Chapter Sixteen #2
‘Obviously,’ Nash repeats, as though it actually was not obvious. Then he changes his tone, ‘Thank you. That’s very kind,’ he says, stiffly. ‘Any way I can repay you, I will. Please just say.’
Still trying to find the middle ground between snapping and blurting, Christopher reverts back to his usual tight little nod.
He swears he wasn’t always like this, sharp and a little spiky and uncomfortable, but maybe he was?
Maybe he spent so long pretending that he was fine, that he was coasting along the middle ground of quiet acceptance, that he couldn’t pretend anymore and things started to unravel.
In his heart, he knows that’s probably in part the truth of it all.
It’s something he hasn’t wanted to look at directly – that part of him that knows he finds the people-ing much harder than some of his friends seem to, and the way he habitually closes himself off when he gets too afraid of what random reaction is going to spill out of him.
‘I think,’ he begins slowly, feeling his way through the words, ‘I think helping me help other people would actually help me.’
‘That was a lot of helps, but I think I follow.’
‘Are you sure you slept enough?’ Christopher says, swerving the conversation away from logistics for now. They can pick it up later when he feels less like a barely held together ball of anxiety. ‘I always thought I was an early riser but you always seem to beat me.’
‘I think that’s the jet lag, but yeah. Once I’m awake, I’m up.
I find it hard to just sit still,’ he admits, pouring the last of the batter into the pan.
‘It’s why acting works for me because there’s always something to learn or I have to be up early in make-up, or doing press or whatever.
Someone’s always telling me where to go. ’
‘That sounds exhausting.’
‘It is, but I think I thrive off it a little.’
While the compote slowly cooks down, Christopher sets the table for two.
Once everything is ready, Nash piles up two short stacks of pancakes, topped with icing sugar and deliciously sweet blueberry goodness.
It’s a weirdly domestic situation, sitting here with him, eating pancakes. Really good pancakes, at that.
‘Have you heard anything from Christmas HQ?’ Nash asks, and when Christopher gives him a confused look adds, ‘The town hall? Shaz.’
‘Oh. I haven’t checked my texts yet. Sorry, I thought you were asking if I’d had a message from Santa.’
‘And have you?’
‘Not this year.’
‘Pity. Feel like he might have some philosophical insight into this deeply weird situation. Anyway, we should probably go be good helper elves and head over to the town hall after we’ve eaten.’
‘Community centre.’
‘Right, this place is not big enough for the town part.’
‘It’s a good thing your pancakes are delicious. And yes, I just need to check in with my sister before we go. I think she’s a bit worried I’m ignoring her.’
‘And are you?’
That throws him. Well, he’s not not ignoring her. But the missing them and the whole Nash of it all means that there’s a big conversation to be had when he finally does get in touch. ‘Maybe a little,’ he admits.
‘I should probably speak to my agent too. I am avoiding him.’
‘Perhaps we can be brave and face them both.’
Nash laughs. ‘Oh, it’ll take more than a pact over pancakes to psych me up for that call.’
He says no more, and Christopher still feels a little strange about probing given the whole I know your entire film catalogue of it all. Though, he does wonder what has got Nash all tangled up.
Full of sugar and pancakes, they clean down the kitchen, once again in companionable silence, but moving in a gentle rhythm around each other. Nash packs away the remaining pancakes, and Christopher puts them in the fridge to keep them fresh.
It’s strange how in sync they are here even though Nash has only been here two days. How has it only been two days? And, given it’s almost Christmas, he’s going to be here at least three more nights. Maybe even longer.
‘I didn’t see any signs the cat had been back when I got up,’ Nash says, checking the window is closed. ‘Do you want to go look for it while we’re out?’
‘We should prioritise helping everyone out. But yes. Please.’ Normally, he might have felt a little awkward admitting that he really wanted to go out into the snow to find a cat, but then there have been so many embarrassing moments in the last twenty-four hours that this barely even registers.
‘I’m just going to text my sister. Shall we aim to leave in about fifteen, twenty minutes? ’
Nash nods, and disappears off into the bedroom, perhaps to make his own excruciating phone call.
Christopher takes the sofa and makes an executive decision to not read back up through the Spanks Squad group chat.
It’ll take him ages, given that WhatsApp has stopped actually tallying how many messages he has and instead has just added a helpful plus sign to the number.
He’s also not sure he wants to see what they’ve been discussing, even though he knows that’s avoidant of him.
