‘I don’t know. I have to find a way to speak to her.’
‘Good plan. I guess this is farewell,’ says Bryn.
And to her surprise, he pulls her into a hug. ‘Go get her.’
And with that, he’s gone.
She rushes through Paddington station, and up to the taxi rank. The cabbie helps her launch the rucksack onto the back seat of the black cab, and she squeezes down next to it.
There’s somehow even snowfall here, even though Christopher had told her it practically never snows in London. Some of it sticks on the roofs and tops of cars.
Haf leans her head against the window, hoping for one of those London montages where they drive past the London Eye and Big Ben, all the landmarks. Instead, they just trundle slowly down side roads, and soon they’re at St Pancras and she’s handing over an extortionate amount of money for the privilege.
She looks at the faces of everyone she walks past, looking for her.
Despite it being Boxing Day, St Pancras is quite busy. The decorations are all still up, of course, and even though the shops have added sale signs to the windows, she passes all the same displays.
The relief that she feels upon seeing Ambrose standing under the Christmas tree is overwhelming, and she immediately bursts into tears.
Ambrose opens their arms wide as she runs right into them, almost knocking them over with the force generated from her enormous backpack.
‘Thank you,’ she snuffles, crying all over Ambrose’s nice clothes. ‘Thank you for coming to get me.’
They release Haf from the hug so they can get a better look at her. ‘Someone had to come rescue you from yourself,’ they say, and Haf laugh-sobs.
‘I think, somehow, I’ve fucked things up even more,’ she says nervously. She holds up the gloves.
‘Nice . . . gloves?’
‘They’re love-declaration gloves!’
‘Is that a thing?’
‘Like inCarol!’ she splutters.
Ambrose pauses. ‘Ohhh, okay, I’m pretty sure that’s not the plot of the book, but I get it. Very good. Very gay.’
‘I have to tell her. I have to tell her that I—’
Ambrose places their hands on her shoulders. ‘Stop. First, coffee. Actually, something with no caffeine in it, you’re positively vibrating as it is. Then you can explain what the heck is going on, and we can work out where we’re going next.’
She opens her mouth to speak but Ambrose silences her with a curt ‘shh’ and drags her over to the takeaway counter of the little bistro where she and Christopher had lunch a few days ago. Ambrose orders a big coffee and a hot chocolate for Haf, as well as some sandwiches wrapped in paper to take with them.
‘Are you and Laurel firm friends now?’ asks Haf, while they wait.
Suddenly awkward, Ambrose flushes a little. ‘She, err, proposed that we work together on a line.’
‘What? That’s sick! I’m so proud of you,’ Haf says, hopping up and down with joy.
‘Yeah, I think it will be cool. And we’re going to look at designing collections that can be worn by different body types, so lots of pattern wizardry, but Laurel seems really invested in learning all that. Maybe we’ll even make a unisex clothing line that isn’t just beige sacks.’
‘Woah, woah. Don’t get too ambitious,’ Haf laughs.
This is what she needed. Celebrating Ambrose’s wins over coffee and thinking of the good things to come for them back home together.
They take their coffees and snacks and head to the concourse.
‘It’ll mean I have to come down to Oxlea a bit, you know,’ Ambrose says gently. ‘So I might not be around as much on the weekends.’
