Page 8 of Unexpected Company
He makes a sound which I have long since learned is his ‘Roman is annoying me’ noise.
“I have to leave tomorrow and I don’t like thinking of you alone in here, letting those comments eat away at you. This will be good for you, you’ll see. Trust me. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
I mull his words over. He has a point. Liam has always known what’s best for me, ever since we started this venture together. With my aunt away on a cruise with her new husband and Liam off meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time, I was always spending Christmas alone. Maybe spending it somewhere new and unexplored, instead of trapped between these bland white walls, is exactly what I need.
Go off grid. Focus on something creative. Find myself.
Become an entire motivational calendar.
And when I get back, and the festive season is over, maybe no one will remember my fuck up.
“Oooh, you’re coming home with me,” I say to the pack of Party Rings in my hand.
“As are you.” This time it’s to a packet of Bourbon Creams before they join the selection of emotional support biscuits in my trolley. Custard Creams, Rich Teas, shortbread and even Nice biscuits, which are not my favourite but they do dunk well in tea.
Tea!
Haphazardly adding three more packs of biscuits to my cart, I change direction and hurry down the hot drinks aisle. I scour the shelves, picking out a selection of teas. Starting with good old English breakfast and ending with a fruity blood orange andcranberry blend. My throat is a little rough, so I add a box of camomile too. If I’m going to be holed away in a remote cottage, I need all the necessities.
Leaning over the handle of my trolley, I frown, taking stock of everything I’ve selected before racing to the fresh produce aisle where I add apples, bananas, oranges and a bag of kale. That’s a healthy choice, right?
Back home, Liam has one of those weekly meal services deliver well-balanced prepared frozen meals direct to my door. For the next few weeks, though, I’m on my own.
I add two carrots for good measure. And a medium-sized bottle of lube.
Allthe necessities.
When I finally get back to my waiting cab, the sky has darkened and filled with angry grey clouds. Around me, the streetlights of the small town flick on in unison. We still have at least another half an hour before we reach our destination of Christmas Falls.
“Got everything you need?” Charles, the older gentleman who collected me from the airport, asks as I slide into the backseat of his cab. He places the book he was reading while he waited on the passenger seat and I lean into the space between the seats to take a peek.
Momentum: A DI Jack Sniper Novel by Rhett Kingsley
The cover shows the back of a man, walking over a bridge, with a large skyscraper in front of him. It’s not one I’ve heard of before, and from the cover alone I’d hazard a guess that it’s not one I’d enjoy. I’m more of a manga or graphic novel kind of guy.
“Yep! All the essentials,” I reply, sitting back and fastening my seatbelt.
My mood has massively improved since I left London. As soon as I saw Charles at the airport, I switched off my phone and started my time off-grid. And so far (one hour in) it is going verywell. I’ve only had the urge to check my socials three times since and resisted every time!
As Charles drives us out of town, weaving the car down narrow roads and deeper into the forest, I keep my eyes on the scenery while we make small talk. He asks me what brings me all the way to Christmas Falls, and my cheeks heat when I tell him my story, leaving out no small detail.
“Ouch,” he remarks once I’ve finished. “That is…”
“Embarrassing? The end of my world? The worst thing to happen in the history of my adult life?”
Charles chuckles. “I was going to say, unfortunate.” I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. They twinkle and fine lines edge out from the sides of them as he smiles.
“But yes, I can see how it would seem like it’s the end of your world. It’s not, though. Someone else will do something worse andtheywill be the talk of the internet. Try not to worry about it.”
Worrying about it, and sulking about all the negativity, is pretty much all I do lately.
“You’re probably right.”
“Oof, let me record that for my wife,” he jokes.
I smile, leaning my head back on the seat, looking out the window as we pass a collection of wooden cabins that are swiftly swallowed up by the trees as we move further along the road.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the village deli for Christmas dinner? The Mrs and I could pick you up,” he asks for the second time since we met, concern in his voice.
