Page 27 of Make You Mine This Christmas
‘Has no one ever called you a snowflake?’
‘Not to my face.’
‘There’s still time,’ she says, patting his hand.
As the train driver welcomes everyone on board, a final passenger gets onto their coach, squeezing past Christopher’s legs, and settling on the table seat across the aisle from them. The man takes off his coat and hat with the exaggerated huffing of someone who has absolutely had enough. Laptop open, he begins typing furiously. His harried, furious-eyed look feels greatly at odds with his festive jumper, which features a knitted-on scarf you could store things in – his is currently hosting his water bottle. Haf makes a note to track one of these down on eBay after the holidays.
Her own Instagram feed hasn’t been updated in a couple of months. The last few photos all variations on the red autumn leaves by various York backdrops – the Minster, a selfie from the Walls, the river, Betty’s Halloween window display. She posts the Paddington photo too, with the caption,Christmas with the best man in the world... Paddington Bear.
‘Hey,’ he laughs. ‘You don’t need to keep it up on your profile, you know?’
‘Of course I do. My parents think you’re my new boyfriend, which suits me, as they will temporarily forget I’m a total train wreck, and as if your family isn’t going to stalk me a bit on socials. Speak of the devil,’ she says as a new comment from her mum appears under the photo:Have a lovely time, he’s very handsome!!!! Nice bear too.
‘I think you’ve got a fan,’ she says. ‘Oh, and I made my Twitter private, just to be safe. No one needs to see where I go to scream into the void.’
The man across the aisle coughs pointedly as the train starts to move, so Haf drops her voice to a whisper and hopes it’s enough to not annoy anyone.
‘Before I show you one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of our time, we need to work out a few things. Our relationship history, our story, the practicalities of it all. What we’re going to tell everyone when we get there. Speaking of, where are we going? I know Oxlea is the end destination but like...’
‘You have no idea where we’re going, do you?’ He tries to hold back his smile, and a little wrinkle forms in one corner of his mouth.
‘The South, obviously.’ She can’t explain why she hadn’t looked up anything; something about leaving it all in Christopher’s hands meant her brain had ticked it off the list of important things she had to think about.
‘Obviously. But anything more specifically? County, perhaps?’
‘Oh, yeah. Absolutely not. But it’s not like you know where I’m from!’ she says, opening the tab on her KeepCup to let some steam out.
‘You’re from Aberelwy in North Wales, right in the middle by the sea,’ he says, as he places a napkin on the fold-down table on the back of the chair, pleased that he is, of course, 100 per cent correct.
‘How did you know that?’
‘When we watchedGilmore Girlsthe night we met, you said the town meeting reminded you of home.’
‘Well, don’t be too smug about it.’ She pouts.
‘I can and will be.’ From a paper bag, he takes two chocolate-chip cookies and places them on the napkin. ‘Forgiven?’
‘Perhaps,’ she says, breaking off a chunk with her fingers. ‘So where are we going?’
‘The Cotswolds.’
‘Wait, isn’t that like pure chocolate-box house territory?’ Her voice rises a little too much, and the harried-looking person across the aisle gives her a pointed look over his glasses.
She mouths, ‘Sorry,’ and lowers her voice back to whispering. ‘Okay, so dating a few months – that’s what we told Laurel. How did we meet?’
‘I think Laurel got the impression it was through Sally.’
‘Okay, soIknow I crashed her fancy little party, but give me your side.’
‘Same school as us, but she was in my sister’s year, so she’s a bit older than Laurel and I. She’s nice, the sort of person who likes to make all her friends be friends.’
‘Okay, so let’s stick with the truth that Ambrose took me to a party and we met there, and just make it a few months earlier.’
Christopher thinks for a moment. ‘Let’s say August, because I actually was up in Yorkshire for work.’
‘Wow, four months. Go us. Let’s say we went on a date then and we started going out. Lots of FaceTimes and that. Modern love. And thenthisparty was the next time we were able to see each other, so we don’t have to pretend we’ve been sneaking off to see each other or whatever. Also explains the lack of pics together.’
‘Okay, that makes sense,’ he says a little slowly, turning it over.
