Kit catches her watching, and her cheeks burn with embarrassment – what if she was paying too much attention? But rather than recoil or stop what she’s doing out of embarrassment, Kit pulls a goofy face and does an arm wave, followed by a shoulder shimmy. With a burst of laughter, Haf copies her, the pair of them wiggling while waving baking instruments.
The key changes and the pair of them enthusiastically sing the, ‘Oh oh ohhhh ohh, two doors down’harmony, though neither of them are on-note. It’s a glorious caterwaul.
They dance around the kitchen, laughing and singing and banging drum beats out on containers, and it all feels like the most natural thing in the world. All the pretence and awkwardness and history of the last twenty-four hours falls away, and they’re just two girls dancing to Dolly.
This is friendship, right? The freedom to be silly together. They’re comfortable, but everything is platonic. Friendship!
But soon the song is over, and Haf is a little sad their dancing is too.
‘How’s my taste?’ Kit asks, turning down the volume on her phone as one of Dolly’s more gospel, slower songs sounds out.
Haf tries to forget the last time she asked her that question.
‘Dolly is always an impeccable choice,’ she says quickly. ‘But no Christmas music?’
‘I have a very small window of tolerance for Christmas music,’ Kit says, sipping her tea.
‘Isn’t this prime Christmas music time?’
‘Sure, but I live and work in London, which means I’ve basically been accosted by Christmas music since the first of November. I’ll listen voluntarily on Christmas Eve and Day.’
‘Wow, I didn’t realise your middle name was Ebenezer.’
Kit laughs a singular throaty ‘ha’.
‘Darlene Love deserves better than two days a year.’ Haf sniffs as she returns to rolling out the dough. Her upper arms ache, and she’s pretty sure a sheen of sweat is building on her forehead. ‘Do you think this is thin enough?’
Appraising it with an architect’s eye, Kit gets up so close that Haf thinks she’s going to whip out a tape measure. ‘That bit’s too thick,’ she says, directing Haf’s rolling. Eventually, she nods with satisfaction.
With intense concentration and a fancy mechanical pencil, Kit draws templates onto baking paper. When she concentrates, she frowns, and the tiniest peek of pink tongue sticks out from the corner of her mouth.
Haf studiously concentrates on the cookbooks instead of Kit’s lips.
‘You think this will do?’
When she snaps back to attention, she sees that Kit has laid the cut templates onto the gingerbread and is holding out a butter knife.
Haf takes it and carefully cuts the walls and roof out of the dough. The butter knife is a little bit too blunt for thejob, even though it’s probably the safest option, what with the sticky dough and her greasy fingers and all her clumsiness. Transferring them onto the cookie sheet makes them warp and stretch a little, but she squishes them back into a rough semblance of the right shape.
Stella and Luna stand on their hind legs against the counter and thoroughly sniff at the slabs of gingerbread as Haf slides the trays into the oven.
‘One job done,’ says Haf, setting a timer for the cookies on her phone.
‘You have a nice singing voice, by the way.’ The compliment is genuine but there’s a hesitation in Kit’s voice.
‘Thanks,’ says Haf. ‘We’re both sopranos, Dolly and I, so it’s the right range for me.’
They both nod like nodding dogs as the compliment hangs awkwardly in the air between them.Friends can compliment each other, she reminds herself.It’s not flirting.
Before Haf can offer one back, Kit rushes to the back door.
‘I’m just going to have a trot round the garden, it’s too warm in here,’ Kit says, stuffing her feet into a pair of garden clogs.
Despite the open back door, Stella and Luna stand on guard by the oven just in case.
Haf’s phone buzzes with a message from Ambrose.
Ambrose:how is day 2 of operation Don’t Smooch the Sister going
