Christopher hopes that, at the very least, his television upstairs has gone to sleep so that Nash doesn’t walk into the flat to see a huge picture of himself on the screen.The universe owes him that one, surely.
‘Look, you’re just going to have to stay with me for tonight, at least while we work this out.The flat is small, but there’s just enough space for both of us.Tomorrow, if the weather is better, we can look at finding you somewhere else, but we’re not going anywhere in that unless you can call back Gethin the sheep farmer.’
‘The one time I regret not getting someone’s number,’ Nash mutters to himself.
This rattles Christopher from his speech for just a second, but he keeps going.‘I really think it’s safest if you just stay here, even if that means you’re shacking up with a stranger.I’m sorry, this probably isn’t what you were expecting.’
Nash doesn’t say anything for a minute, presumably thinking his way to the same inevitability Christopher has already reached.‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay then,’ he says, and for the first time, that earnest look that Christopher recognises from his films appears on Nash’s face.‘Thank you for this, man.’
As Christopher locks the front door he murmurs, ‘Don’t thank me just yet.’
Chapter Six
Christopher
It doesn’t take very long for Christopher to start wondering whether the innkeeper was onto something when he told Mary and Joseph to go and stay in the barn.
Nash takes up a lot of space.Even just drinking his coffee and gathering his wet things, his movements feel much bigger than his person.He does wash his cup up in the small sink behind the counter without being asked, which gets him a couple of points, but they are quickly cancelled out by him saying, ‘You know, I’m pretty sure several horror movies start this way.Tiny rural town, trapped in a snowstorm ...’
Christopher ignores him and instead leads him through the bakery’s kitchen so they can take the internal stairs up to his flat.
‘See?Plenty of weapons to hand ...’Nash nods at the kitchen knives hanging on the wall.‘Hang on, are these your initials?’he asks, looking at them more closely.
‘Yes, we had to label them at cookery school so no one would get their sets mixed up,’ Christopher defends himself, stiffly.
‘Sure.’
He wants to add, ‘Of course we have knives, they’re slightly integral to a kitchen,’ but he’s not sure how an exhausted North American would take a dose of British sarcasm, and even if Nash is annoying him, he doesn’t really want to upset this actual stranger before they share his tiny flat for the night.
Be polite.Be normal.This is a weird situation and yes you’re feeling a bit emotionally tested but you can get through one night.
He loves this kitchen.It isn’t large, but the sense of calm he always feels in here washes over him, even now.The gleaming stainless steel.The permanent smell of butter and sugar that hangs in the air.The flour-dusted floor tiles that never get completely clean, as though the flour is baked into them from all the people walking through.His Christmas might have taken a turn for the ...bizarre, but at least he is at the bakery.At least he has his safe haven.
And now Nash is trying to joke it could be the site of some kind of murder?
Someoneisgoing to get murdered at this rate,Christopher thinks darkly.
A tiny little corridor leads round the back of the building to the stairs up to the flat.‘This is it.’
Christopher takes off his shoes at the bottom of the stairs.To his relief, Nash has the manners to do the same.
It’s a weird thing seeing your own home through someone else’s eyes.This was precisely what he was hoping to avoid; originally, he was hoping he could just meet Tessa outside the bakery before scarpering off for his train.
He hovers uselessly while Nash appraises his slightly ramshackle flat.Christopher has always liked it, even though it’s pokey and a bit cold and the walls look slightly wonky.Cosy, that’s what the estate agent called it.But now, he can’t help but see the cookbooks stuffed everywhere, even if he did clean up all the piles and consolidate them into one tall pile against the very full bookshelf.The hallway console table is decorated with a vase Laurel gave him, which is empty – perhaps that was a little thoughtless?The kitchen is a standard, slightly battered IKEA set-up that basically every student house has, and the fridge is so little that he has to bend down to put stuff in it.The TV is thankfully on standby.He can’t imagine what Nash thinks of this place.
But Nash just asks, ‘So, where should I put my case?’
‘In here,’ Christopher says, ushering him to the bedroom.
This room looks the most normal.He tried to keep it as clean and empty as possible when he moved in so that his brain would have fewer things to latch onto, and so he painted it a deep, calming forest green.The fresh towels are still folded on the end of the bed, which is made up with clean jersey sheets from Uniqlo for the extra warmth.He had picked up the dark wood bed and the matching furniture from another house clearance sale when he moved here – Facebook truly does have one good use still.It all creaks but he revarnished it with Kit one afternoon in the sun, so it looks pretty good at least.It’s his favourite room.And now, he has to give it up.
Which, yes, he was always going to do, but he wasn’t going to have to sleep on the couch next door while it was occupied.Obviously, he’s going to have to sleep on the couch, because there’s no way he’s letting a guest sleep there.That’s, like, Hospitality 101.He’d never hear the end of it from his mother.
‘You can unpack your things into the chest of drawers there, and there’s space in the wardrobe too.’
