But instead, someone steps between them. A very large, rectangle-shaped man.
Mark.
‘Here’s the man of the hour,’ he says, pulling over a stool.
‘What are you doing here, Mark?’ asks Christopher, too tired for niceties.
‘Just having a drink with some of the boys from school,’ Mark says, gesturing to a corner with his pint. Across the pub, Haf can see a table full of more rectangle men in almost matching shirts rolled up at the forearms. They look like the cast ofMade in Chelseaon a weekend away.
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ he says blandly. ‘We were actually in the middle of a conversation.’
‘I’m sure Haf doesn’t mind me joining you for a moment,’ he says with all the good nature of an eel.
‘Sure,’ she says, torn between wanting to get rid of Mark and avoiding the rest of that conversation with Christopher. ‘Hello, Mark, how are you?’
‘I’m very well, thank you. Enjoying the holidays, and this one has earned a good break, haven’t you, Chrissy?’
Christopher gives him a weak nod.
‘I heard Laurel is making a dress for you,’ he says with a strange, almost leering look. Haf feels naked under his gaze. ‘Didn’t think to bring anything black tie with you?’
‘Why would I own black tie?’ she drawls.
‘Whywouldn’tyou? Standard outfit, is it not? What are you going to wear to your functions at the Oxford and Cambridge club?’
Haf wanted to ask what a private members’ club even was, as it’s the sort of thing she’s heard of but not been to. But that was probably a question that answered itself: if you didn’t know what it was, then it wasn’t for you.
‘I’m not a member,’ says Christopher.
‘Why not?’ asks Mark, a little affronted.
‘It’s just a bit, you know . . .’
‘Exclusive,’ adds Haf.
‘I don’t think the Oxford and Cambridge club is that exclusive.’
‘Isn’t it literally a club only for people who went to the top two universities in the UK, who are disproportionately sourced from private schools?’ says Haf boldly.
She swears that across the way, Christopher gives her a little smile.
‘Well, I—’ Mark splutters, and this seems to be just enough of an interruption for Christopher to take over.
He gets to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck with his hands. ‘Look, we’ve got to get back home. We’ll see you at the party tomorrow,’ he says.
‘All right then,’ says Mark, striding back to his table of clones.
Haf gathers her things and follows Christopher out the door. He’s striding through the snow, so she has to trot to keep up with him.
‘Jesus, he’s such a toad,’ Haf mutters as she catches up with Christopher. ‘I can’t believe you have to work with him.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ he sighs. ‘You got a nice riposte on him there though, so well done. Got us out of there, at least.’
He’s distant still, a little weary, but they’ve got a little while to walk, so Haf decides to try her apology again.
‘I’m really sorry, Christopher. I didn’t mean to make things more complicated for you. It’s just a weird coincidence that she was your sister. And now we’re all stuck in the same house together...’
Christopher holds up a hand to stop her babbling.
