For a moment, she thinks of sharing her own, but only Ambrose and her parents know where she is, really. Whenever her pocket pals asked her where she was going for Christmas, she just said very vaguely ‘to a friend’s’, which isn’ttechnicallya lie. She just didn’t want them to worry. Everyone’s always worrying about her.
Plus, she doesn’t want people to connect the poll to her.
It’s strange being in Christopher’s room without him. It’s not a shrine to childhood – no Sonic bedsheets or lurid wallpaper. The walls are crisp white, and whatever bed he had as a child has been replaced with this beautiful sleigh one. Maybe snooping around his room will help with backstory, she tells herself as she sits up in the bed and looks around. An excavation of Christopher Calloway, so to speak. It’s not like he’s told her very much, anyway.
She wriggles out of the bed and goes over to a bookcase full of battered paperbacks of children’s literature staples –Redwall,The Subtle Knifebut none of the others,The Hobbit.A babynerd, she thinks. On the bottom shelf is an enormous baking recipe book, which seems out of place.
In the drawer of his desk, she finds a few treasures. A pack of cards. A little bundle of birthday cards, tied up with a ribbon, which seems like an Esther touch. A Trebor mints tin is tucked into the corner, and Haf opens it, hoping she’ll find a minty treat, but instead finds one very old hopeful condom, clearly acquired in his teenage years by the use-by date. She mentally notes to make fun of him for this later.
Somehow, she doesn’t want to open his bedside table, as that feels like too much snooping – she might find in-date condoms, or his credit score, who knows! The one on her side seems fair game though, and in the drawers, there’s very little except a couple of well-thumbed recipe books for children.
She pushes the drawer shut with her foot as Christopher wanders in. He smells like sugar and spices.
‘Christ, it’s cold up here.’
‘Like a witch’s tit, but don’t worry, it’s warm in here, dearest,’ she says, waggling her eyebrows and hopping back under the covers. He eyes the bed with nervous distrust, like he’s just seen a snake in there. Seizing the opportunity to tease him, Haf pats the duvet with a fiendish grin. ‘Come on, get in. We can snuggle up.’ She adds a little shoulder shimmy to really drive it home.
‘This is already very weird. Stop trying to make it weirder.’
‘I will not. Torturing you in private is my only relief from pretending to be the best girlfriend you’ve ever had, which as we’ve both seen I’m really terrible at—’
‘You aren’t.’
‘I’m not great, but I’m trying.’
‘You’re definitely trying,’ he drawls.
‘Hey!’ She pouts.
He sits down on top of the duvet and pulls a pair of brand-new cotton pyjamas, still in their wrapping, out from under the pillow. Esther must have put them there, she thinks. It’s sweet.
‘I didn’t realise you were such a fantasy nerd,’ she says, pointing at his bookcase.
It’s Christopher’s turn to pout, though it’s not as dramatic and pronounced a look as Haf’s, more like pinched lips. ‘It’s not nerdy to likeimaginativethings, Haf.’
‘I bet you play D&D. Do you play D&D?’
‘I’m notthatnerdy.’
‘Well, more fool you, it’s very fun.’
‘You play D&D?’ he says, his eyebrows almost falling off his face with surprise.
‘Sheilargh the Half-Orc is one of my greatest creations, I’ll have you know. Our gang was a group of middle-aged adventurers who really liked to misbehave.’
‘You continue to surprise me.’
‘I’m very surprising. Are you reading much now?’
‘Not really. I don’t really have time for that,’ he says, a little sadly.
‘What were you reading downstairs?’
‘Earthsea.’
‘A classic.’
‘Did you not want to join us downstairs and read for a bit? I saw you’ve got that book over there. What’s it about, anyway?’
