The tickle in her throat is still bothering her, so she tries to quietly tap against her chest with her knuckles while the men discuss the train from London.
‘And this is Haf,’ Esther says, directing Otto’s attention over.
‘Ah, Haf! Hello!’ he says, or, rather, shouts. He’s quite an ebullient man.
But when Haf opens her mouth to say hello, out comes an enormous hacking cough, the deafening sound reminiscent of a gun going off. Followed by another, and another.
No, no, no, stop coughing!Haf wills her lungs, which ache in response.
The wine in her cup slops ominously with the force of her coughing, and Christopher jumps to take the cup from her.
‘Goodness,’ cries Esther.
This is a disaster, she thinks, trying to free the bit of mulled wine in her windpipe. She bends over, hoping that gravity might intervene.
The last time she had a coughing fit, orange juice came out of her nose. The last thing she needs is a festive nasal evacuation right in the middle of the living room.
Thankfully, a few more coughs seem to sort it, and when she stands up, she catches her face in the mirror above the fire, slick and red as a tomato skin.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ asks Otto, placing a hand on her back to steady her.
She nods wordlessly, trying to catch her breath.
‘Oh, do you need a good whack?’ Before she can say no, Otto hits her once in between her shoulders with one enormous bear-paw hand.
‘Christ, Dad,’ cries Christopher, catching her as she stumbles forward.
‘Thanks,’ she gasps, now completely winded as well.
‘Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?’ Christopher asks, taking her by the hand and leading her to the sofa.
‘I’m fine,’ she croaks, barely able to speak. Or breathe. But that’s beside the point.
She stares into the fire, hoping it might swallow her whole so she can escape this excruciating moment.
‘Was it the wine, or did you get a clove stuck in your throat... ?’
‘Just some wine down the wrong way.’
‘My spices are always well contained in their steeping bag, thank you, Christopher,’ Esther says haughtily. ‘Let me get you a glass of water, Haf.’
A few clacks later, Esther returns with a very cold, very fresh glass of water, which Haf sips at slowly.
Otto sinks back into his armchair, and Esther takes the other.
‘So sorry, everyone,’ Haf says after a few moments, finally able to breathe freely again.
‘Let’s try again, shall we?’ Otto laughs, slapping his thigh with the joy of it all.
At least I’ve entertained one of them, she thinks.
‘Tell us about yourself, Haf,’ Otto asks, sliding his newspaper between the chair’s arm and cushion.
‘Yes, do,’ agrees Esther, before shooting Otto a look that says, ‘I’ve asked you not to store your papers in the couch for twenty years and you still do it.’ He sheepishly removes it and drops it onto the coffee table.
Okay, head in the game, Haf thinks. Get a hold of yourself.
‘Well, I’m from York. I mean, that’s where I live now. I’m from Wales. North Wales, actually. By the sea, kind of. It’s like a ten-minute drive, but it’s closer than in York, ha ha,’ she babbles. She takes a breath, urging herself to slow down. ‘Anyway, yes, I moved to York at the start of the year, and it’s very nice. And that’s where I met Christopher, through Sally. Do you know Sally?’
