Chapter Eighteen
Christopher
God, how did he mess that conversation up so much?
Every word he said was the wrong one, and he just couldn’t get any of his meaning out.
The shutters came down over Nash’s face when he was just trying to make light of this situation like they’ve been doing the whole time he’s been here, but clearly Christopher has ballsed this all up.
Nash looked so distant. Pale. Christopher watches as he storms off, somehow shovelling as he goes.
And all Christopher can do is uselessly watch him leave.
In truth, he lost the thread of what was happening in that conversation somewhere near the beginning, and it feels as if he’s still untangling it all in his head.
But he just wanted to be sure that Nash cared the way he does.
This is his home and all he’s wanted this whole time was to find a way of belonging here.
Now he’s finally found a way to be involved and help, but it’s only possible while paired with a man who flips so often between being his fake Hollywood self and a disaster, Christopher can’t tell who Nash really is.
If helping his community is reliant on Nash, a man who is admittedly helpful, but also prone to shouting fuck at the sky and exploding flour everywhere and irritating the hell out of him, then that makes Christopher feel a bit weird. Conflicted.
If he’s honest, he can barely believe everyone is letting him help, never mind Nash, who doesn’t even live here. He had genuinely just wanted to check. But . . . maybe he can admit he went about all this the wrong way.
Nash is halfway up the street, clearing parts of the path they’d not managed to touch yet. Even when they’re fighting, Nash is still helping out the community that Christopher lives in. And all Christopher is doing is sulking about it.
Behind Nash, the moody sun looms over the mountains. This is why he is here, in part. He loved a lot of things about London, but now he can’t imagine living somewhere where the landscape is made up of buildings instead of huge rock formations and grumbling seas.
‘Are you going to go inside, or are you planning to stand here forever freezing your arse off?’ Christopher looks up to find Shaz standing under the bakery awning, waiting for him.
‘Have you been there long?’
‘Long enough to see the tail end of whatever that little tiff was.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Why are you overthinking it? I recognise those frown lines.’
‘Overthinking what?’
‘Nash. Being here. Helping. He was your favourite before he got here. Is that what it is? Just all mixed up in your head?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Not maybe. I know that whirly brain.’
‘It’s very annoying when you do that.’
‘So? What are you going to do about it? You can’t both be steaming like that all night, though that’s probably a good way to melt some of this snow.’
Christopher sighs. ‘I’ll just give him some space.’
Shaz laughs. ‘Sure. Space. I’m sure that’s exactly what you both need,’ she says, popping half a Digestive she pulls from her pocket into her mouth.
‘Do you have a better idea?’
At this, Shaz points at her biscuit-filled mouth, shrugs with apology. Given this would be the first time Shaz has not had an opinion on something, he’s rather glad she’s not giving it.
Christopher unlocks the door and they both walk in. ‘Did you want something?’
Mouth now biscuit-free, she says, ‘Just was heading home and thought I should check on you given the two of you were yelling in the street. Very EastEnders of you.’
Christopher groans. That’s not exactly going to help with people taking him seriously here. ‘I’m fine,’ he insists.
‘You know what would cheer you up?’
‘What?’
‘Making some gingerbread.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Not the reindeer ones for me, though you know I’m always gagging for some more. Why don’t you make the house? You always talk about how you love doing that, and if you don’t make time to do it, you won’t.’
‘Maybe. I think I need to just have an early night and apologise when he comes back. How was your day?’
‘Oh, you know, grand.’ Shaz begins listing things off on her fingers, but as she’s still wearing her mittens it looks as if she’s giving herself a very slow clap.
‘Kathy threatened to lock the kids in the cupboard, whereas Gar loves to gentle-parent, so they had a massive argument. Ursula kept interrupting Tamara when she was speaking to people, as though she had the authority. A man whose door I knocked on asked me for a sexy sponge bath. You know, a mixed bag.’
‘Christ, I’m sorry.’
‘Not his fault, or yours either I hope, unless you put Dick up to it.’
‘Is that really his name?’
‘Really. Right, I’m going to go, but just do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Chill out a bit, will you? Not everything is riding on you, and everyone can see how much you’re doing. Stop putting so much pressure on the both of youse.’
She’s gone before he can reply, but she’s not wrong.
Still, after the last few days, he feels as if he is being tested by the universe, he’s pretty sure of it.
