Chapter Nine #2
It takes a moment for the shower to heat up, so he lets it run, and almost jumps out of his skin when he catches his eerily pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looks like a ghost thanks to Nash’s little home gym situation.
Obviously, today was going to be complicated, but he hadn’t expected it to involve a veritable bomb of flour.
And he doesn’t even want to think about how much that cost, on top of the refund for Nash’s stay.
That minus number in his bank account is growing by the second.
Maybe he can get a refund for his train tickets as he couldn’t go yesterday?
Perhaps Nash will offer to cover the flour?
He hates talking about money, but he might have to.
The shower doesn’t help, really. Being a baker, he probably should have remembered that flour and water makes a sticky proto-dough paste, and so he’s halfway to making a decent flatbread by the time he realises.
Naturally, it doesn’t go down the drain.
It gathers in sad-looking clumps around his feet.
The shower needs a clean now, but that can wait until Nash has de-floured too.
Two shampoos gets much of it out, and once he’s wrapped in clean towels and moisturised, Christopher feels a little bit more himself.
His clothes wait outside in the suitcase, and while he doesn’t really want to go wandering around in just his towel, given Nash just saw him in pants and socks, it can’t get much worse.
When he leaves the bathroom, he sees that Nash is still standing at the top of the stairs, arms held out from his side as if he’s malfunctioned.
‘What are you doing?’ Christopher asks.
‘I’m not moving, as you instructed.’
Is Nash taking the piss or behaving? It’s unclear, so he splits the difference and ignores this comment. ‘Your turn. There are towels in there.’
‘Thanks.’ With a stiff and very careful walk, presumably so as not to dislodge any more flour, Nash waddles into the bathroom. At the top of the stairs where he was standing is a small mound of flour.
It’s freezing cold in the living room, so Christopher turns up the heating and hopes this doesn’t mean the weather is worse today. He hasn’t even been able to check, with the rude awakening and all the chaos. There’s no gale battering the windows though.
Worried Nash is going to appear again, he dresses hurriedly under his towel into a pair of nice blue jeans and a warm oatmeal Henley top under a thickly knitted jumper with a high collar.
His hairdryer is in the bedroom, but as he doesn’t want to risk another semi-naked Nash interaction, he does his best with the towel.
He is damp and cold and annoyed, and he hates to be any of those individually, never mind all three at once.
To add salt into the wound, the doorbell rings.
Christ. Who on earth could that be?
He slings his damp towel on the hallway radiator – optimistic, as it very rarely manages to churn out any heat, no matter how often he bleeds it – and stomps down the stairs. When he flings open the door, he does so with a little too much gusto, causing it to bang against the internal wall.
‘All right, drama,’ croaks Shaz.
‘Shaz!’ he cries with relief, pulling her into a hug. She’s wrapped up in her enormous puffer and so much knitwear that only the pink tip of her nose peeps out. He’s pretty sure she’s wearing two scarves today.
‘I knew you couldn’t last without me,’ she laughs.
‘Come in. There’s no reindeer as I didn’t get a chance to bake yet, but I can do a coffee.’
‘Oh, you treasure, if you insist.’ She knocks her knee-high snow boots against the door frame as she comes in, dislodging snow onto the mat. It reminds Christopher of this morning.
‘Come through the kitchen.’
‘Ooh, the behind-the-scenes tour. I feel special. You’ve never let me in here before.’
‘Christmas treat. But don’t get too excited. And, err, don’t touch anything.’ He flicks the lights back on, and Shaz gasps. Even though they swept up and dusted off a lot of the flour, there’s still a fine layer of it everywhere.
‘Bloody hell, what happened in here? Looks like Miss Havisham’s place.’
‘Well, that’s part of the whole . . . situation. Come on.’
As they walk through, he realises how cold and quiet it is in here. It’s weird, not having the machines on at this time of day, nothing baking or proving or cooling. It’s like a dusty old mausoleum.
In the café side, Shaz de-robes, creating a little Shaz-shaped pile of outdoor wear on one of the counter stools.
Free of her many layers, she joins him behind the counter, which she knows she’s not allowed to do.
But he lets her off; it’s not as if there are customers here.
She’s leaning against the cupboard with the Biscoff biscuits.
He gestures for her to open it up and when she finds them, she makes a low noise of glee.
‘How is Gar doing?’ Christopher asks as he fires up the coffee machine.
In answer, she shakes her head and shrugs at once.
