Chapter Seven
Jeff had no sooner closed his front door than his phone rang. He knew without looking it was Amy: she called every weekend, regular as clockwork. He’d already seen three missed calls while he’d been at Tussaud’s, but figured it could wait until he was home.
“Hi there. I just got in.” He put the phone on speaker, then removed his coat and scarf.
“Were you working today?”
“Nope, that’s tomorrow. How are you?” She’d had a bout of the flu a couple of weeks ago, and it had really knocked her for six.
“I’m feeling better, thanks. But why I really called was to find out if you have any plans for later this month.”
Jeff played dumb. “You mean, Christmas?”
Amy growled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. December 21st ring any bells? Two weeks today?”
Jeff kicked off his boots. “Can’t say that it does. Why, is something happening that day?” He grinned. He could wind Amy up like a grandfather clock.
“You are a sod, do you know that? Okay. I can be brutal. You’re going to be thirty. How do you intend marking the occasion?”
“Who says I’m going to celebrate it? And since when did we ever celebrate my birthday?
” One of the pains of having a birthday so close to Christmas was that it had always been overlooked or plain ignored.
Jeff was used to receiving presents on Christmas day that said Happy Christmas and birthday on the label.
“Jeff.” Amy sounded astonished. “You can’t not celebrate your thirtieth. Even if it’s just a pizza with me.”
“I’ll think about it.” With any luck, by the time his birthday arrived, Amy would have forgotten about the idea of a celebration.
“Oops. Gotta go. I’ll call you right back.” And she was gone.
Jeff laughed as he walked through his flat toward his bedroom. He couldn’t waste time on birthday plans, not when there were far nicer things to think about.
Such as Dave Hayland.
It had been a wonderful morning and most of the afternoon too.
Sitting beneath a patio heater with Dave and Chris, eating paninis, listening to great music…
Every now and then, Jeff had snuck a glance at Dave.
The lines creased around his eyes told Jeff plenty.
He laughs a lot. Well, maybe he used to.
Dave had obviously enjoyed the waxworks visit: he’d smiled almost the whole way around the exhibits.
And Jeff couldn’t help noticing how Chris would stop and look at his dad, as though he were checking on him.
Maybe he is. Jeff only knew that when Chris caught Dave smiling, his face lit up. Dave makes me smile too.
He grabbed a pile of laundry and went into the kitchen to stuff it all into the washing machine. Once that was on, he sat on the couch to put together a shopping list. Better to get that out of the way.
Except his thoughts kept defaulting to Dave.
Will he call me? That last remark had ignited a flame of hope inside him. Maybe it isn’t goodbye.
Jeff hadn’t been in a relationship for the past two years.
His last boyfriend had been around for a couple of months, until it had become clear to both of them that it was not going to work out.
It had taken all that time for Luke’s true colours to emerge, but finally he’d admitted he’d been “slumming it” when they’d met at a gay bar.
The idea of shagging a rough builder had been the main attraction.
Besides, any man who didn’t laugh at Bill Hicks or George Carlin was not to be trusted.
They’d gone their separate ways, and Jeff hadn’t seen anyone else since.
Dave, on the other hand, was … perfect.
Okay, so he hadn’t passed the acid test yet. He had a sense of humour, but whether it was similar to Jeff’s remained to be seen.
Let’s hope I get the chance to find out.
He put the kettle on and spooned coffee into a mug. His list was almost done. And by the time he got back from the supermarket, his washing would be done too, ready to be shoved into the drier.
His phone buzzed as he took his first sip. “Hello again. Is this conversation going to take up from where it left off, or can we change the subject?”
“Your birthday is organized.” Amy sounded smug.
“What? What does that mean?”
“Your birthday celebration. I’ve organized everything.”
Oh God. “Do you maybe want to let me in on it?” It clearly wasn’t going to be a surprise party.
“I’ve booked a table at a restaurant. It’s right on the river. And the food is great. There’s stuff for vegetarians, vegans, lactose-intolerant… people can order whatever they want. I’ll foot the bill.”
“‘People’? How many people?” She’d said one table. That didn’t sound too bad.
“Four. You, me and two guests of your choice. So… who are you going to invite? Because you’d better think of someone. I don’t want to get there and find out it’s just you and me. And I will not have you sitting there like Billy No-Mates.” She paused for breath. “Anyone special you want to invite?”
Jeff wasn’t an idiot. That was a roundabout way of asking if he was seeing anyone. And the first person who came to mind was Dave.
I can’t ask him.
