Chapter Sixteen #3
‘Oh, very droll.’ Christopher windmills his arms as he feels himself sliding again.
He can’t control what his body is doing, and he’s going to fall, he can just feel it.
It’ll be just his luck when he lands solidly on his bum, or worse, his face.
The last thing he needs is a trip to A&E, especially as he’s the only one who can drive.
But before he can hit the ground, Nash reaches out and steadies him on his feet.
‘Steady, Bambi,’ Nash drawls, and Christopher isn’t sure if the fluttering in his stomach is the leftover sensation of being completely out of control, or the way Nash is holding onto him. ‘Canadian, remember?’
‘How could I possibly forget? You’ve never once mentioned it.’
‘To answer your question, I used to play hockey so I’m pretty familiar with getting around on ice, and this is near enough that.’
Given that his physical safety is literally in Nash’s hands, Christopher resists the urge to point out that they call it ice hockey here to differentiate from the incredibly vicious version teenage girls play on land.
‘Here, lean a bit more forward. Your centre of gravity needs to be right over your feet, which should be easy because you’re practically Bigfoot.’
‘I’m six foot three. That’s not even that tall,’ Christopher mutters, leaning forward like Nash tells him to.
‘When you walk, try to put your whole foot down at once. Watch me.’ He lets go of Christopher for just a second and shows him how to step lightly and evenly on the ice. ‘See?’
‘Somewhat.’
‘Somewhat,’ Nash laughs in British, reaching out for Christopher’s hands. ‘Come on, put those big feet to good use. You’re basically wearing snowshoes.’
They’re both wearing gloves, but when Christopher takes Nash’s hands, he feels fizzing heat in his fingers.
‘Do you always speak like you’re in a period drama?’
‘Well, yes because they’re just speaking British English, aren’t they?’ Christopher huffs.
‘No, I think it’s more than that. Like, your whole vibe. It’s very—’
‘Please don’t say Downton Abbey.’
‘Well, it is. And look, you’ve been walking this whole time.’
Christopher realises that Nash is right. He was distracting him, the absolute bastard.
‘Bloody hell,’ Christopher laughs.
‘It’s amazing what you can achieve when you’re irritated with me.’ Nash flashes a wolfish grin, and irritation rises in Christopher’s chest. Well. He’s pretty sure it’s irritation.
Typically, Nash’s smart advice taken from experience works. Slowly, they make their way across the road to the community centre, which is already open and bustling with activity.
The refreshments table is already set up and being manned by the same woman as yesterday, though to his embarrassment Christopher realises that he’s forgotten her name and instead can only think of her as the Hot Drinks Lady.
Hopefully he’ll overhear someone speak to her so he can update his memory.
Shaz waves them over, a steaming cup of something molten in one mittened hand, and a gingerbread reindeer in the other. ‘Morning, sunshines.’
‘Where did you get that?’ asks Nash with hungry eyes.
‘Your man here,’ she says, laughing when both of them look annoyed at the implication that either of them belong to the other.
‘You pair of prickly pears. By the way, putting some in with the dinner yesterday – which was delish by the way – was very kind but the piranhas got to them. This was the only one I could prise away from their hands.’
‘You stole a cookie from your kid?’
‘And I’d do it again, so this one had better make some more.’
‘Noted,’ Christopher says.
Nash peers closer to the biscuit, sniffing at it. ‘It smells good.’
With a groan, Shaz breaks off a piece and hands it to him. ‘You owe me at least two now.’
But the words fly over Christopher’s head, as his focus is all on Nash, eyes closed as he chews the gingerbread.
A moment of pure bliss. The look. Chasing that on people’s faces was part of what Christopher wanted when he opened the bakery.
Somehow, it feels even more special right now, probably because the man never normally shuts up.
He will definitely make some more gingerbread later.
For Shaz, obviously.
‘Hang on, what’s in that massive great bag?’ she says, peering around Nash.
‘Supplies, in case we get in trouble. It’s a go-bag, I guess.’
She squints her eyes at him. ‘Are you a prepper? One of those guys with a basement full of guns?’
‘Obviously not. The basement is for the nuclear bunker.’
‘Oh aye, of course. Silly of me.’ They both laugh at that, and Christopher is slightly lost but it’s nice to see them getting on.
‘So, where are we needed?’ Christopher asks, dragging his eyes away from Nash’s contented face.
