‘Sorry about the quiet coach. I should have thought about that.’
‘Never be sorry about the quiet coach,’ she says seriously. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
She rolls over and pats the bed next to her for him to lie down too, but he hesitates, his cheeks still flushed. ‘Perhaps we should discuss, umm, elements such as physical touch and things like that.’
‘I love that you talk like a thesaurus on the fritz when you’re flustered. PDA, you mean?’
There’s a brief pause where Christopher works out the acronym. ‘Yes.’
She holds up a finger. ‘First of all, we should probably agree on the occasional closed-mouth kiss, or people might not believe us.’
‘No one’s going to make us kiss, Haf. My family isn’t that strange.’
‘Err, hello? Did you forget how we got into this mess? Mistletoe? It’s quite literally the season for public kissing.’
‘Isn’t that Valentine’s Day?’
‘Show me the plant that custom dictates you have to snog next to for Valentine’s Day.’
‘Okay, good point. All right, if we must.’
‘If youmust? Come on, you don’t have to insult a girl. I’m not a toad! Plus, you’ve kissed me before.’
‘You’re not a toad,’ he says hurriedly. He gives up and lies down next to her, though must practically be on the edge of the bed from the gap he leaves between them. ‘I just... I don’t really think of you that way, not really. And when we kissed, we were just a bit drunk and silly. I thought we were both on the same page.’
‘We are, don’t worry. And sure, I’m not gagging to snog you either, but we can do it. It’s not going to change anything.’
‘Okay,’ he agrees quietly. ‘Okay.’
‘While we’re on the topic’ – here Christopher groans, desperate to be free of this conversation – ‘hand holding and all that is fine, touching, I mean. I’ll even allow a cheeky bum pat.’
‘A what?’ he asks, rolling to face her.
‘You know, like if you’re passing by me and want to just pat my bum. Like I’m a good horse.’
‘I am absolutely not going to do that.’
‘Shame,’ pouts Haf. ‘Even Ambrose does that to me.’
‘I’m not comfortable . . . touching your bottom.’
‘Your loss! It’s a magnificent bottom.’
‘Please, I beg you, stop talking about your bottom.’
‘I can’t guarantee a total moratorium, but I’ll stop for now. By the way, I’ve just sort of launched myself on here, but do you have a side preference for sleeping?’
‘I prefer the right.’
‘Is that like, from when you look at the bed at the bottom, or when you’re in it, like now? I never know which it’s supposed to be.’
Christopher just points to the side he’s already lying on.
‘Works for me.’
Haf shuffles on her front like a worm and plonks down her phone and her now somewhat warped copy ofCarolon the bedside table. ‘I’m going to get changed, I think. I feel all musty in these clothes.’
‘Travelling always does that,’ agrees Christopher. He takes his suitcase from the floor and sets it on top of his dresser, picking out a shirt. It’s only when he’s half-done unbuttoning the one he’s wearing that he stops. ‘Erm, should I—?’
