Chapter Ten #2
‘It’s called a postbox.’
‘I know. We use both names in Canada, where I grew up. Anyway, stop.’
The van lurches to a halt as Christopher slams on the brakes. ‘What?!’ His heart is thudding in his chest.
Nash looks from the map up to the house. ‘I think we’re here.’
‘Some warning might have been nice,’ Christopher grumbles.
‘You were too busy complaining about North American English being a whole other language.’
They’re parked up in front of a pebble-dashed bungalow with a cherry-red front door. The path and drive up to the house are covered in knee-deep snow.
‘Good job I brought all those unnecessary tools,’ says Nash, as he hops out of the van. Christopher is briefly worried this means he’s found a reason to use the saw.
Christopher locks the van and catches Nash giving him a look.
‘What?’
‘Why did you lock it?’
‘I always lock the car.’
‘Okay, but who is going to break into a truck that’s on its knees, especially when we’re the only people out here?’
Nash has a point, but still. Some habits can’t be broken. He’s only been out of London for six months, after all.
The doorbell chimes out a sweet little song, and after it ends they hear a distant ‘I’m coming, just a minute!’
Christopher flips open the letterbox in the door. ‘Take your time, Myffy.’ He doesn’t want her falling over in the house when they’re this close to helping.
When the door eventually opens, they’re greeted by a rosy-cheeked woman with wild curls of brown hair and the biggest smile in the world, standing with the assistance of a bright pink rollator. ‘Did you bring the goods?’ she asks, dropping her smile and raising her eyebrows conspiratorially.
‘We’ve got your drugs, ma’am,’ says Nash cheerily.
‘Shh, they’ll hear you,’ she giggles and steps back to let them in. ‘What handsome rescuers. At least I hope that’s who you are, or this day is about to take a really interesting turn.’
‘We’re the rescuers, I promise,’ Christopher says with a smile, hoping it reads as non-threatening rather than strange. He’s not particularly good at this bit with new people.
‘Come through and warm up, duckies.’ They follow her through her blessedly warm house to the kitchen at the back, where Nash places the paper prescription bag on the centre of the dining table.
‘Diolch, darling. Paned?’ Myffy asks.
‘Allow me,’ says Christopher, filling the kettle, and taking three clean mugs from the drainer on the side.
‘I’ll get us the biscuits then,’ she insists, but Nash reaches over and grabs the obvious biscuit tin from a counter just out of her reach, setting them on the table too.
‘Please, allow us,’ he says, holding out a chair for her.
‘Crikey. What a delightful day this is to have two strapping young men waiting on me. A girl could get used to this.’
She sits down at the kitchen table and opens the bag to check her medicines. ‘All present and correct. And what a relief, to be honest with you. Thank you ever so much for bringing this up to me. This cold is a nightmare for my joints, and I wasn’t fancying going cold turkey.’
Nash sits down next to her, while Christopher finishes making the teas. ‘We’re happy to help. Is there anything else we can do while we’re here?’
‘Ah, let’s get a hot drink in you first before I start ordering you around.’
It appears that Myffy’s mug collection is somewhat eccentric.
It’s only as Christopher pours water into the mugs that he notices the decorations.
All the mugs must be part of a set, as they all feature people in rather rude poses that seem to be getting ruder as the mug heats up.
Christopher can’t help but blush a little as he sets the cups down on the table.
‘Diolch, love,’ Myffy says.
Nash inspects his mug, only to burst out laughing as he realises what he’s looking at. ‘My, my.’
Myffy grins. ‘A good lark, aren’t they?’
‘I’m guessing “paned” means tea?’
‘You got it in one, sugar. So, I suppose you are Christopher, and that means you must be Nash, am I right?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘Shaz told me to expect an English one and an American.’
‘I’m Canadian,’ mutters Nash into his tea.
‘Really? You’ve never mentioned it,’ says Christopher, blowing on his tea.
‘I told you like half an hour ago.’
‘And since then you’ve told me three more times.’
Nash huffs and folds his arms, much to the delight of Myffy. ‘Look at you two. Such a funny pair.’
The blush on Christopher’s cheeks refuses to go away. ‘Is there anything else we can help you with? Shaz mentioned your PA can’t make it today.’
‘I’m guessing your version of a PA might be different from mine?’ asks Nash.
‘In some ways it’s the same. I’m no Miranda Priestly tormenting young fashionistas, but a care personal assistant can do similar things,’ Myffy says kindly.
‘My care team help me out with tasks around the house and admin and things like going to get my medicine. But one of my girls, Selina, is up in Scotland for Christmas – she got out just in time but is probably stuck up there now – and my main PA, Polly, couldn’t make it today as she’s sick and snowed in, which seems doubly unfair to her.
And my lovely husband Mohan is stuck in London! So I’m in a bit of a pickle, boys.’
‘Can the council not get you anyone from a care bank or agency as it’s an emergency?’ asks Christopher.
‘Well, normally I don’t love having someone I don’t know well for helping with some things, though I was willing to just go with it given the circumstances.
But when Mohan called them they said that, given the weather, it’s quite possible that I’m stuck with no one for now.
’ Myffy takes a sip of her tea and turns to Christopher.
‘You know a lot about this stuff. Do you work in healthcare? A very handsome English doctor perhaps?’
Christopher tries not to choke on his tea.
He’s not used to older women aggressively flirting with him.
