19. Bash
19
BASH
Armed with thermos mugs of hot drinks, they gathered at the next village over, lining with other villagers along the paths. It was only late afternoon, and yet the sky already darkened with a bruised sheet of cloud. The nearest village was little more than a mile away, and every now and then the siren of a fire engine reached them here as they waited.
In typical British winter style, the chill and the wind bit at Bash’ cheeks. He pulled his scarf further up over his chin and dipped his head to keep his face warm.
Beside him, Faye chatted to Saira. Pretending to not be intrigued by what they’d talked about in their little chat on the walk this morning was damn hard, because whatever it’d been had made Faye’s cheeks blush in a way that hadn’t been due to the cold. When he’d scooped her up to stop her fall, she’d reddened just the same.
If she thought he didn’t ever notice that cute colour in her cheeks sometimes when she was around him, then she was wrong. Very wrong . Bash just didn’t know what to do about it, figuring she was just embarrassed – god knows he fumbled over himself enough to make her feel that way .
If Faye was affected by him like he’d always secretly hoped she was, then why wouldn’t she say anything?
Huh . Hypocrite . When have you ever said anything?
Every five seconds or so, Imara asked Matt for the time. She’d stood and studied the banner advertising “Santa’s route” and when he would stop by various villages. Theirs was fairly early on in the parade, so here they were. Cold. It was cute how Matt indulged her by checking his phone and then Imara pouted, standing arrow straight for five … four … three … two …
“What time is it now?”
Bash chuckled to himself at how his brother – who’d only brought this upon himself – looked ready to rip hairs out from his attempt at growing a beard; he’d seen peaches with more hair on their cheeks.
Bash didn’t count his chickens too early before they’d hatched, though. Thankful that at thirty he still had all his hair, even if it had sprouted greys above his ears, and the follicular function to grow a beard whenever he liked.
He scratched at the growth of that beard he’d not shaved for a couple of days and looked at the young families lining the narrow street; parents around his age with babies bundled in snowsuits, toddlers stumbling around as they found their feet in wellies. Rocks tethered his heart down at the joy on all of their faces.
It felt like he was at the starting line, his feet in the blocks, breath held as he waited for the gun to go off. He could see the finish line right ahead of him that he’d been moving through life to get towards. Only, there was no person on the sidelines holding the gun, and so he was left there, crouched indefinitely.
“ Sebby, tu as l’air d’avoir froid. ? * ”
Bash startled when his mother put the back of her hand to his cheek. “ Non, ca va. ? * ”
He wasn’t cold. Just contemplating the stagnancy of his life.
On the other side of his mother, Arthur formed the bridge of peace between her and Uncle Mortimer who’d decided to grace the family with his presence. Though would it kill him to smile for the sake of the girls?
Some of the questions Faye asked on the walk had cropped up again in Bash’s thoughts once or twice since they’d returned home from their impromptu shopping trip.
Would you ever like to make up with him?
Would you want a better relationship?
Bash had tried, he really had, for most of his adult life since being old enough to recognise that the patterns in Mortimer’s behaviour towards them weren’t exactly healthy for his state of mind. His therapist had pointed it out one session and so many different segments in his memory – recollections of conversations or even looks – clicked together all at once.
He didn’t like not getting along, and he wasn’t so self-centred that he needed everybody to like him. Though when it was his own family member, he didn’t want to be made to feel like he was the disappointment Mortimer implied he was with every interaction.
The sirens of Santa’s fire engine grew closer and closer and Maya bounced up and down without her feet ever leaving the ground. Then the red vehicle emerged, eighties Christmas music blaring and sirens beeping, covered bumper to bumper in garlands of tinsel.
Maya squealed and clapped her hand to her short arm.
Faye twisted and her eyes sought Bash out like she’d thought they were joking about this local tradition. He simply smiled and nudged for her to watch up ahead.
Members of the fire crew walked alongside the fire engine in their navy station wear with collection buckets for charities, followed by who Bash assumed were the crew’s family members. The light up hats were a nice touch, he thought.
