical emergency, which was why Rudy couldn’t return his text. Or had Rudy cooled off, realising their time together would soon come to an end and, rather than prolonging the ordeal, decided to stay away?
Wearing a tracksuit and dressing gown, Trevor dragged himself into the kitchen, where a drama appeared to be unfolding. Jessica and Antoni huddled together talking in urgent whispers. Mary and Mrs M worked with their backs to them at the kitchen counter, either oblivious to or, more likely, ignoring the situation.
“You’re finally awake, Mac,” said Antoni, looking up. “Big problem. We can’t get out of the lodge.”
“What do you mean?”
“The front and back doors are blocked with snow.”
“Okay,” said Trevor, shrugging. “Then dig the snow out.”
