Page 105 of Only Ever You

Bash didn’t expect her challenge in response, and he was well aware of how much courage it would have taken her to press him like that.

What answer did she want? The one he craved to say, or the one she wanted to hear? Trapped in a car that wasn’t getting to their destination any time soon was the absolute worst place to be having this conversation.

“I don’t know.” His heart hammered, tongue feeling thick in his mouth as he kept his gaze straight ahead of him. “Was it?”

No. Say no.

It took Faye a distressing minute as she fiddled with something in her lap to answer.

“Yeah … ”Fuck.“Like you said, we just rectified my lack of ever experiencing that tradition before.”

“Exactly,” Bash trailed off.

That’s exactly what it was …

32

FAYE

“Over here,on the right … this one.”

The sky couldn’t have been any darker when Bash swung his car across the quiet residential road onto the driveway of her father’s semi-detached house. Curtains were half drawn in the windows; nets diffusing the glare of colourful twinkling lights downstairs – Morris’ “leave the lights on a timer” trick.

After hours and hours, to go from the suffocating warmth of the car into the chill was a literal breath of fresh air. But Faye hadn’t worn nearly enough layers to bask in the frosty breeze caressing her neck.

She found the right key on her keyring and unlocked the house. The air inside was cold, which was no surprise – the house had been empty since a week before Christmas.

The hallway peeled off into a small living room on one side, a powder room on the other, and opened up into a large kitchen-slash-living room at the rear, all sparsely decorated with festive ornaments. What would be the point when nobody was here to enjoy them?

Morris and Ruth had moved here whilst she’d been away at university, so their house didn’t ever feel likehometo Faye – as if she was yet another guest. She’d gone from a home where Christmas was everywhere Faye looked, to this: a modernist, Scandinavian dream, and a strong pang of longing hit her to be back there with the mismatched sofas, plush rugs and old-style, cottage design.

“I’m starving.” Faye made way towards the fridge, hoping and praying there’d be something inside they could eat.

If they had to order in, then the likelihood of any takeaways being open nearby on this Boxing Day waszero. EvenBaked By The Dozen’sdoors, where she was supposed to be preparing for their reopening tomorrow, were closed.

Bash came behind her with both of their bags and set them behind the sofa that split the living from the dining area. “Maybe we should’ve stopped to get some food?”

Faye thought so too, after listening to his stomach rumbling for the last two hours. “I’m sure there’s something here. Dad never has an empty kitchen.”

She’d spoken too soon. The fridge was … fruitless. But the cupboards weren’t so bad. Bash set up camp on the grey sectional after lingering around it like a lost child, whilst Faye found a bag of porridge oats and unopened long-life milk cartons for breakfast in the morning. There were enough dry pastas and jars of pre-made sauce to tide them over for tonight.

A knock at the door stopped her rummaging for a saucepan.

Bash sat up taller on the sofa. Their startled eyes locked on each other’s, then Faye treaded down the hall to see who was there.

Perhaps the Grinch had come to take her away?

The silhouette in the front door’s frosted glass was backlit by the floodlight outside. A silhouette that was rather … tiny.

Faye opened the door to the five-foot-nothing neighbour she recognised. Her short blonde hair was now grey, but the same up-to-no-good look settled on the older woman’s face as always.

“Oh! It’s you, dear.”

“Hello, Mrs Papplewick,” Faye said.

“I’m terribly sorry, Faye,” the septuagenarian blustered. “I saw a strange car on the driveway, and since your parents are away … ”

“It’s alright.” Faye explained, “We got caught in the motorway backlog. Dad knows we’re here and it’s just for the night.”

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