Mouth now full of gingerbread, Shaz points to the other side of the room. Tamara stands in front of a whiteboard, pen in hand, while staring with deep concentration at a laptop on the table.
‘Morning, Ms Yang,’ Nash says as they approach.
Tamara looks up from the computer with a prepared politician’s smile, the kind that expresses that they are glad to see you even if they have no idea who you really are, and that they would also like to confirm you are voting for them.
‘Please, just Tamara is more than fine. Thank you so much for your help yesterday. I’m just getting things organised but it looks as if you and the van will be needed this morning to pick up Priti from Myffy’s.’
‘Me and Christopher can go get her. Anything else?’
‘Well, what would be most helpful right now is if you could assist with checking in on everyone. We didn’t get particularly far yesterday because of the weather, and the power keeps going on and off in some bits of the village so we can’t rely on phoning everyone.’
She directs them to the canvassing map she’d used yesterday, where a number of houses have been coloured in.
It’s clear that people have been starting at the community centre and working outwards, because the streets off the high street are all marked in bright-pink highlighter.
It’s the roads further up the mountain that haven’t even been touched.
‘We can do those after we’ve checked in on Myffy and Priti. We’ll be heading in that direction anyway,’ Nash suggests.
‘Excellent idea. What I’ll need from you is to take note of who is in, and if there are any immediate needs.’
Shaz plonks a big stack of printed flyers on the table in front of them. ‘And if no one answers, pop one of these through the door.’
They’re pretty basic, in black and white with large text so that they can be easily read, explaining who the task force members are and what number to call for help.
‘Do you need us to cook any more too?’ Christopher asks.
‘Can we let you know later?’ Tamara says, handing him their own copy of the map, roads marked for them to visit. ‘Sorry, I know it’s a lot—’
‘We can handle it.’
‘Thank you.’
Shaz looks around at the map, then at the computer, and back up to Tamara. ‘Tammy, have you slept?’
‘Not since 1996. Why?’
In a mock whisper to Christopher, Shaz continues, ‘I think you guys should make her some treats, just in case. Our lives are in her hands.’
‘A bit of snow won’t break me.’
A laugh sounds across the room, and Christopher turns to see Ursula walking in.
‘That might though,’ Tamara mutters under her breath.
For just a moment, Nash puts on the film star smile. The glow appears. ‘All right then. We’ll get going. You all stay warm and safe now, ma’am.’
And Christopher could swear that Tamara giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand, before clearing her throat. ‘Yes, you too.’
As they walk out of the community centre, Christopher says, ‘That was quite impressive.’
‘What?’
‘The ma’am-ing.’
‘Oh that. Easiest way to diffuse a situation.’
‘Flirting?’
‘Something like that.’
‘I think you might have too much power.’
They carefully pick back across the road to the bakery, and Christopher finds it far easier this time. It would be easier if Nash hadn’t walked ahead, and if he could hold onto him to steady himself, but he makes it all the same.
They reach the van, which is somehow even colder inside than outside, and Nash slings the bag of supplies into the back. It doesn’t take too long for the van to splutter to life, and a very small amount of heat to filter through.
‘Any ideas about fixing the heating in here?’ Christopher asks.
Nash shakes his head. ‘That’s beyond me, sorry.’
‘Were you always very handy? Or interested in machines?’ Christopher trails off, trying to find words that aren’t so obviously about a before.
‘You mean, it’s surprising someone who can’t drive knows how to repair a van, right?’
‘Well . . . yes.’
‘You English people love to talk around the houses. It’s exhausting. And yes, it was what me and my dad bonded over when I was a kid, before all the acting stuff kicked off. He used to do up classic cars and sell them on for profit, so there was always some half-built banger in our garage.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘Yeah, it was. And I used to drive a bit as a teenager. Like, I got my licence and then the seizures came right after.’
‘Do you miss driving?’
‘Yeah. I miss the independence. I miss not having to wait for someone to pick me up. It’s probably the most annoying part of it all, if I’m honest. Well, apart from the seizures.’
‘Yes, I can imagine they’re quite irritating.’
They share a smile, but then Nash closes off the conversation with a glance at his phone. ‘Sorry, I just have to check my emails for a minute while I’ve got signal.’
He’s not quite sure what he feels. Dropped?
A little sad for Nash? But ultimately glad he let him in a little.
But Nash was quick to close the door, too.
There are things he wants to know about Nash, and not because he is a fan.
It’s normal to want to know the man you’re sharing your bed with, right?