But he’s cut off by the giant woman, who takes Haf’s hand in hers and brings her closer, clearly so she can get a better look at her. It’s the kind of practised move that comes from knowing people want to know you, and always getting your way.
‘I guess she’ll have to do it herself,’ she says. ‘Hello, darling. I’m Laurel, and this is my Mark.’
Laurel peers down towards Haf like she’s the most fascinating specimen she’s ever encountered. Haf wonders if this is how show dogs feel at Crufts, or perhaps she is thinking about that because Laurel seems the right kind of posh to be a judge at a dog show. Maybe she’ll win Best in Breed.
Haf gulps. ‘Hiya, I’m Haf.’
‘Half?’ Laurel adds in a little too much of an L where one doesn’t exist, one that most people don’t even say in the word ‘half’.
‘Close!’ she says, smiling a little too widely. ‘Haf. Havvv. It’s Welsh.’
‘How charming. What does it mean?’
‘Summer?’ It becomes a question as she looks to Christopher for a little assistance, but he misses her plea, too busy looking like he wants the ground to swallow him up.
‘Mark, isn’t she so charming? How lovely, andWelsh,’ she says, talking directly to Mark, who is paying barely any attention, presumably because they’re not talking about him.
You can tell a lot about an English person depending on what bit of Wales they tell you they’ve been to. Most of the northerners that Haf met at uni would always yell about the now defunct borderline-dangerous indoor water park near to where Haf grew up. It contained both an indoor lightning show and a wave pool, which local legend claimed several children had been sucked into, never to return. It did, however, have an actually dangerous octopus slide that would defang you if you went down face first when the waves pulled back, so a whole bunch of kids in her year were missing their front teeth.
Instead, Laurel passionately tells her about the spa holiday she and Mark had at Portmeirion, a pastel-daubed fake Italy and former location of cult TV show,ThePrisoner,which had the air of an abandoned theme park when Haf was a child but is now a luxury resort.
Haf nods along politely but is too busy trying to catch Christopher’s attention to really listen to fancy-people anecdotes. What does he want her to do? The longer this conversation goes on, the longer the misunderstanding does, and while normally she would just set the record straight, there’s something else going on here that she can’t quite place.
‘Toph, your parents will be delighted you’re seeing someone new. Does Kit know? I bet she doesn’t, you sneaky thing. I must tell Kit.’
‘Laurel, please—’
‘I’m so glad he’s moved on to someone new,’ Laurel says to Haf in a low, conspiratorial voice, but she’s purposefully loud enough so all can hear her. ‘I’ve been worried. I didn’t think he was dating anyone, and we broke up ages ago now, but I’m so relieved to see he’s with you because you’re so lovely, and stunning.’
Oh fuck. She’s his ex.
A memory flashes in Haf’s mind. She’d got the train over to Liverpool to pick up the last of her things from Freddie, hopeful that maybe she could talk him round. She was right in the middle of an impassioned speech about why they should get back together, arms filled with her beloved knick-knacks, when Jennifer, the woman who had replaced her, came in, keys in hand.
In terms of all the worst ways to meet your ex’s new partner, that was pretty up there. Ideally, you’d meet them while you were at a real high point in your life, like an event where she’d won a humanitarian award for being really good at Twitter. Instead, they met when she’d been crying so much that snot and tears had pooled on her top, turning it practically see-through. Typical, the one day you wear a white top, just to feel something new, and it reveals your soaked, falling-apart bra to your replacement. It was a strong contender for the most humiliating moment of her life, which was impressive considering how many she’d had.
And now, on Christopher’s face she sees the look of sheer ‘please end me now’ that she recognises from herself. He looks grey, like an overcooked green bean. He’s now the one in the see-through T-shirt, and Haf is the only one who can help.
If she can save one person from terminal embarrassment in front of an ex and their new partner, maybe it’ll make her own hurt sting less...
What’s one little lie, after all?
‘Ha ha, well, no one needs to worry. We’re both doing well and are very happy, aren’t we, Christopher?’
The words are out of her mouth before she can think any more about it.
Christopher blinks very quickly. Confusion? Relief? Haf isn’t sure, but she trots over to him and slides her arm around his waist, as though she’s been doing it forever. He stiffens for a second but relaxes into it, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him.
There are good lies, and bad lies, and the kind of lies that are just... obscuring the truth, really, just a little. Sure, they haven’tactuallybeen dating, but they have been having a nice time all evening, and he seems reasonably well adjusted, or as much as any man who worries about mistletoe might be. Perhaps his family really doesn’t need to worry. This is just a little light meddling to get him out of a sticky situation.
Laurel clasps her hands over her heart. ‘You two are just adorable. How long has this been going on?’
‘Oh, not long...’ Haf says, looking up at Christopher with big Bambi eyes, hoping he’ll take the hint to fill in the details to suit his timeline.
‘A couple of months,’ he says with a wobbly smile.
‘And you met through Sal, I suppose,’ Mark says, finally returning to the conversation. This is enough of a non-question statement that neither of them respond.
There’s something she really doesn’t like about this man. It’s a kind of instinctual primal reaction that she wants to kick him in the back of the knees and run away. Christopher, beside her, seems to wilt every time Mark throws his attention their way, and somehow she feels deeply protective.
