‘Are you coming through, darling?’ calls his mother.
‘Just a minute,’ he shouts back.
Dazed, Haf awkwardly bends down to unlace her Doc Martens to leave them in the rack next to walking shoes almost as filthy as her boots. She probably should have cleaned them before this trip. Or ever.
Christopher bends down to help Haf with the knot in her shoelaces, and drops his voice to a whisper.
‘I did try to warn you that my family were a lot.’
‘I thought you meant they were inclined to passive aggressiveness. Not that you come from a line of former Etonians.’
He clearly is about to protest that none of them went to Eton, but thinks better of it and flattens his lips into a line.
‘Should I have brought stuff to wear for dinner, like formalwear? I come from a pyjamas-all-day, watch-all-the-films-and-pass-out-slightly-pissed-Christmas-routine family, Christopher. My bag might be massive but the wardrobe options are not extensive enough to cover black tie.’
He pulls a face at this, but she presumes it’s just horror from the state of her boots, which are admittedly a little worse for wear.
‘Haf, honestly, it’s okay. We’re a pretty relaxed family. They won’t care how you dress. And I’m sure you’d look adorable in all-day pyjamas.’
‘Come on, I’m being serious,’ she whines, nerves creeping into her voice, making it wobble slightly. As much as she is joking about it, this has thrown her.
‘Sorry, I’m not trying to make fun of you,’ he says, helping her up.
‘I know, I know. It’s just, I was thinking fancy picky teas, rather than formal dining and having to work out which fork for which course.’
‘It’ll be fine. They’ll love you,’ he says, touching her shoulder with such gentleness that all her worries attempt to evaporate, but then resettle like a heavy fog. ‘And if you do struggle with the cutlery, I’ll give you hints.’
Haf sticks her tongue out at him.
‘Just give me a second, okay? I just need to... readjust my expectations.’
Can she even play a convincing fake girlfriend in this situation?
The thing she’s struggling to explain, that she’s never been able to explain, is that as brash and confident as she can be, it comes from a place of practice. She has a script that she sticks to. Compliment, offer to help out, ask about their interests; those are the three tenets of pleasing parents that she’s relied on her whole life and it was a solid formula. But it also relied on a familiarity, shared cultural touchstones. Will she have anything in common with them? Sure, there’s Christopher, but she can’t talk about only him for the next four days or they’ll think she’s dangerously obsessed with him, rather than in want of aconversation topic. Granted, if she’s absolutely awful and they hate her, that’ll probably make fake-breaking up with her easier and his family would be really relieved about it.
She’ll just have to get over it. There’s no time for class anxiety this Christmas.
Haf takes a deep breath.It’ll be fine, she tells herself. It’ll have to be.
She looks up at Christopher and gives him a smile.
‘You’re doing great,’ he says reassuringly.
She adds her coat to an empty hook, hoping she hasn’t made a porch etiquette faux pas, on top of goosing his mother and being a peasant.
Christopher moves Haf’s bag to the bottom of the old-looking bare wooden staircase – the sort of thing estate agents would list as a ‘period feature’. The hallway is beautiful – all pea-green walls and a matching runner, contrasting with the darker wood of the floor and stairs. Everything is tasteful, but there’s a sense of antiquity about the place. Haf is a bit worried she’s going to break something.
‘The dogs must be out, or they’d be all over you already,’ he says, glancing at a dark wooden dresser standing near the door where they must keep the dog bits, as well as the keys and post.
He takes a small baggie of treats from the side and hands them to Haf. They smell like sheep.
‘Thanks, but I don’t need a snack. I’m still full from lunch.’
‘Oh, ha ha,’ he says. ‘Just take them for when the dogs get here.’
‘Clever idea. Then they’ll love me most of all.’
‘Something like that. Come on, the kitchen’s just through here.’