And sat atop the truck in an opulently illuminated chair was the main man himse lf. Santa Claus … aka a volunteer in a hired suit, but Bash wasn’t so much of a douche as to point that out.
Santa waved at the hundred people or so who waved and cheered back at him. Except for Bash, who was happy to keep his hands where they were; warm in his pockets. Faye had a different idea though and pried one out by his wrist, making him wave with her, only to drop his hand and cover her ears when the fire engine crawled past them at a momentously slow speed.
It was bloody loud from only fifteen feet away, causing Bash’s back teeth to grind, but he grinned and bared it for the excitement on his nieces’ faces.
Anybody would think by their toothless smiles that it was Christmas.
Collection buckets rattled encouragingly as the fire fighters walked by. The cash machine at the supermarket had been a pit stop earlier and Bash drew his wallet out from his pocket, folding a bundle of twenties to slide within the slot lid of a bucket.
His parents were next, then Bash glued his eyes to the bucket to see what Mortimer might add: a measly few copper pennies whilst he checked the time on his smart watch.
Towards the end of the street, the truck stopped, and the ringing in Bash’s ears eventually did too.
Santa jumped down from his seat with a merriment of “Ho Ho Ho’s” as he patted the rounded padding of his belly. Imara tugged Matt off in that direction. Like a whippet bolting on the end of a short lead, she stood with them one second and was in front of Santa the next.
A bench trimmed with red and white tinsel like a candy cane appeared from somewhere, and Santa sat himself down. Various lids of Thermos mugs were unscrewed and cups of steaming beverages were passed between the fire crew while Michèle busied herself with taking photos of her granddaughters and everything else in sight.
Lest they lose her to the crowd, Bash stayed by Faye’s side on the vague outskirt s, out of the way of the young families moving their children forwards.
“Mmm,” he hummed by her ear. “Uniforms.”
She backhanded his stomach, making a splash of the tea he tried to pour hit his glove, and he laughed. Any way and every way, he would tease her about this.
“Do you see any poles you’d like to climb?” Bash just couldn’t resist, and finally Faye cracked a grin brighter than the glare off of the fire engine’s multi-coloured string lights.
“You’re an idiot.”
He offered out the filled Thermos lid, unable to stop the twitch of his lips. “So you tell me.”
“I do it with love.”
For a second too long, Bash looked down at her, and the molten, gooey feeling within him stirred at the “L” word.
“I know you do.” He really did. Faye’s “idiot” didn’t really mean idiot, it meant “one who makes me smile.” So he would gladly take the mantle of her idiot any day.
Both of Faye’s tiny hands wrapped around the makeshift mug like it was her entire heat source. Unconsciously, Bash shifted closer like a human windbreaker.
They watched Imara sit with Santa, followed more patiently by Maya, but patient was still a stretch. A woman in uniform helped pass along suspiciously colouring book shaped presents from a giant sack via Santa to the girls and every other child who hopped up there after.
“We have some big children here too, I see.” Santa scanned the gathering. “You, Miss?—”
Of course it would be Faye who he picked out. The look on her face said she hadn’t signed up for any audience participation.
This is too good. Bash nudged the low of her back until she shuffled forwards and glared at him over her shoulder. He choked on a chuckle at that scathing look.
Hands clasped, Faye went up to the bench .
“And what would you like for Christmas, young lady?” Santa looked all too pleased with himself as Faye lowered next to him. Bash took out his phone and snapped a quick picture to torment her with for years to come.
She whispered something to Santa, though Bash wasn’t adept enough to read her lips. He should be by now after staring at them for ten years. But he wasn’t.
“Ho! Ho!” Santa patted her knee and Bash zeroed in on those white gloved fingers touching her. “I will see what I can do about that,” he said merrily, winking.
Winking. Really?
Cherry faced, Faye wandered back to their group.
Bash waggled his brow. “I think Santa was flirting with you.” The jealous streak that shot through him wasn’t by choice.
“Shut up,” she muttered.
His eyes closed when he silently laughed at the kitten-like fury on her face, his stomach bouncing.
