Kit laughs, while gently applying blobs of cream to her face.
‘I have this thing called hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It’s why I use the walking stick. Basically, it makes all your tissues too stretchy, so my joints are really weak and pop out, or dislocate if they’re feeling really spicy,’ she says with a grin.
Haf laughs, and a little flurry of toothpaste snowfall floats in the air.
‘It does a bunch of other stuff too, each thing more annoying than the last. The fatigue and bad sleep are the worst bits.’ She taps the side of her head. ‘Plus, sometimes I get this thing that is literally called “brain fog”, so I can’t think for shit some days either.’
Haf spits, rinses and dries her hands on a hand towel. ‘That sounds rough.’
‘It is. But I do a really good Y for “YMCA” though,’ she says, her elbows overextending to make a very convincing Y shape.
‘Well, I’d say it’s all worth it then.’
‘See, I knew you’d get it.’
Kit leans a hand against the back of the loo and pushes herself up to standing, groaning with the movement.
‘Do you need a hand?’
‘Nah, but thanks. Just need to warm... everything up a bit.’
‘Well, the offer is open, for . . .’
‘Getting off the loo?’ Kit laughs, which sends Haf spluttering, unsure if she’s being insensitive. Luckily, Kit adds, ‘I will be sure to abuse your kindness as much as possible.’
The mystery bell rings again.
‘You ever get the sense you’re being summoned for something,’ Kit mutters.
‘Ventriloquism and now bell-ringing? The Calloways are a talented bunch.’ Haf laughs.
A few splashes of water later, she feels a bit calmer. That was fine, a normal conversation almost. Only the tiniest teasing at the end, which could barely be considered flirting. And she hardly even noticed how cute Kit looked in her pyjamas.
This will be fine! Friends!
Haf drops her things back in the bedroom and gets dressed, not wanting a repeat of the incident at Freddie’s family home. As Haf wanders downstairs, she hears Esther’s voice, loud and commanding. She follows the sound of it down the hallway, towards the dining room.
‘No, Aggy, surely we don’t need any more carrots?...Well, what do you mean you underestimated the required carrot to reindeer ratio?’ There’s a pause, followed by several small stomps. ‘I’ll sort it.’
Haf pokes her head around the door to find Esther surrounded by what can only be described as – presumably organised – chaos. Boxes stack up against the wall, and the table is covered in lists, an open laptop, a very large cafetière of coffee and more boxes.
‘Haf! Good morning, dear. I hope we didn’t wake you with all the commotion.’ In Esther’s hand is the offending bell.
‘Not at all,’ she lies. ‘Is this all for the village Christmas fair?’
‘The fête, darling. The fête,’ she corrects. Turning towards the kitchen, she suddenly takes a deep breath and in the direction of the door shouts, ‘Otto? Did you pick up the carrots?’
Inside the boxes on the table are small pouches of wrapped white fabric.
‘Oh, these are your spices from the mulled wine, right?’ Haf asks, taking one of the muslin pouches out of the box. Each of them has a dried orange, cinnamon sticks, cloves and allspice wrapped up together. It smells heavenly.
‘Yes, for the hot drinks stand. It’s for charity, and we always raise more than you’d expect.’
‘People love their mulled drinks.’
‘Yes, and hopefully, we’ll have no rogue cloves today,’ she says, a little archly.
‘Oh, it definitely wasn’t the cloves.’ Haf laughs awkwardly, replacing the pouch.
