“Only the most fantastic house ever.” He brought our drinks over, taking the seat opposite.
“Really?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“Talk about Christmas light crazy, the whole exterior was covered.”
“On the way back from Annie’s, you say?” My heart sank.
“And it didn’t stop there. It had inflatable Santas and snowmen in the garden. There was even a giant sleigh on the roof.”
“Sounds like you got a good look,” I said, cringing.
“I certainly did.”
Oh, Lordy.
“It was fantastic.” Fin became more animated the more he talked. His hands gesticulated here, there, and everywhere as he described strings of icicles, flashing reindeer that appeared to dance, and a Father Christmas halfway down the chimney. “You couldn’t count the number of bulbs in use,” he said. “Thousands I’d say. I dread to think what the house’s electricity bill comes in at.” The man was clearly impressed. “And the number of people crowding outside, there had to be a charity box there somewhere.”
“Oh, there is.”
“So you know it?” Fin asked, evidently pleased to hear that.
I nodded. “Yes. I know it.”
“I suppose you’d have to be blind not to, hey. Isn’t it great?”
“It’s something all right,” I replied, not sure that was the word I’d have used to describe the house.
“And the commitment. Putting up those lights and taking them down has got to take, what? Six months?”
“At the very least.”
“Honestly.” Fin shook his head. “It’s mental.”
I picked up my tea and took a sip. “Isn’t it,” I said, unable to disagree. Knowing he was talking about Mum and Dad’s house, Fin might not have been able to miss the extensive Christmas regalia, but I thanked goodness for small mercies, at least he hadn’t clocked the car on their drive. A car so ugly and box-like they were bought and sold for next to nothing back in the day, on account of the more discerning driver preferring to be seen in something stylish.
“And what about the psyched-up Lada? What do you think that’s all about?” Fin asked.
My heart sank. That was a question I’d been asking for years.
While Fin laughed, I squirmed. Out of all the times I’d wished I could claim to be adopted, that moment was up there in the top ten.
I thought back to the day Dad brought the damn thing home. Russian made and sky blue in colour, it resembled more of an underwater tank than it did a roadworthy car. In fact, Dad often joked about us all being safe if we were ever shot at when out and about. Not the most attractive of vehicles to start with, my father had to make it worse by adding red and white “go-faster stripes” as he called them. Down each side and up the bonnet to the windscreen, with a paintbrush, as if that excuse for a family vehicle didn’t garner enough attention.
“As cars go, that one’s got to be a classic,” Fin continued. “If I hadn’t been in such a rush to get back, I’d have stopped to have a proper look.”
My ears pricked. “Why were you in a rush?” I asked, wondering what was so important. It wasn’t as if I’d given him a curfew.
“Sorry?”
“To get back?”
He smiled, looking at me direct. “To see you, of course.”
I came over all warm and fuzzy, at the same time telling myself not to take too much heed of Fin’s words. The man was a tease, nothing more, nothing less.
He picked up his cup and got to his feet. “More tea?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the effect his jokes were having.
I shook my head as he headed for the kettle.