Clearly some deity or higher power has decided that his patience and goodness need to be examined, and so has sent all the most annoying people into this tiny town just for the holidays when he needed a rest more than anything.
Christopher: Has something planetary turned retrograde?
Ambrose: your ass x
Helpful as always. Though, this does add further weight to that ‘the universe is testing him’ theory.
Not sure what to do with himself, he crosses back over the street to the community centre to update Tamara on their progress. It’s quiet when he gets inside, everyone who’s been helping throughout the day getting ready to swap with anyone there for the evening.
Tamara is, as ever, at her control centre, and barely looks up as she accepts their very folded and crumpled version of the map. ‘Any issues?’
‘None. Well, Nash swore extremely loudly in front of an old couple who were not impressed.’
Tamara shrugs wearily. ‘Eh, they’ll get over it.’
Well, maybe he really should go easier on Nash then, if their elected representative doesn’t care.
‘Do you need anything?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, can you just update the spreadsheet while I go get a disgusting cup of coffee?’
‘It’s getting pretty late?’
‘I told you already. I haven’t slept since 1996. Now you know why.’
‘You know, I could bring you a proper one from the café?’
Her eyes flash with hope, and he nips back across the street with a list of orders from the community centre. Luckily, for once, the Hot Drinks Lady is not there to offer up her horrifying concoctions, so he doesn’t have to worry about hurting her feelings.
It takes him a while to walk back over the slippy road with a tray of hot drinks, but he manages it, along with some of the Biscoff biscuits he’d been saving.
It seems to boost morale so intensely that he’s half tempted to suggest they camp out in his bakery instead, but the space is so much smaller.
While everyone sips at their actually nice drinks, he takes his time filling in a spreadsheet of who needs what, along with their addresses from the notes he’d saved on his phone.
When he crosses back over the street, he sees Nash at the bakery door. Maybe he should give him a spare key, not that he can remember if there even is one.
‘Hi,’ Christopher offers, figuring he should be the one to break the figurative ice.
‘Hey.’
‘Did you get much . . . shovelling done?’
‘Yeah, I got quite far,’ Nash replies coolly. ‘What were you doing?’
‘I went and filled in the community centre on our progress while you were cooling down.’
‘While I was cooling down?’
‘Sorry, I mean . . . we. While we were cooling down.’
‘Mmhmm.’
‘I really am sorry,’ Christopher says, unlocking the front door and holding it open for Nash.
‘What are you sorry for, exactly?’
‘For being a miscellaneous dickhead.’ This, at least, gets a laugh out of Nash. ‘Are we okay?’
‘That depends. Are you going to keep being weird?’ Nash walks through the door, and folds his arms, his head cocked to the side.
‘I’m not being weird.’
‘You are. Though, given you have been, historically, quite weird, maybe I’m asking too much. Are you even going to shut that door?’
‘Christ,’ gasps Christopher, realising he’s been holding the door open this whole time. His fingers are freezing cold. He didn’t even notice because Nash is just being . . . all Nash like. ‘You could have told me.’
Nash smirks, and saunters past him into the kitchen. ‘Just thought you might have needed to cool down some more.’
But in the light pouring out of the bakery, Christopher catches the quickest flash of black crossing the path. ‘Little cat?’ he calls. He does the pspspsps noise that everyone does to call cats for reasons he’s never understood.
But there’s nothing. The cat has gone, again, and it’s so dark that there’s no point Christopher standing out here in the snow. He’ll have to try again tomorrow.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, cat?’ he says into the empty darkness. Christopher goes inside, locks the door behind him, and follows Nash upstairs to the flat.
The aches of a long day set in as he climbs the stairs. He is bone-tired, and he can’t imagine how much worse Nash feels, especially after the added fury-induced shovelling.
The mediocre heat of his flat feels almost tropical having come in from such deep cold.
Nash is in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, peering down at his phone.
That complicated man who keeps surprising him.
He’s handsome when he concentrates. There’s a soft frowning tilt to his eyebrows, and his dark eyes sparkle a little as they dart back and forth, filled with thought. And then there are his arms.
His arms.
Nash isn’t superhero-movie-star jacked, but he’s muscular and lithe, and Christopher can’t help but admire the strong slant of his back.
It’s a very different thing looking at someone in real life, even if you’ve watched them on film for what feels like forever.
He’s so real.