Beckett arrived at ten on Tuesday morning. He insisted upon shovelling the remaining traces of snow off my drive, clearing a neat track from my garden to the footpath leading to Hatherstone, before we headed over to his house.
‘I am capable of handling a shovel,’ I said, bringing him a coffee.
‘As I’m capable of brewing coffee and sitting with Gramps. I thought you knew how friendship worked. Besides,’ he grunted, heaving one last mound to the side before resting the shovel against the garden fence and accepting the drink, ‘I’m a good foot taller than you. It’s a matter of biology that I’ll get it done faster, and more easily.’
He didn’t need to add that he was also stronger. Having warmed up in the December sunshine, he’d taken off his coat and jumper, working in a torso-hugging top with the sleeves pushed up. I had no idea how Beckett maintained muscles like that, considering he had no time for a proper walk, let alone to go to the gym. Maybe he did workouts in his bedroom, or using a DVD, like Shay’s mum bopping along to Davina McCall.
‘Are things any better with Gramps?’ I asked, taking a sip of my own coffee. I’d felt reassured enough by Marvin’s demeanour to leave him in the living room with Bob, but there was a lingering frostiness between the grandfather and grandson that the sun would do nothing to dissipate.
‘He’s acting the same as normal.’
‘And by normal, you mean grumpy and infuriating?’
Beckett nodded. ‘Also, still worrying. He was up at four, making feeble attempts to sweep the last bits of snow off the patio with a dustpan and brush.’
‘I’m glad I can give you a break today. Even if it is so you can work.’
Beckett smiled. ‘I am going to do some work. Otherwise we’ll be cancelling Christmas. But I’m also taking an hour to myself.’
‘Doing what?’
His smile grew, lighting up his whole face. ‘I’m taking Moses rowing.’
I felt so proud, I could have kissed him.
It took three ‘I really need to get going’s and me eventually leaving Beckett in his kitchen where we’d been chatting after lunch, shutting myself with Gramps in the living room, before he finally headed out in the taxi. I’d never had a friend who I could chat with seemingly endlessly and effortlessly. For a long time after Shay and Kieran decided I was one of them, they had taken the lead, the quick-fire words crowding in on top of each other, like popcorn in a pan. The kind of conversation that only kids who’d grown up together could have, when they already knew all the references and the subplots, the characters and locations. I often found it impossible to chip in until they asked me, or coincidentally both happened to pause to draw breath or take a synchronised swig of vanilla Coke. As the years went by, I never quite lost that sense of being allowed to eavesdrop in their conversation, and even when with only one of them, it had been easier to stick to my role as the ‘quiet one’.
That was part of why I’d found Leo so impossible to resist. Our ‘getting to know you’ phase had been impassioned, fervent, as if we were being swept along in a fast-moving river, always slightly out of control, heads scrambling to catch up with the intensity of the emotions. We were consumed by each other.
With Beckett, it was more like a hike through the forest, where we varied the pace yet consistently came across something interesting, unexpected or beautiful where we needed to stop and take our time investigating, or merely allow our minds to boggle a little. Our backgrounds were different in so many practical ways. However, they had both led us to far more ‘same here!’ moments than I’d have thought possible.
Perhaps it helped that all the awkwardness had been got out of the way in that sweaty, groany, bloody first meeting, or that I’d left my old identity behind in Sheffield. Maybe it was inevitable after my months of isolation that the words would flow, but something about Beckett made it easy to open up to him.
I couldn’t think of a better way to feel safe and seen than being genuinely interested in the details of each other’s lives.
I ruminated on all this as I completed my secret task of the day. While Gramps explained sudoku to Bob, I hung up the decorations I’d cobbled together in between sewing sessions over the past two days. Beckett had told me Gramps waited until the twenty-first before putting up a tree, but he’d not said anything about a string of bunting, featuring random offcuts of fabric. He’d also not objected to the bin-bag of greenery I’d sneaked in Beckett’s boot, pretending it was full of costumes awaiting construction. I hung swathes of holly, pine branches and ivy across the mantel, around the ceiling and in artistic arrangements on the other recently cleared surfaces, adding sprigs of red berries from a bush in the garden, and the odd ribbon or candle.
I wound more ivy up the stairs, and hung a giant paper star from the light fixture in the kitchen.
I then turned off the main lights, lit the candles, breathed in the scrumptious foresty smells and fed Bob while Gramps snoozed. By the time Beckett arrived home, I’d completed one seam of Original Santa’s tunic.
‘This is incredible.’ Beckett took three slow steps into the living room. ‘You’re an artistic genius. I’m now utterly embarrassed by the hash job I made of your cottage.’
‘Pah. I love what you did to my cottage. Especially once I’d rearranged a few things after you’d left.’
‘Before you stepped foot through our front door, we were living in a dingy mess. I’d never even considered that how a place looked can change the whole way it feels.’
‘And you’re supposed to be the smart one.’
‘Well, I did think your house would make anyone feel drab and miserable, so maybe that was my first clue.’
‘Rude. But not wrong. Once the decorations are down, I might splash out on some homely touches.’
‘So you’ve decided to stick around?’
I looked at him sharply. ‘What made you think there was anything to decide about that?’
Beckett gave me a pointed look. ‘Um, the drab, depressing house, for starters.’