“And what about you, young man?” The obviously fake bellowing voice of Santa cut off Bash’s little world of fun, only to find a pair of eyes locked on him when his own flew open.
Shit.
He looked side to side and pointed to himself. “Me?”
“Yes. Come on up here.”
Bash’s pulse picked up a nervous pace. Faye snickered and nudged him forwards much more determinedly than he’d nudged her.
Clearing his throat, he sat up on the bench. Sitting rigidly, he shifted and fidgeted and pulled at the front of his coat, and with a hundred people watching him, he wished that karma didn’t exist.
When Faye sat up here, it was cute, but he definitely looked stupid. Did everyone need to stare at him right then? Couldn’t these people amuse themselves for a minute? There was a reason why he hated doing stuff like this.
“And what’s your name?” Santa asked him .
Bash flicked his eyes towards his mother, Faye and Matt all pointing the cameras of their phones in his direction. “Sébastien.”
He had to be formal with Santa, of course.
“Ho! Ho! Sebastian.” Firstly, wrong. Nobody ever said his name right and he’d never get over it. Second, this volunteer really laid it on thick with the ho ho ho ’s. “What would you like for Christmas? Think hard, now.”
There was only one thing that came to mind.
Was he really going to take this seriously?
Apparently so.
Bash hid his mouth behind his hand, blaming how it trembled upon the cold. “For my best friend to maybe be in love with me too.”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” The conspiratorial gleam in Santa’s eyes was outright concerning. “I think your wish, young man, will likely come true.”
What did that mean? It sounded more ominous than the usual bit Santa served up to the children.
A hand between his shoulders encouraged him off of the bench and Bash retreated, gladly, to the safe bubble of his family.
“Sorry you had to leave,” Faye said as Bash led her down a shaded lane to a spot that he knew boasted a decent view.
“Don’t be.” Seeing so many men his age tossing children up in their arms had been growing depressing anyway. With the line of families gathered around Santa, the fire engine hadn’t looked as though it would be moving on any time soon when they’d left the festivity a minute ago. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the siren being loud.”
“It’s alright. I don’t mind loudness but that was just a bit much to be stood right next to.”
“I’ll remember for next time.” Mild panic filled Bash as he realised what he s aid. As far as he was aware, Faye didn’t pick up on how it’d sounded like he’d presumptuously invited her for the occasion again next year.
She looped her arm with his and pulled him towards her, bumping shoulders as they walked. “You’re too sweet.”
Bash pretended as though that didn’t make his chest swoop and heat rise up his neck. He let out a quiet laugh coated in nerves. “Only for my favourite woman.”
Faye’s cheeks darkened in their redness under the fans of her eyelashes. How often she liked to walk like this, arm in arm, felt very relationship-y. Bash loved it. But it was torture. Like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey and never letting the poor guy have his fill. For how long he’d let his feelings grow without doing anything about them, he felt like an ass.
“What did you ask Santa for?” he asked after a few ambling strides.
Faye scoffed. “You mean the forty year old with the fake beard?”
“Shush! Santa might be able to hear you!” he whisper-shouted, jokingly covering her mouth.
Laughing under his palm, Faye peeled his hand away. “If I tell you what I asked for, it won’t come true, will it?”
“It could. I might be able to make it come true. I have some connections over in Lapland, you know.”
“Oh, do you?” Faye played along with his nonsense and Bash’s inner child grinned.
“Mhm. I redesigned the elves’ grotto last year,” he said, tapping his nose. “Very hush hush operation. Sorry, I couldn’t tell you about it.”
Something flickered on Faye’s face then that Bash couldn’t place. Like uncertainty. It was there one second and gone the next when she smiled thinly at him.
Bash wanted to know what that look was for, but Faye diverted. “I’ll tell you my wish if you tell me yours. ”
“Hmm no. Can’t do that.”
Faye could bat her eyelashes all she liked, this wasn’t how Bash was going to tell her he had feelings for her. There was nowhere to hide when she turned him down, and he’d have to walk her back to the house anyway, unless he wanted her to find herself lost in the dark – which he didn’t.