He wouldn’t come.
But what if he did?
“Maybe?”
For a moment there was silence. “Who?” Amy demanded.
“Uh-uh. I’m not saying anything, not until I’ve asked him.”
“You can’t do that. You can’t get me all interested and then shut me down. What’s his name? How old is he? Is he good-looking? What does he do? Details, I need details.”
Jeff snickered. “Aw, too bad, because I’m not giving you any. Now, want to tell me where we’re eating?”
“Giraffe, by the Southbank Centre. Ever been there?”
“Yeah, once or twice.” Thank God she’d booked somewhere he actually liked. Giraffe was a cool restaurant, and the food was great.
“Okay then. You’ve got two weeks to get up the nerve to ask this guy to join us. I don’t mind if it’s just the three of us. That’s still way better than me eating with my little brother.”
Two weeks…
“Sure you don’t want to tell me about this mystery man? Aw, come on, Jeff. You know you’re rotten at keeping secrets.”
Some secrets he would keep for as long as he lived, such as a little boy’s request to Santa.
“You’re pushing. Keep doing that, and I won’t come.”
A pause. “Okay. In that case, I hope he says yes. So what are you doing now?”
“I’m about to go shopping, so I’m afraid I’ve got to cut this call short. Talk to you next weekend?”
“Sure. Have a good week. Don’t kill any kids. And keep working on your ho ho’s.”
He laughed and disconnected. The list sat on the couch beside him, but he wasn’t thinking about shopping.
Maybe the fact that Amy will be there too will make it sound less like a date. He didn’t want to give Dave the wrong impression. It’s just dinner, for my birthday. Just me, my sister… and the guy I can’t get out of my head.
Yeah, it sounded like a date.
December 8th
“Dad? Can I ask you something?”
Dave glanced across from his seat on the couch, his laptop on his knee. Chris was sitting at the dining room table, an exercise book open in front of him. “That depends. Have you finished your homework?”
Chris pulled a face. “Not yet.”
Dave bit back a smile. Chris didn’t get a lot of homework, but his teacher was doing a project on the environment, and she’d asked them all to do some research on climate change. Dave had set up the tablet and had loaded the National Geographic Kids site.
That was a heavy topic. Maybe it was time for a break.
Dave set the laptop aside, stood, and went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and removed the milk container, then poured two glasses. He brought them to the table and sat facing Chris. “Here. Okay, ask your question.”
Chris grabbed the glass and gulped about half of its contents. He wiped his mouth on his hand. “Do you know how to make mince pies?”
Dave blinked. “Yes. Do you want me to make some for Christmas?”
Chris shook his head. “I want to make them. Lucy Stephens was going on and on about how her mum showed her how to make jam tarts, and how she was going to bring some into school so we could all see how brilliant she is.” For a ten-year-old, Chris had eye-rolling down to a fine art.
Dave chuckled. “Is Lucy the one who keeps beating you in tests?”
“She’s beating everyone. She’s got loads more stars on the class chart than anyone else. So I thought I’d make mince pies. Could you teach me how to make them?”
“Okay, but you can’t take all of them into school. Save some for us too.”
Chris beamed. “Of course. And then we can ask Jeff to come here and have some with us.”
I walked straight into that one, didn’t I?
Dave cocked his head to one side. “You like Jeff, don’t you?”
Chris nodded. “He’s nice.” He frowned. “Don’t you like him too?”
More than I can say. “Yes, but… He has a life too, a job. He might not be able to come over for mince pies.”
Chris’s smile oozed confidence. “I bet if you called him and asked, he’d say yes.”
The terrain had suddenly begun tricky.
“He might, yes, but… not because he wants to.”
Chris’s brow furrowed. “Why would he say yes if he doesn’t want to?”
“Well… he might not want to upset you by saying no. Or because he’s just being polite.”
Chris bit his lip for a moment. Then he huffed. “If you don’t ask him, you won’t know.”
Dave couldn’t hide his smile. Chris’s logic was up there with his eye-roll. “Fair point.”
Chris’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got a better idea. Ask if he wants to help me make them.”
The prospect of seeing Jeff covered in flour was very appealing, but he had to be the adult. “He works at the weekends.”
Chris’s frown was back. “He wasn’t working yesterday, was he? And if you call him now, he can make sure he’s not working next Sunday too.”
Dave tried not to smile. “Oh, is that when we’re making them?”
“Yes,” Chris replied emphatically. “So you’d better call him to let him know.” Then his eyes widened. “When will it be time to get a Christmas tree?”