Or anyone, for that matter. ‘My sister is disabled so I know bits of how the system works, or doesn’t work.
And no, I bought Pantri Bach down on the high street last summer.
I’m a baker, but I do have my first aid training at least.’
‘Oh, gorgeous news! I didn’t realise it was back open. I’ll be down there like a shot once this snow is cleared out. Hell of a sweet tooth on me.’
‘We’re fully accessible too, not a step in sight, and the bathroom is accessible and has plenty of turning space. The same sister is an architect so she made sure everything was up to code and actually usable.’
‘That’s what I like to hear. But you know, you won’t be rid of me at this rate,’ she teases. ‘What’s the best thing you sell?’
‘Well, I’m probably going to make some croissants with a pistachio filling when we reopen in January. I think they will be quite good.’
‘Sold!’ she laughs heartily. ‘Consider that my pre-order.’
As Christopher sips tea from his X-rated mug, he catches Nash eyeing him. But as he looks up, Nash looks away. Strange.
Instead, Nash asks, ‘Well, if Polly was here today, what would she be doing to help? Maybe we can help you with a few things.’
Of course, this is what Christopher should have been asking, not talking about his bakery. Typically, Nash Nadeau, Fixer of Vans and Clearer of Snow, would remember to help. It’s a little annoying how helpful he’s trying to be today.
Myffy chuckles. ‘Well, she was going to help me bathe today, which I think might be an ask too far of you and too much fun for me.’
Christopher knows she’s making light of it, but that must be awful, to not be able to do the things she needs to or wants to do.
‘Don’t stress,’ Myffy continues. ‘I can sort me out a flannel wash later. And hopefully Polly will be back tomorrow. Or Mohan if we’re really lucky.
I do have a few things on my shopping list that aren’t desperate, but that would help.
Maybe you could pick these bits up if you’re safe to drive a bit longer?
Other than that, clearing the snow off the path just in case I need to go out would be marvellous.
And I’ve got some washing in the machine that needs hanging, and some to put away, if you wouldn’t mind? ’
Nash takes a sip of his tea, and stands, saluting Myffy. ‘Your sidewalks will have never been so clear.’ At that, he disappears off out of the front door.
‘He’s a bit bloody handsome, isn’t he? Got that sort of made-for-television face. I feel all a-fluster with you both around.’
‘Yes, well, he’s an actor,’ Christopher says a little reluctantly.
‘What he’s doing here then? Going method for a part as a farmer?’
‘Wanted to come for a quiet holiday apparently – he was going to stay in the flat over the bakery while I was away. Unfortunately, he’s stuck here with me, as I couldn’t get out in time.’
‘Tricky for you, that.’
‘Not being able to go away for Christmas?’
‘No, I mean being cooped up with that gorgeous face. I wouldn’t be able to contain myself. You must have a stronger will than I do. That bottom!’
It turns out Myffy has the dirtiest laugh he’s ever heard, and it’s absolutely infectious. She’s not wrong, though. Nash does have a very nice bum, although obviously Christopher already knew that from watching his movies.
And also in real life.
Not that he’s been looking.
Well, he might have looked, but it was accidental. Probably.
It makes him feel rather strange to hear someone else being gooey over him, especially someone who doesn’t recognise him from TV.
He can’t pin down the feeling. Perhaps he’s just jealous that Nash seems to find being all attentive and helpful and charismatic natural and much easier than Christopher does.
The bastard.
Enough. Nash Nadeau is taking up far too much real estate in his mind right now. Time to get to work.
Myffy makes a shopping list while Christopher folds her laundry neatly – just like his mother taught him – and hangs the clean clothes in her wardrobe, led by Myffy’s very specific directions.
After all, what good is a wardrobe if things aren’t organised by season, then mood and subsectioned by colour?
By the time they’re done with the tasks inside the house, Nash returns to explain that he has piled the snow up in neat banks close to the drains on the road, so that when the snow starts to melt, the meltwater won’t flood her house.
‘By God, that’s a bit clever,’ Myffy says.
‘Careful, his head will get too big for him to use the door,’ Christopher murmurs, earning a look from Nash.
With a flirtatious smile for Myffy only, Nash says, ‘Piling up snow is kind of my thing, ma’am.’
Christopher swears he hears Myffy say under her breath, ‘Well then call me Frosty.’
She tries to hand Christopher an envelope of cash, which he refuses. ‘Let’s work it out later when we’ve got your shopping,’ he says instead. ‘I couldn’t bear if we took your money and got stranded somewhere.’
‘You’re a kind boy, Christopher. Isn’t he a lovely one?’ she says to Nash, who nods stiffly.
They wave Myffy goodbye and hop once again into the icy-cold van. As the heating splutters to life, Christopher checks if the big supermarket in the next town over is open, and luckily, somehow it is. They just have to hope the van will get them there, and the supermarket has any food left to sell.
He shoots Shaz an update.
Christopher: Medicine all dropped off.
Shaz: Oh I know. She texted me the minute you left thanking me for her Christmas present of two hot helper elves. You both have a fan.
Christopher: We’re off to the big Sainsbury’s to shop for Myffy. Do you need anything?
Shaz: A babysitter, a holiday, and a good shag.
Christopher: I can’t help with any of those.
Shaz: Pity. I bet Saino’s is out of stock of them too. I’ll send you a list in a minute once I’ve gotten out the cupboard.
Christopher: Why are you in the cupboard?
Shaz: Hiding from my kids, obviously.