And true, he could message Kit and Haf directly, but somehow, with Laurel and Ambrose there too, this feels easier.
Christopher: Morning everyone. Sorry I’ve been a bit AWOL. There was a meeting called yesterday and I’ve been helping out the other villagers, cooking and driving the van up to people. Just wanted to reassure you all I’m all right.
Haf: oh thank God. I was worried you’d gone all hermit on us.
Christopher: All hermit?
Ambrose: she thought you were wallowing. i said you were fine.
Haf: Yeah but he hadn’t told ME that had he? Or Kit.
Kit: Why am I the second option in this list?
Ambrose: he’s been busy shacking up with his favourite film star
Trust them to just blurt it out, but Christopher’s a little relieved that they’ve given him an opening, despite the many rows of question marks sent by Haf and Kit.
In one messy essay, he explains the whole Tessa-is-actually-Nash-Nadeau situation, and that Nash was going to be staying here a while longer, while assuring them that he’s mostly okay, apart from the whole mess of feelings towards Nash part, which he glosses over a bit.
Perhaps for the first time in the history of their group chat, no one says anything for ages.
Kit: Well. That’s really not what I was expecting you to say.
Christopher: What were you expecting?
Christopher: Actually, you don’t need to answer that.
Haf: That you’d gone hermit and had a Nash Nadeau marathon.
Ambrose: theres still time for that if you know what i mean
Kit: We all know what you mean.
Christopher: Also, sorry but I did tell Laurel and Ambrose yesterday about Nash. I thought they might pass the message on.
Laurel: I learned my lesson about passing on gossip last year thank you very much darling
Ambrose: he was having a gay panic
Christopher: I wasn’t
Ambrose: you were
Laurel: He was.
He can’t help but notice Haf and Kit have been typing on and off for the last minute, and his stomach squirms.
Christopher: I hope you’re not upset I didn’t message you all about this earlier? It’s just been a lot of things happening at once.
Haf: Sorry we were screaming about how mad this is. THIS IS WILD. NASH NADEAU!? WHAT
Kit: also C, you’re forgiven for not telling your sister about your possibly very confusing sexual-fantasy-cum-real-life situation
Ambrose: haha cum
Kit: For fucks sake Ambrose
Laurel: Cheese and rice!
Phew. A weight he didn’t really know he’d been carrying lifts from his shoulders. At least that’s out in the open . . . or, well, with his people.
Christopher: Just please don’t share this anywhere. He’s not asked outright for privacy or anything but still, I don’t want it getting out if we can avoid it.
Haf: Who am I going to tell? You are all the people I know.
Kit: I think that was a message for Ambrose.
Ambrose: yeh fair enough really
Laurel: Don’t forget to ask him if he’s taking brand deals. We’ve got some cute workout pieces he’d look wonderful in.
Christopher: I think he’s got some work stuff going on, so I’m not going to ask him that. Go through his agent or whatever.
Ambrose: boo what use are you
Ambrose: have you boned him yet
Christopher: OK have to go now! I’ll check in later.
Just before he pockets the phone, Christopher gets a message from Shaz telling them she’ll be at the community centre in half an hour, and to meet her there.
With a little time to kill, he decides to make a quick grab bag of useful things – the candles and matches he used the other night, his Swiss Army knife, a box of unopened table salt, and one of the couch blankets just in case. Perhaps Nash is rubbing off on him.
Nash appears, and peers into the bag as Christopher fills it up. ‘What is the table salt for?’
‘The ice.’
‘Is there no team out gritting the roads?’
‘No, in Britain we prefer to be shocked by snow when it happens every single year.’
He’s about to pick up the bag, when Nash swings it up over his shoulder with ease. ‘You drive. I carry stuff.’
‘A fair division of our talents.’ He could almost swear that Nash flexes his muscles the smallest amount. ‘Let’s go.’
It’s blisteringly cold outside, much colder than the day before. Christopher wraps his coat tightly around himself, as though that might make it keep the wind out better. Perhaps he needs to borrow some of Shaz’s knitted accessories.
Under the fresh layer of snow that fell overnight, the older stuff has packed down and frozen, creating a hidden slippy layer.
Despite their good grip, Christopher’s walking boots slide on a steep bit of pavement.
He waves his arms furiously just to keep himself upright.
And yet, beside him, Nash walks with ease.
‘How are you doing that? I feel like Bambi on the pond.’
‘I’m sure that’s from having massive gangly legs. You must always feel like a baby deer.’