“You didn’t look very comfortable up there.” Faye quietened.
“I wasn’t,” he said, dragging his feet.
She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry I made you go.”
“You don’t need to be. It’s fine.” Bash didn’t blame her for getting swooped up in the festive moment and nudging him in front of the crowd. His awkwardness at being the centre of attention was his shit to deal with, not hers.
At work, he was fine. It was one of the few places where he had complete confidence in himself, because what he presented to the world was what he’d created, not his own image.
Those parts of his past that’d made him like this were ingrained within him – the very threads at the core of his tapestry no therapist had yet cut out completely. It wasn’t possible. Without them, the rest of who he was would fall apart. But he was working on it - redesigning the image around those threads.
If they had to be there – the memories of belittlement he couldn’t erase – then maybe changing the picture that came from them was all that he could do?
At the end of the lane, they stood in front of a metal farm gate and viewed across the empty land. They were higher up on a hill and thankfully the stars were out already, glittering the frosted ground.
Faye scanned across the ice tipped expanse. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”
It really is …
Bash exhaled slowly and eventually moved his eyes away from her. “I told you it would be. Look over there.” He pointed off to the right. “Y ou can just about see home.” Or the lights of it, at least. The few they’d left on to return to.
The siren of the fire engine whirred up again with the addition of a festive soundtrack.
“Are you tired of Christmas music yet?” he asked as the sound grew nearer and nearer. The truck would pass right by the other end of this lane.
“Not yet,” Faye replied. “But do your parents always play it in the house?”
Bash reached out and she almost ducked away from his hand coming towards her throat, until he began to adjust her scarf and cover a gap in the creamy wool.
“Unfortunately,” he said as Faye stared up at him, his gaze focussed on keeping her warm. “At least it’s jazz themed. They could be playing a lot worse.”
“It’s easier to see now that they’re the reason why you love jazz so much.” Her voice sounded … different.
His hand fell away. “Yeah … Matt kind of grew up to loathe it, I think, because of them, and I’m the complete opposite.”
Faye wandered a few steps to the edge of the gate and craned herself to look down the length of the field. “Must be nice to have something like that stay with you.”
Bash hadn’t given much thought to how bringing her here had taken her away from her family, though Ellie was visiting her in-laws, and both sets of Faye’s parents were out of the country. He hadn’t thought either about how all of his family’s odd traditions might make her feel when he knew how she’d grown up.
She’d never had a Christmas purely within one house, surrounded by the same people, until now. It was one thing Bash was certain he could give her if she ever wanted to be with him – something stable. Something reliable. Steadfast . He always tried his very best to be those things for her, and if he ever let her down … Well then he’d let the guilt fester within him until he made it right again .
He might be a little hasty in his choices sometimes, but it was only because he cared too much.
Faye looked like she’d disappeared within her thoughts, so Bash pulled his phone from his pocket and searched through his music for one of her favourites. He’d had them all in a playlist ever since technology had allowed it, and written before then on a piece of paper that was lost somewhere in a drawer in his house by now.
Music started to play from his phone; the opening claps and piano bar of a throwback Scouting For Girls track made Faye whip around.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he slid the thin technology into his coat pocket which muffled the sound.
“Dancing.” His version of dancing, at least; shimmying his shoulders, arms like a T-rex bouncing along.
“Why?”
To make you smile.
“Why not?”
Faye rolled her eyes. But there it was – the crack in her lips which opened wider and wider each second.
Edging his way closer one inch and shuffled step at a time, Bash did his usual little bounce on his toes and wiggle with his shoulders. Faye’s laughter was like nectar and all he wanted was to keep on drawing out that sound.
He lifted one of her hands and spun her around under his arm. Her momentum kept going and she stumbled, laughing, into his chest.
Dancing her side to side, they almost looked like rag-dolls until Faye gave up the resistance and danced with him until the end of the song.
