Page 57 of It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
P.S. I sorted the boiler for you – the pressure just neededtopping up.
There was no denying that it was a sweet note, and the metallic clinks I could now hear from the radiators were definitely reassuring from a frostnip POV, but I was confused about the curtain. I eventually figured out it had been the one hung across the front door. Had he – or I – pulled it down at some point? I couldn’t recall any drapery dramas, but the specific details of last night didn’t really bear thinking about right now.
I added his number to my contacts and tapped out a quick reply while on the loo.
Mally:
Hey, Tom, it’s Mally (Allister). Just woken up. Thanks for the note.I’m so sorry that you had to deal with all that. So embarrassing. Thanksfor sorting out the heating. I’d almost forgotten what warm felt like.Have a good day. M x
I decided to leave out the information about Darren’s Instagram story. I always found it was best not to give situations like this any unnecessary oxygen.
Tom replied instantly:
Tom:
Thanks for clarifying which Mally had messaged me. There are too manyof you to keep track of. No apology needed. It was a fun night… overall!I’ll be round at 9ish tomorrow morning to sort the curtain if that’s OK?xx
I almost replied telling him that there was no need to go out of his way, but I couldn’t ignore the warmth in my chest – boosted by the steady uptick of kisses per interaction – that seemed to indicate that itwouldbe nice to see him one final time before I headed back to London, so I replied simply withYup, thank you! xxinstead.
I added some sub-tasks in between steps one and two of my mission to leave Scarnbrook as I navigated the stairs on shaky legs.
Hydrate. Fill stomach. Back to bed. Shower. Pub.
Mally Allister: you’ve got this.
Operation Escape Scarnbrook was going to plan so far. Although I’d nearly been thrown off-course by a voice message from Elle, asking how the assignment was going. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t get back to her straight away. I had no idea what to say; if I told her it was going well, she’d want details that I wasn’t quite ready to share, and if I told her it was going badly, she’d probably force me to visit Santa’s grotto at the local garden centre in the hope that would give me something to write about. I’d reply to her later after the shift at the pub.
I arrived at The Star at five on the dot, as per my promise. Becky was already setting up the private dining room – the very room that Elle and I had once cowered in with our cosmopolitans that unforgettable mystery shopping night. A magnificent, real Christmas tree was lit up at one end, with an open fire just getting going at the other.
‘Allister! Right on time, as ever. Headache rating?’
‘A solid six out of ten. Much better than this morning, though.’
She smiled and gestured towards the open cutlery drawer in a vintage dresser, so I duly began laying it out on the table next to each Christmas cracker.
‘Speaking of this morning,’ she said, with a definite twinkle of mischief in her eye, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that Tom’s car was in the car park all night…?’
All night? I’d assumed he’d stayed for an hour or so after the vomiting incident, setting me up with my horizontal sick station, before leaving the note and heading back to his.
‘Got to be honest with you, Becky, I can’t remember much beyond securing the extremely generous pub quiz jackpot.’
Becky raised her eyebrows.
‘Stop it. All I’m saying is that I more or less passed out when we got back to my place.’
I decided to spare her the details of me throwing up and being put to bed fully dressed like a hyperactive toddler after too much Ribena at a family wedding.
‘Oh, well, all I know is that our CCTV caught him driving off at about seven thirty this morning so… er, Mills, are you OK? You’re not going to be sick, are you?’
I’d passed the point of queasiness, but my face did indeed feel like it’d lost some of its colour as I thought back to last night, the mysterious curtain and Tom’s note. All of a sudden, everything made a lot more sense.
‘No, it’s just that – oh God – I reckon Tom must’ve slept on the landing underneath a curtain all night in the absence of any basic comforts in my practically unfurnished rental.’
Becky chuckled. ‘That sounds like classic Tom.’
‘Does it? I barely know him.’ Did my voice sound as casual as I was trying to make it? Becky’s snort suggested not.
‘You’re hilarious. Youmustknow he had a soft spot for you at school, right?’
