‘No. No more talking until we get home and I can raid Dad’s whisky cabinet. This is...’ She shakes her head, unable to continue. Her unfinished sentence hangs in the air between them like their breath.
So they say no more, standing near each other in the frigid air.
In the distance, Haf hears a whinny and wishes she could disappear off to the stables, perhaps ride away like a heroine in a historical fantasy novel.
Soon, Christopher returns with the coats, and a car arrives pretty much immediately – the Howards must have had some waiting for guests.
‘I told our parents that we’re leaving early,’ he says when they’re all in the car. ‘Apparently our generation don’t have any stamina, which is a horrifying phrase, the more I think about it.’
It feels wrong to laugh, and so Haf just offers a weak smile.
The driver must think some kind of family tragedy has occurred, and Christopher slips him a note as they all pile out of the car. Haf is relieved that he seems to have a wallet full of twenties on hand and ready to appease freaked-out drivers.
The dogs are extremely excited that they are home, and squeal and bounce around Kit as she strides through the house to let them outside for a wee. No one follows her, she probably needs a break from them both.
With horror, Haf notices the clock in the hallway says it’s only just gone half ten. After everything that happened, Haf could have sworn it was about three in the morning, or maybe that was just the whole fleeing-the-ball thing. It certainly feels that way.
Instead, Haf follows Christopher into the living room, where he gets the fire going. Clearly, he needs to be doing somethingwith his hands to shed himself of anxiety, but in the literal and emotional chill Haf is relieved either way.
Returning in a gust of cold air, Kit heads straight to the wooden drinks trolley and pulls out an expensive-looking bottle. The amber liquid sloshes in its large tumbler.
Haf and Christopher glance at each other, but no one speaks. The only sound comes from Stella and Luna as they wander back in and curl up in their usual spot in front of the fire.
Eventually, Kit throws herself into the armchair that Otto usually occupies and takes a deep breath, followed by a sip of whisky.
‘Okay, I’m ready,’ she announces.
‘Ready?’ asks Christopher, who stands up, dusting ash from his hands.
‘Ready for you both to explain what the fuck is up with this hare-brained scheme.’
‘It’s nothare-brained.’
‘All right then, how aboutfucking ridiculous?’
Haf wants to tell them to settle down but getting in the way of siblings snapping at each other probably is an overstep.
‘What I want to know,’ says Kit slowly, ‘is why? Why not just like fake break-up with her, or even say no to Esther?’
‘It’s not so easy saying no to Mother.’
‘I say no to her all the time.’
‘And yet you still ended up making that horror show of a gingerbread house.’
‘Fair point. But that was baking something silly, not like... cosplaying my life.’
‘I just,’ Christopher begins, wiping his face with his hand. ‘I just didn’t want to have to deal with the inevitable set-ups that Mother told me she was planning, and I wanted something to talk about with them that wasn’t my job, or the company, or anything.’
‘So she’s just a conversation piece to you?’ Kit gestures her glass towards Haf.
‘That’s a little reductive.’
‘Not really, from what you’ve said. You just said this whole fake-dating thing was so Esther wouldn’t set you up with anyone else, and so the parents wouldn’t hassle you about your work life.’
Christopher says nothing, but flushes beetroot red.
Kit’s mouth becomes a hard line. ‘Christopher, do you not think it’s entirely batshit that you constructed this mess just so that you didn’t have to have a conversation with them?’
