‘Oh, they’re so gooey-eyed, Mark. Isn’t it divine?’
Mark gives a man-grunt in response that’s supposed to convey a yes.
At this, Haf decides it’s time for them to escape.
‘Actually, I’m really sorry to do this, but we were about to nip off. He’s got an early train, and I really wanted to take him out for breakfast first,’ Haf says in the sweetest, most doting voice she can conjure. Luckily, it’s very easy for her to be saccharine about a fancy breakfast out. She loves breakfast.
She gently pulls at Christopher, and he reanimates. ‘Yes, sorry. We should head off, but it’s been nice to unexpectedly bump into you both.’
‘Not going to open that here?’ asks Mark, looking pointedly at the unopened bottle of Prosecco and glasses by the fire.
Fuck off, Mark, she thinks intently, but picks up the bottle of Prosecco from the floor, anyway. She’s not leaving Ambrose’s contraband for these people. They can afford their own stolen booze.
‘Time just got away from us. Good seeing you, Mark,’ Christopher says, giving him one of those one-shake handshakes.
‘See you at Christmas, old boy,’ he replies, clapping a hand to Christopher’s shoulder.
‘Sorry, Laurel, I wish we could have caught up more,’ he says.
It’s very clear to Haf that he was lying out of his arse claiming it was good to see Mark, but he does sound genuinely regretful to have not caught up with Laurel.
Affectionately, Laurel rests a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that seems more familiar than a hug or kiss could have. ‘I’ll see you next week, anyway!’
Laurel practically has to bend at the waist to air-kiss Haf. ‘It’s been delightful to meet you.’
They politely back away, leaving Laurel and Mark under the mistletoe that got them into this mess.
Haf leads him by the hand through the thick, sweaty mass of truly drunken partygoers in a tiny house, and out into thefresh air of the street at the front. Away from the firepit and heaters, the ice in the air nips at her, but the adrenaline (and gin) coursing through her body helps keep it at bay, a little, but her boobs are definitely at risk of freezing over.
They drop hands, but she takes him by the arm to lead him through the winding suburban streets in the direction of home. After a few minutes, they reach the dark rushing of the river, lit by soft orange street lamps.
It takes a while for him to speak, and she gives him the space to, rather than demanding precisely what the fuck happened.
‘Christ. Thanks for that,’ he says eventually.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘You didn’t have to do it, though.’
‘I know.’
‘Why did you?’
‘Honestly? You looked like you were about to expire on the spot. And, well, I’ve had my share of embarrassing moments in front of an ex and their new person. It sucks, and it seemed like I could help. She’d already decided we were a couple. Easy to play along, you know?’
‘Perhaps. Where are we going anyway? I’ve no idea where we are,’ he says, slowing down and finally taking in his surroundings.
‘My house. I figured we could drink this bottle, or a coffee if you need it, and then you can get a cab back to your hotel.’
He pats her hand in agreement. ‘That’s... a great idea. Thank you.’
She loves going home by the river path. The fresh smell of plants mixes with the spray of rushing water, and it’s lit just enough that it’s safe to walk down at night and you can still see the stars. Behind them is the bright gold of town, York Minster peeking out in the distance, which Haf points out to him. Aheadis a curved, modern metal bridge lit in rainbow colours, an unintentional Pride flag lighting their way home.
They fall back into easy silence.
‘You’re kind of brilliant, you know?’ he says, after a few minutes.
‘Kind of? I’m wounded. You really know how to woo a girl,’ she teases, and he flushes. ‘Look at your little pink cheeks. It’s far too easy for me to make you flustered. I think it’s one of my favourite things about you, I’ve decided.’
