Chapter Twenty-One
Christopher
It doesn’t take them long to drive over to Thelma’s farm. As before, she goes ahead on her tractor, heading straight over the fields like a woman on a mission.
Dai instructs Christopher to bring some blankets from the basket in the living room for the dogs, so he nips into the cold house to get them.
It’s icy in the house, and he’s so glad they’re not leaving them here.
Despite Dai’s insistence that there’s no need, Christopher locks up behind him, while Nash helps Dai clamber up into the front passenger seat.
Even from over by the front door, Christopher can hear his joints creaking with the cold.
Nash then deposits the puppies into the back of the van, safely ensconced in a cardboard box. Determined not to let them out of her sight, Nessa plods slowly behind him to the van, though the poor dog looks ready for a long sleep.
‘Hang on, girl, I’ll get you too.’
In one great scoop of his arms, he lifts her gently in, settling her next to the puppies, and settles himself on one of the fold-out seats, the box of puppies and Nessa at his feet.
‘Is everyone all strapped in safe?’ asks Christopher from the driver’s seat, which is met with a chorus of yep, aye and various squeals from the puppies.
He can’t help it; he peers back to check on the puppies.
‘They’re fine,’ Nash says. ‘Get driving before we all freeze in here.’
‘The lad’s right. I don’t want to lose any important bits,’ murmurs Dai, wiggling further into his coat.
‘Okay, off we go,’ says Christopher.
And it is a very, very slow drive. The glow of Thelma’s farm stretches across the valley even further than before now that they’re well into the afternoon. It’s like a beacon, calling them all home.
When they arrive at Thelma’s, she flings open the back of the van and carries Nessa inside before anyone can even unclip their seatbelts.
‘She’s one hell of a woman,’ sighs Dai, following her inside with a new spring in his step.
‘Well, someone’s getting lucky tonight,’ whispers Nash as he gently lifts the box of puppies out of the van.
Christopher follows them all inside with the bags and sets them down in the kitchen. ‘Do you want me to put these anywhere for you?’
Given the lack of response, it’s very clear that Thelma and Dai only have eyes for each other.
He finds Nash in the living room, settling the box of puppies on the rug next to Nessa.
The box is low enough that she can poke her head in while lying down, and she takes out one puppy at a time to inspect them.
Christopher bends down to give puppy number eight, still the tiniest of them all, a little stroke on her pink nose.
‘I think we should go. We might be intruding,’ he whispers.
Nash growls in some kind of agreement. They drag themselves away from the box of puppies and walk back to the kitchen.
Thelma and Dai have not moved. Between them on the table, Nash places a small square of card, which Christopher hopes is Nash’s phone number rather than how to contact him via his agent. ‘Call us if you need anything.’
‘Aye, thanks lads,’ says Dai, not taking his eyes from Thelma.
It’s a dismissal, but one that Christopher is glad for. As the door shuts behind them, Christopher could swear he hears, ‘Well, I’ve never had a film star’s number before.’
They hop back into the front of the van. ‘What a day.’ Nash leans back in the passenger seat, arms folded and eyes closed.
‘Huh,’ Christopher says, looking at the steering wheel.
‘What?’ Nash asks, sleepily opening one eye.
‘I left the keys in the ignition.’
‘So?’
‘I’ve never done that before,’ he says, pulling out of the farmyard and back onto the winding roads.
‘It’s been a long day,’ Nash shrugs.
‘No, it’s not that.’
He doesn’t know how to find the words for what he’s feeling.
He’d never have done that in London, and not even in Oxlea, really.
But here, he’s starting to feel different.
The lack of nerves, and perhaps his guard coming down.
Perhaps these missions are changing him on a structural level.
Maybe now he can really feel that he might be somewhere safe, somewhere that’s starting to actually feel like home.
And, more importantly, that he’s starting to have an impact here.
Will people remember him after all this? He hopes so.
‘Never mind,’ he says instead, brushing past it all. ‘Shall we get back to the community centre?’
As they drive up and out of the valley, and over the hill past Dai’s farm, Christopher’s phone lights up with a text. Before he can ask Nash to get it, Nash has already picked up the phone, unlocking it with Christopher’s pin.
‘Bloody hell, how did you know that?’
‘It’s not like you shield it from me. What, worried I’m going to snoop at your selfies? In fact, I should definitely do that…’
Christopher swats at Nash, who leans back cackling.
‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Oh, I do dare, but I’ll save that for a time when you’re not going to swerve us into a mountain.’
