She insists on a photo outside of the Paddington Bear shop, followed by one of them together next to the Paddington statute on the platform where their train is waiting.
‘Do you have a big thing for Paddington? Or is it just fictional bears in general?’ Christopher asks, hauling their bags onto the train.
‘Oh my God, have you not seenPaddington 2–aka the greatest movie in the world? Paddington versus the industrial prison complex? Paddington is a radical!’ Haf’s voice gets a little bit shrieky because, truth be told, she really does have a big thing for Paddington.
‘I have not.’
‘We are watching it. I have it downloaded on my tablet for emergencies.’
‘I didn’t realise there were so many bear-based emergencies in your life.’
‘Not many gay people in your life, are there?’ she chuckles.
He flushes pink. ‘There are.’ He pouts.
The train is already humming with people going home for Christmas. They find their seats, but they’re in the quiet carriage, which is full of people precariously balancing laptops on tiny tables as they try to finish up their work in time for the holidays. Normally, Haf would be very thankful for this. A normal train carriage can be such a barrage of random noise from phone calls and blown noses and crisp-eating, among many other horrible sounds that absolutely go through her. However, a carriage where you have to be quiet might not be the ideal site for discussing their plans.
Haf takes a few bits out of her gigantic rucksack, then slides into the window seat. The air con is on high to compensate for the amount of people in the train, so she keeps her coat for a lap blanket, while Christopher stows everything else above them.
He sits down and stretches his long legs out briefly, before having to tuck them in again as more people board.
‘There,’ she says, handing Christopher his phone. ‘I made us by the tree your background, and mine is us in front of Paddington. Do you have an Instagram?’
‘When did you take my phone? Did you pickpocket me?’
‘Yeah, like thirty seconds ago when you were putting things away.’
‘You’re terrifying,’ he says, narrowing his eyes at her.
‘I work in socials, Christopher. I’m just efficient.’
‘I don’t have very much on my Instagram,’ he admits.
‘I saw.’
‘Why are you asking if you already know? And why didn’t you just post the photo for me?’
Haf shrugs. ‘I wanted to ask your permission first.’
‘Even though you stole the phone from me?’
She takes the phone back out of his hand and shows him the draft post she had whipped up. It’s a square crop of the picture in front of the Christmas tree, and she’s brightened the colours a bit. It’s a good picture, and they look like a real couple, with his arm slung around her waist and her head tilted up to smile at him. Underneath the caption is,Off home for Christmas.
‘Bloody hell, you are quick.’
‘Fastest fingers in the West. Or East. Though now we’re south...’
‘You’ve not written very much.’
‘You don’t seem like a long-caption-and-multi-hashtag kind of guy.’
Haf peers over as Christopher makes a few edits, and sees he’s added,with my best girl,followed by a snowflake emoji.
‘Your best girl? You’re going to make me cry. But also are you calling me a snowflake?’
‘It’s just a Christmassy emoji... Okay, I’ll change it just to be safe.’
He swaps it for a Christmas tree to match the picture.
