Page 71 of Make You Mine This Christmas
‘Obviously. Okay, you’ve got to show me what she looks like. Though I am face-blind so it might not actually help that much. It’ll give me her vibe, or at least her haircut. Hurry up.’
Christopher pulls out his phone and navigates to Facebook, where he pulls up Sally’s profile. She has a very sensible long bob, a nice round face and really does look like she would throw a good buffet and set up her friends. If this were different circumstances, Haf thinks Sally would be a nice person to chat to – the kind of woman who seems very neat but now and then drops the rudest jokes.
‘And where is she in relation to us?’
‘Eight o’clock from you.’
‘I’m sorry what?’
‘Like on a clock. You know, the eight on the clock face?’ Haf’s face must be blank enough that Christopher sighs and says, ‘Left and behind. In the bright orange coat.’
Doing a very unconvincing stretch-and-look-over-the-shoulder, Haf manages to spot her. ‘We’re lucky she decided to wear something visible from space. Let’s just stay here until she’s moved away, then we’ll head to the wine.’
After a few tense moments, Sally heads back towards the stalls.
‘Bye bye, best friends,’ Haf whispers sadly to the reindeer, but all of their attention is on someone who has arrived with a bundle of fresh hay for them. Fickle creatures.
As they wander away, she spots a rogue carrot in the snow. It looks mostly clean, so she picks it up to give to the reindeer later. The pockets in her coat are the typical kind for women’s clothing and are essentially non-functional, or at least not deep enoughfor carrots. And she didn’t bring a bag at all, which was probably silly.
So, without another option, she does what any other sensible person with boobs in need of a pocket does. She slides it into her bra.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ says Christopher after a few stunned seconds. ‘But did you just put a carrot down your top?’
‘Looking at my chest were you, Christopher?’ she teases, and is absolutely delighted when his face lights up bright red. She cackles. ‘Far too easy!’
‘I walked right into that, didn’t I?’
‘Like a carrot into the bra.’
‘I don’t think that’s a common turn of phrase.’
Haf shrugs and loops her arm around his. ‘It is now.’
The fête is busier now, more people wrapped up tightly in knitwear, many of them accompanied by tiny children in the crocodile wellington boots that Haf thinks should absolutely be available for adults. A few families have started pushing around sludgy balls of snow ready for the snowman contest later.
At the mulled-wine stall, there’s only a small queue. Instead of plastic cups, there are painted mugs that you can leave a deposit for or buy.
Haf picks up one with a finger-painted reindeer so wonky that it rivals Kit’s marzipan attempt. ‘I must have this one. It’s a work of art. This could actually fetch a price! It is going home with me.’
‘They’re all painted by the kids from the primary school,’ says the woman in a bright pink headscarf running the stall. She takes the mug delicately from Haf and fills it up with a glug of wine.
At the other end of the table is a box with the neat little bundles of spices from the Calloway dining room, which are for sale for a donation to the primary school. Everything is sowholesome and sweet, and Haf wants to spend her measly few remaining pounds on every home-made charity item she can find.
‘Do you need help drinking it this time?’ asks Christopher, taking his own mug – this one is covered in lurid-blue snowflakes that look like psychedelic spider webs.
Haf goes to swat him, but her fingers are so cold that the movement makes them ache. Gloves were, of course, another thing she forgot to pack.
‘Thanks, fake boyfriend,’ she says, as they move a little away from the stall towards the seating area.
‘You’re welcome,’ he says. ‘It’s only a mug of Waitrose’s own-brand wine jazzed up.’
‘Don’t knock Waitrose. Plus, I’m a cheap date and easy to please.’
Christopher looks at the time on his phone. ‘The lights should all go on in fifteen minutes or so, that’s kick-off. Mother always gives a little speech, so we should go over for that.’
Before they can decide, however, a very familiar voice calls their names.
Laurel strides over, arms wide, and wraps them both into a gigantic hug. Unsurprisingly, as well as being a giant woman, she gives very tight hugs. Laurel is wearing head-to-toe white, and terrified she’s about to stain her clothes, Haf moves her cup of wine out of the way so quickly half of it slops over her hand. She hadn’t expected this Christmas to involve quite so many spilled liquids, but there we have it.
