‘Absolutely. It’s nice to have something else to think about,’ she says, leaning back to admire her work. ‘Luckily, I’ve got a little time to do my full hair and relaxation routine tonight, as Mark’s meeting some friends in the pub.’
‘Did he not want to go to the fête?’ Haf asks slowly. This is dangerous ground in fake-girlfriend world, but also in reality-Haf world, because in both of those, she vehemently dislikes him, but she should probably take an interest. It just makes her wonder even more why Laurel and Christopher fell apart. He’s a much better person than Mark, after all. And they seem to get on okay now.
‘No. Not really his thing,’ she says quickly. ‘Plus, it gave me some more time with Kit. And obviously it worked out well with me finding out you didn’t have a dress. What a mischief Christopher is.’
‘They love to test us.’
‘Oh, don’t I know it.’
After a while, Laurel seems satisfied, and unpins all the bits of fabric from her. Christopher arrives at the same instant, pointedly not looking at Haf as she puts her clothes back on.
‘All going well?’
‘Perfectly,’ says Laurel distractedly. ‘You both can go if you’re done helping Mummy. I’ve got to get working.’ She says this with a little wiggle of glee.
So absorbed in her work, Haf’s not even sure Laurel hears them say goodbye.
‘Did you get everything done?’ Haf asks as they wander back down the stairs. ‘I thought you’d be way longer if you were going to the venue.’
‘It’s happening here. They’ve got a ballroom through there,’ he says offhandedly, as though it’s not absolutely ridiculous for someone to have aballroomin their house.
‘Wow, okay. I’m really not in Kansas any more,’ she says. ‘Shall we go do your Christmas shopping then? I can be useful, or at least present.’
Christopher beams and holds the car door open for her. ‘After you.’
As they drive along, she watches the snowy world go by and inevitably pulls up Twitter. Ambrose’s latest poll is perhaps a little too specific for comfort, but she lets it slide as they were useful with Laurel. Plus, it’s kind of true.
@ambroseliewisn’t it awkward when your fake-bf’s ex-gf is making you a dress that makes your tits look banging enough to make his sister fall in love with you
what?:98%
also what?:2%
423 votes
Half an hour later, they’re wandering down the high street of Hazelmoor, a pretty little market town not too far from Oxlea. It kind of reminds her of some parts of York – all cobbled streets that curl around buildings that lean into each other. Nothing is shabby but beautifully old, and decorated in full Christmas glory.
‘I honestly can’t believe that you have left this all to the last minute,’ says Haf, stepping out of the way of a tiny woman carrying more shopping bags than a person her size should be able to.
‘It’s not last minute. That would be tomorrow,’ he says, ushering her into a tiny but heavily floral-scented boutique.
‘Urgh, you’re such a man.’ Haf sighs.
She picks up a bath bomb from a basket display and sniffs it, leaving a tiny dusting of bomb on the tip of her nose. Christopher smiles and wipes it away with a gloved thumb.
‘Correct, I am a man. You’ve found me out,’ he says, smiling, but quickly falters like a malfunctioned factory robot, holding out two bottles of bath oil in front of him. ‘But... I’m not likea man,all the time. Like a bloke. You wouldn’t call me a lad. I’m not blokey. Am I? Christ.’
‘Are you having some sort of crisis of masculinity right now?’
‘Maybe a little one,’ he says, sagging. ‘Which smells best?’
Haf takes the bottles from his hands, sniffs them both and puts one in the wicker shopping basket she has slung over one arm.
‘You’re not fucking intolerable, if that’s what you mean,’ she says, shuddering at the memories of all the blokey stag-dos she’s been caught up in back in York. For some reason, people seem to love having stag and hen parties in the little city, and so most summer evenings involve finding the places where they won’t be.
‘What I’m saying is you guys aren’t like pressured into making everything perfect as early as possible, and you get away with it, which is infuriating, though to be honest, you probably only get away with it because all the women are doing the hard Christmas prep.’
The shopkeeper behind them lets out a shocked pfft gasp, then quickly busies herself behind the counter to hide her red face.