The upbeat faded into something slower – another from Bash’s code-named “PB Playlist.” Faye’d found it once and he’d made up on the spot that it was his “Personal Best” music for the gym. She’d miraculously believed him, if not querying with her look why the music choices them selves weren’t standard gym beats; lovey dovey ballads didn’t exactly scream “deadlift.”
Little did she know the playlist had nothing to do with the gym, and everything to do with her.
They looked at one another, neither of them moving to step away. Bash didn’t want to let the moment go to waste, so he put his hand on Faye’s waist, taking her other palm in his hand. The gentle pressure he applied further round on the low of her back drew her into his body like a hot knife through butter.
Her lips parted as they became one in their little space, and Bash tried to ignore how much his heart ached when Faye curled her arm against his back and spread her fingers across his shoulder blade. He felt every one of them as if there were no layers stopping her touch.
Their walking boots were too clunky to turn in a circle smoothly whilst Norah Jones sang a song from Love Actually, Faye’s favourite film at this time of year, in his coat pocket, but they made it work.
The late afternoon shadows on the concreted ground were pierced with the early moonlight. Cold winds whispered in the treetops and gave Bash the perfect excuse to hold Faye as close to his body as he could; soft and pliable beneath the padding of her layers and swaying along with him to the song.
They danced often together when they were at Samuel’s or on nights with their friends, but this felt … special .
There wasn’t a reason.
They just were.
“ Now will you tell me what you asked Santa for?” Faye asked, her voice cloud-like as she rested her cheek on his shoulder.
Bash’s own was thick in his throat as he said, “Nah. I think I’d like to keep this for myself.”
His Christmas wish. This second. Her.
“Whatever it is, I hope that you get it. ”
His heart stumbled hard against his chest. “I hope you get your wish as well, Peanut.”
“Not to sound greedy, but I do too,” she said.
“It’s something big then, huh?”
Faye chuckled to herself and the sound wormed its way under Bash’s skin. “It could be, I suppose. I don’t know yet.”
“It’s one of those fireman poles, isn’t it?”
She laughed louder. “Yes, that’s exactly what it is.”
Faye lifted her head and Bash met her eyes. “It’s been nice being here, Bash. Better than what I would’ve been doing by myself in a boiler-less flat. I’m really glad you invited me.”
“I’m glad you said yes.”
She huffed, smiling. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
For some reason, that stung like the scratch of a nettle.
Bash angled his head so he was sure Faye looked at him as he promised, “You always have a choice with me, Faye.”
Her softening eyes were thankful without saying the words aloud.
He inhaled and continued to turn her in this moment that felt more intimate than anything else; more than sex, more than any level of nakedness with a woman could provide. When they were here it was just them and whatever silent, unspoken thread linked between their hearts. It couldn’t be broken; not by time, not by distance.
The deadline for his decision regarding Woodrow & Sturridge played in the back of Bash’s mind like it dared him to try and break this bond between them. It couldn’t. That much he knew.
Though he hadn’t told Faye of it throughout the process. Maybe he should have?
Discussions to work from America had all been so quick and Bash hadn’t wanted to worry her with something he didn’t see panning out. The look of panic he’d hoped to prevent had flashed on her face when he’d joked about that Lapland grotto being a secret operation, as if he’d actually hidden it from her .
He didn’t think it was that big of a secret but he guessed she’d had enough of people keeping things from her in her life. Right now was as good a time as any to come clean.
“Listen,” he said, slowing their steps. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Faye lifted her head from his chest and he missed the weight of her against him immediately. “What is it?”
Bash took a burdened breath to tell her about the American offer when his phone began to inconveniently ring.
“Sorry, it’s Dad.” He winced as he looked at the caller ID. “Probably wondering where we got to.”
Untangling from him, Faye tucked herself up within her coat and pulled her hood up around her neck. “We should probably head back anyway.”
And just like that, Bash’s chance was shattered. He’d have to find a better time to talk with her.
He pulled on the mask of a smile. “I promise a hot chocolate when we get back.”
“Ugh, that’d be amazing.”
* ? Sebby, you look cold
* ? No, I’m okay