‘Who is it from?’
‘Priti. Can we swing by Myffy’s to pick her up, driver?’
‘Your wish is my command,’ he says, turning off the main road towards Myffy’s village.
‘You shouldn’t promise things like that,’ murmurs Nash in a way that sends goosebumps right up Christopher’s spine. ‘I’ve told her we’re on our way. She sent the message a few hours ago. Hopefully she won’t mind that we were delivering puppies.’
‘And when we get home tonight . . . well, it’s Christmas Eve, so I should really make my gingerbread house.’
‘A tradition of yours?’
‘Something like that.’ His chest aches a little to think of it.
He never really thought he’d miss all the traditions of Christmas – baking in the kitchen while the dogs sniffed at his feet, going to Laurel’s family’s annual ball and dressing up, Esther’s insistence on new Christmas pyjamas, and Otto’s on-tap bubbly.
And last year was special for a few reasons, not least because it was the first year he and Kit started to come back together after years of awkward barely knowing each other.
To make up for it, she’s been there by his side the whole past year, helping get this ambition off the ground since he first voiced it.
‘And I should call my family,’ he says out loud without really meaning to.
Nash gives him a little nod of approval, and something in Christopher’s chest flutters at the thought of them being back in his flat, alone.
Somehow, after all that’s happened today, things have turned a little from dear god I don’t want to be home alone with this man to maybe it would be nice to be home alone with this man.
It would be a mistake, perhaps, to sleep with him again, but perhaps he is overthinking. Presuming. Worrying for no reason.
They pop in to say hello to Myffy, whose mind it seems is also on sex. ‘Do you want to borrow this one? It’s a real bodice-ripper,’ she says, brandishing a book at him that has two men dressed in some historical floaty shirts pressed up against each other. Well, perhaps it’s obvious to some people.
‘Another time,’ Nash says. ‘But I’ll make a note of the title, just for you.’
‘You won’t regret it.’
There’s still nothing from Mohan, and not much else they can do for Myffy today. Priti squeezes her goodbye, and Christopher almost wants to do the same.
They bid her farewell for now and pile back into the bakery truck. Priti sniffs at the air as she gets in. ‘No offence, but have you had a dog in here?’
‘More like nine,’ Christopher says. ‘Sorry about the smell.’
‘Oh, it’s all right. Just a little . . . rustic,’ she laughs a little awkwardly, picking a black-and-white hair off her coat. ‘At least it’s warm!’
They drive along quietly, all tired from the day’s activities.
In the overhead mirror, Christopher watches Nash in the back seat, his brows deeply furrowed. ‘If you think that hard, you’ll get a wrinkle,’ Christopher teases, startling Nash from his thoughts.
‘Eyes on the road, Calloway,’ he growls.
‘What’s on your mind?’ Priti asks Nash, much more delicately than Christopher managed.
‘I know it’s still snowing here, but is it the same everywhere still?’
‘From what I saw on the news earlier, things are better further south. But the trains are still not running,’ Priti replies.
‘Right. And Myffy said Mohan can drive,’ Nash murmurs, as though he’s thinking out loud. ‘I was wondering if we should try and find a car or something for them so he can get back home? A kind of Christmas present.’
‘Oh, bless you, but we already looked and there’s nothing,’ Priti responds, with a resigned tone.
‘Even with the premium prices, which I think Mohan would have found the money for if he could.’ She shakes her head.
‘It’s hard enough to be away from your partner at the holidays, but even more so when they’re your carer too. ’
‘But you think if we could get him a car, he might want to try and drive up?’ Nash asks.
‘Yeah, he was keen on trying, even if I don’t love the idea of him getting stuck somewhere en route.’
‘There must be someone we know in London with a car they’re not using right now,’ murmurs Nash, peering intensely at his phone. ‘Londoners don’t even drive, right?’
He’s right. After all, Christopher had his car just sitting at home when he was in London.
There must be someone Christopher knows that Mohan can borrow a car from?
This is the sort of thing his dad would be good for; through all his weird business contacts, he probably knows someone with at least three parked up in a garage somewhere.
But is that too much to ask? After all, he doesn’t want his own parents taking unnecessary risks, but maybe they could help . . .
‘Let’s ask my parents,’ he says, explaining his train of reasoning. ‘There are no promises, but my mother does love to force people into doing what she wants. If anyone can find a car for Mohan in the South of England right now, it’s Esther Calloway.’