‘Still mostly sleeping, which I think is the best thing for healing really. Made me come out to see you while the kids were watching The Muppet Christmas Carol. The power those Muppets have over my kids is truly impressive. I might have to get a Gonzo to speak through.’
‘Is your mother-in-law helping?’
‘Yeah, she’s not that bad is our Kathy. I just need a bitch and a moan. It’s just tricky. I want her to like me, you know?’
‘It must be hard.’
‘What’s up with Tessa then? And why did she nuke your kitchen?’ Shaz asks, barrelling past any opportunity to talk about her feelings. ‘Is she a wee freak?’
‘You’re not going to believe me if I tell you.’
‘Oh, go on, let me guess. Did she bring a weird pet, like a massive snake? You know, like Britney in that music video.’
‘I’m pretty sure snakes need temperatures a little warmer than this.’
‘Not if they have a massive tank and a big light too, but I see your point. The snake’s out. No pets at all?’
‘Not that I’ve seen yet.’
‘There’s still time.’
‘Why does that feel like a threat?’
‘Okay, give me a moment, I’m still guessing. But what are you going to do now you’re staying here?’
‘I’m still working that out.’
‘You know what you could do while you’re working it out . . .’ She eyes the kitchen.
‘I suppose I could make a small batch of gingerbread reindeer, seeing as you’re here. Once I’ve cleaned enough that I won’t give you some kind of communicable disease.’
‘It’s giving you something to do. I’m just that generous. And I’ll even pay for some of them.’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself.’
‘It’s the Christmas spirit running through me. Go on then, I’m out of guesses. Just tell me what’s up with her.’
This is, of course, the very moment that Nash saunters in.
And typically, he looks particularly good in a plaid shirt over a white T-shirt and black jeans.
A kind of famous-person shine emanates off him, Christopher swears.
Turns out, Nash cleans up really well when he hasn’t been travelling halfway across the world.
The bastard.
For the first time since he’s known her, and quite possibly the first time in her entire life, Shaz is silent.
‘Hey there,’ Nash greets her with a nod.
She wears a confused grimace that Christopher’s pretty sure is supposed to be a smile.
‘I heard you talking down here. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t talking to yourself,’ he says to Christopher.
Behind him, Shaz’s eyes are wide with what the actual fuck. Her mouth falls open, but nothing comes out except a small croak, like she’s a fish on land.
‘I left the hairdryer out in case you need it.’
‘Thanks,’ Christopher says, trying to simultaneously ignore how chilly his damp ears are and signal to Shaz with his eyes that she’s being incredibly weird.
He’s trying to make up for it. Be calm. Don’t let him get to you. He’ll be gone soon. Probably.
‘I was just thinking I’d go for a walk round the block,’ Nash says, his eyes darting from Christopher to Shaz, and back.
‘Sure, just don’t go too far,’ Christopher says.
The ice in his chest thaws a little. They both need to cool down. He can’t begrudge Nash being courteous; that’s all he wants, after all. Either way, they’re both on their best behaviour in front of their unnervingly silent witness.
‘I won’t get lost. Sea’s that way; the mountain’s up there, right?’ he asks with a smile, pointing for good measure.
‘That’s right. Do you have my number in case you do?’
Nash nods. ‘Got it off the booking details. And if there’s no signal, I’ll send up a flare. Worst case, I swim home to LA.’
‘A little extreme. And cold.’
‘The novelty will do me good, won’t it?’ Nash says this to Shaz, as if to include her in the joke, but she doesn’t say anything. ‘Well . . . bye then!’
Nash disappears back through the bakery kitchen and when the back door slams, Shaz comes to life. ‘I’m sorry, am I hallucinating or was that Nash fucking Nadeau?’
‘It really was,’ Christopher says, still hardly believing it himself. Shaz bearing witness has made this all much more real than it already was.
‘What the fuck?!’
‘I know,’ he sighs, the weight of it all hitting him now.
‘What in the—’
‘I know.’
‘Wait . . . who the hell is Tessa?’
‘His assistant.’
‘Ohhh. I wondered if it was his hotel code name or something. Wow. So he was going to housesit for you?’
‘Apparently.’
She frowns, her eyebrows meeting in the middle. ‘Hang on. Is the man too tight to pay for a proper hotel?’
At this, both Shaz and Christopher burst into body-shaking, keeled-over, eyes-streaming laughter.
‘Just gets by . . . couch-surfing,’ gasps Christopher.
‘Knocks on random doors asking for a bed for the night.’
He can barely catch his breath, and when the giggles settle, they start all over again.
It all spills out of him, all the feelings he’s been holding in, in racking laughs.