‘Haf, I just... I can’t talk about this right now. My head is spinning, from this and the drink, and... I just think it would be better if we go home.’
Haf says nothing else, because what is there to say? He doesn’t seem angry, he didn’t shout, and yet she feels like a reprimanded child.
They get back to the Calloway house, and Christopher immediately takes the dogs out for a long walk, without asking her to come along.
There’s no sign of Kit, or their parents either.
She can’t believe that she has found herself in a situation where her fake boyfriend and the woman she might be falling for are currently occupying the same house and neither are speaking to her.
And that’s before she even thinks about the fact her fake boyfriend’s real ex-girlfriend is literally making her a dress and possibly also trying to be her real-life friend?
As if on cue, her phone buzzes with a photo of the dress in progress, Laurel giving a thumbs up at the camera.
She sends back a heart emoji.
What a fucking state my life is, she thinks.
Overcome with exhaustion, Haf sinks down into the covers and sends a pleading message off to Ambrose, but before she can hit send, she falls asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
The Howard house has been transformed into a magical Christmas wonderland. The hedges that line the private road are woven with soft golden lights to match the glowing warmth of the house ahead.
All the cars are directed to a yard at the side of the house. Haf was almost expecting there to be a valet – not that she could imagine Otto yielding his sports car to a teenager with a recent qualification. He had insisted on driving so they could arrive in style. Christopher is up in the front, and Esther sits primly in the back with Haf, who tries to control the spill of fabric from taking over the whole seat.
Through the dark, Haf can see stables in the distance and the occasional happy clop of a horse. Maybe she can sneak off later and make a friend, if she needs a break from the unending awkward drama she’s mired in.
Pretty much as soon as he woke up, Christopher had been summoned for a work emergency that held him up in Otto’s den making frustrated phone calls for the best part of the day. Apparently, no one really cared that it was Christmas Eve, or that anyone was on booked holiday.
At one point, she had snuck in to bring him a cuppa and a plate of biscuits, sliding them onto the table while he was in the middle of a Zoom meeting. On screen, she spied Mark looking a bit worse for wear, sipping at an enormous coffee. As she hadturned to slink away, Christopher had reached out and gently taken her wrist in his hand, giving it a little thank-you squeeze.
He’d just said he needed a little time to process it, and she couldn’t deny him that. But she hated existing in this weird limbo of not being able to just talk it all out with him.
The day had been a weird, quiet one for her. Kit was still conspicuously absent, though there were signs that she’d been home at some point – empty packets of painkillers, a mug with a dark lipstick stain.
In the end, she’d spent most of the day readingCarolquietly in the living room. That’s basically what Ambrose had suggested she do with her Christmas anyway, and despite the weird tense emotional atmosphere that only she and Christopher were aware of (or rather, she hoped that was true) it was kind of relaxing.
She hadn’t heard from Ambrose all day, not that she’d prodded them for support either. The most non-Calloway socialising she could manage was liking a few cute photos on Twitter, and that was completely one-sided.
In the middle of the afternoon, a courier had arrived with an enormous box addressed to Haf Hughes. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was her dress. She had tried it on in the bedroom upstairs and cried. It was perfect and fit her like a glove. Laurel’s talent was clear, not only from the delicate sewing but from the fact that her boobs felt very secure inside the bodice of the dress. The constellations caught in the light, and as she turned, the circle of the skirt flared out like a sigh.
The text she sent to Laurel was more a string of letters and exclamation marks than formed words, and she sent a grainy mirror selfie, which was followed up with Laurel’s own overcome wordless reply.
Just as she was thinking she didn’t want to ever take the dress off, a knock had sounded on the door, and Esther had walked in,and told her she was beautiful. Boy, did she need to hear that today.
Of course, now Esther is equally resplendent in a deep-red wrap dress and delicate gold heels.
Underneath her dress, Haf wears her reliable black heels – the ones she wore when she met Christopher. She had been tempted to wear the Doc Martens, as no one would see them under the floor-length dress, but she suspected that might be a little much for even her to pull off. Not to mention, they were still covered in duck poop.
Ever the gentlemen, Otto and Christopher open the doors for Esther and Haf.
Standing there, holding the door open for her, Christopher is a picture of handsomeness. That clean, period-piece beauty is accentuated by his sleek black suit and the tiny black velvet dickie bow he wears that should make him look like a total dork, but somehow works.
They probably make a very beautiful pair together, both dressed like the night sky.
‘Shall we?’ cries Otto, keen to get the festivities started. He looks like a professor from a movie in his tweed suit, a little flash of red to match his wife’s dress in his pocket square and tie.
To her surprise, Christopher holds out her arm to take. But of course he would. Even if he were furious, he’d still be chivalrous. Christopher is endlessly polite and good and kind.
