He smells like a distillery. He wasn’t this drunk last night, even when he was interrupting their chat.
‘Ha ha, nice to see you again too,’ she says, flashing her eyes to Christopher.
Laurel’s boyfriend is absolutely wasted at her family’s charity holiday party, and it’s barely eight o’clock.
‘Where’s Laurel? I’d love to thank her in person for my dress.’
‘I dunno.’ He shrugs, taking a deep sip of whatever concoction he’s drinking.
‘Maybe you’ve had enough of that, pal,’ says Christopher jovially, reaching to take the glass from him, but Mark turns away at the last second.
‘Hey look!’ he says, wobbling and pointing up at the ceiling. ‘It’s mistletoe! We’re all under the mistletoe.’
Out of instinct, Haf clings to Christopher’s side, lest Mark try to snog her.
‘Go on then,’ he says, swaying.
‘Go on what, Mark?’ Christopher asks.
‘Kiss! KISS!’ he bellows, and a few people’s heads turn towards them. ‘If you’re so in love and so overmy girlfriend’ – he spits this so hard that actual saliva comes flying from his mouth – ‘or are you still trying to get with her?’ He pokes a finger hard against Christopher’s chest.
‘I know you were helping her the other night. “Helping”,’ he says, adding finger quotes.
‘We were with Samira and Paul the whole time, Mark. We traded me helping her parents out for her making Haf’s dress. Everything is above board, and I’m not trying to steal your girlfriend. There’s nothing nefarious going on.’
‘Nefarious!’ Mark says, laughing. ‘Oh, nefarious, he says!’
Christopher looks exhausted. This isn’t just his old friend, or the new boyfriend of his ex, but a colleague. She doesn’t know how to handle this.
‘Mark, listen to me. I’m not after your girlfriend. Not this time, or the last time you accused me of it.’
‘Well, then.’ He sways. ‘Prove it.’ Mark points a wobbly finger up to the mistletoe.
An actual crowd has formed around them, keen to wonder what all the fuss is, and why this cuboid human is yelling about mistletoe.
But across the sea of heads, Haf spies Laurel, who looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.
There is one way that Haf can put a stop to this and save Laurel this huge fucking embarrassment.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ hisses Haf, and she grabs Christopher by the lapels on his jacket, pulling him into a hard kiss.
Christopher cottons on fast for someone who was so nervous about their rules around PDA, and as they kiss, he dips her low to the floor. The cape of her dress spreading out beneath them like an oil slick.
Objectively, it’s a good kiss. Aesthetically convincing, a little stylish. In keeping with their dancing, perhaps.
She doesn’t feel anything though, no sparks or friction, which is kind of a relief to her. If she’s going to snog her fake boyfriend, there better be no more emotional complications.
As they come up for air, a few people awkwardly clap. They both laugh awkwardly, and she wipes off a smudge of her red lipstick from the corner of his mouth.
At the back of the crowd, clutching a plate of food, she catches the eyes of Quiet Carriage Man. She gives him a little wave, and he sighs, his wiry body crumpling with the exhaustion of never escaping her. He waves back a slightly sarcastic wave and hurries away.
‘Satisfied?’ Haf asks Mark, taking his arm. ‘Come on. Why don’t we go out for some air?’
‘I don’t want some fucking air,’ he slurs.
‘A cheeky smoke then?’
‘Oh all right,’ he relents, letting her lead him back to the front of the house.
