27. Bash
27
BASH
Their alarm clock was in the form of a little girl bouncing on their bed, screaming at the top of her lungs that it was finally Christmas. Bash had been sleeping quite peacefully on his stomach before the rude awakening made his body flap like a flag in gale force wind.
Face squished in his pillow as the bed jostled, he peeled an eye open, finding Faye’s face on the other pillow smirking tiredly at him. How long had she been awake? Hopefully longer than Maya had been jumping on their bed.
The idea of procreating sounded less and less pleasant as Maya roared, "It's Christmaaaaas!" Then grabbed the duvet off of them with her one hand and flapped it up.
Bash’s face scrunched at the attack of cooler air wafting like a brick wall into his face. Faye’s hair fanned all over the place and— mon dieu ? * , was she laughing?
“Are you sure you want kids?” she asked him.
He grunted a sound that even he didn’t know the meaning of. But if every morning he could wake like this, with a little happy voice and a sleepy -headed Faye beside him, then he’d wish for them with all his might.
The pale cream curtains dressing the windows did little to help block out the cold morning sunlight. It wasn't clear what time it was. From somewhere else in the house, the lone cries of Imara came, doing the same thing as her sister to Matt and Saira.
Maya bounced more determinedly on her knees and came up even further between their bodies, unbrushed hair flying. No sense of personal space at all.
“Come on! You have to get up!” She shoved at him, but it was too easy to tease her.
Bash flashed a discrete grin at Faye, fisting what he could of the duvet in his hand before yanking it up between them. Maya fell backwards as the metaphorical rug was literally pulled from under her, yelping as she landed on the mattress.
Faye stifled her snicker and glanced, no doubt, to see that Maya was alright, but his niece rolled straight back onto her knees. Before Bash knew it, she clambered across the bed with a determined look on her face and flattened her whole dead weight on his back.
The noise that came out of him was … unique. Like a high pitched groan muffled when the air pushed from his lungs went directly into the pillow beneath his face. Faye laughed a sound he’d been longing to hear after their discussions last night and had the audacity to not help him at all.
Even Bash started laughing in defeat. “Okay, okay, we’re coming.”
After some light bargaining, he persuaded Maya to give them a minute of privacy to put more appropriate clothes on. He didn't exactly want his brother or his parents seeing Faye in almost all her glory and then looking at him for some explanation, as if it’d been expected they sleep in the same bed completely covered head to toe.
Downstairs, they were embraced in rounds of “ Joyeux No?l ” and “ Merr y Christmas ” in the living room. The stockings on the mantle were full, the lights bright on the Christmas tree which was neither tall nor wide enough to accommodate the volume of presents underneath.
“What are you wearing?” Bash chuckled at Matt as they peeled apart from their hug.
“It wasn’t my idea.”
He’d never seen Matt look so exasperated by pyjamas. And not just any pyjamas: Santa covered pyjamas identical to his wife and daughters. Even their fluffy reindeer slippers matched. Bash couldn’t withhold his laugher and earned a backhand dangerously close to the valuables.
“You better laugh it up now,” Matt chided then lowered his voice, “it’ll be you one day.”
“Ugh. Yeah, no. I’ll love my wife and kids with my whole heart, but we’re not doing this.” Bash gestured up and down the length of Matt and narrowly dodged another ill-aimed backhand.
Moving out of the way, he peeked across at the quiet conversation between his mother and Faye and didn’t feel worried about his best friend at all. They both had smiles on their faces and soft eyes. It was every way that Faye deserved to be welcomed by any family on Christmas day.
But there was one person missing to theirs.
“Where’s Mortimer?” he asked his father, unable to resist flicking his gaze at the beanie knitted like a Christmas pudding that the man wore.
“Oh, he said to not wait for him.”
A plume of smoke lit in Bash’s stomach. “Why?”
Arthur lowered his gaze and fiddled with rotating an ornament on the Christmas tree. “He erh … Wasn’t feeling too sprightly when I checked on him.”
Bash had to force down a breath. So he’s hungover, then. A bottle from the dining table had disappeared between the party and the tidy up. H e thought it might’ve been one of the guests but now he knew exactly where it had gone.
He envied the patience of his father – the man who had set the best example any son could hope to follow. But he often wondered just what it would take for such a soft spoken man to snap.
It was Christmas Day, and the girls were here. Bash didn’t want to make a scene or sour the mood so he dropped the topic of their missing guest for now.
After breakfast, of which his nieces rushed through theirs so quickly he was surprised they kept it down, they sat on the rug around the Christmas tree. Faye and him happily joined the girls whilst everyone else occupied the sofa and armchairs. Imara and Maya excitedly opened half of their presents until Saira intervened, slowing them down so someone else could maybe open something.
Bash shifted the lay of his jogging bottoms on his crossed legs. “Imara? Could you pass that one?” He pointed at the larger of two wrapped boxes he’d stowed away behind their bags in the car on the way here.
Imara shuffled it over to him and he shuffled it to Faye.
“I got you something.”
“Really?” Why did she look so surprised? Her eyes looked like they’d hung stars.
“ Really .” Because there was no way he was not going to get her something – as if he would ever do that anyway – and have her sit here with nothing whilst the rest of his family opened their presents.
“Two things actually,” Bash said, well aware his whole family had stopped what they were doing and watched the two of them. “The first one you said you wanted, but the second I thought you might like.”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Faye sighed his name with a smile that was as soft as her cream jumper and began to pull apart the bow of gold ribbon, then ripped away at the wrapping paper .
“Oh! It’s that plushie doughnut!” The way her whole face lit up brighter than all of the lights on the Christmas tree combined told Bash he’d done right with the gift. She picked apart more pieces of tissue paper. “And the coffee cup and the croissant and the … the pain au chocolat !”
“You did say that you wanted them for display in the bakery,” he explained, nudging her legging-covered thigh.
“I did. And you remembered.” Faye looked at him with the goofiest grin that softened every edge of Bash’s heart as she hugged the plushies against her chest. “Thank you.”
His lips curved and he winked. It might’ve been a childish present, but these were the kinds of things that made Faye happy. Soothing your inner child, his therapist called it.
“Can I open one now?” Maya asked to anyone who would listen.
“Hang on, honey,” Saira tamed her, “let Faye open her other present.”
Bash got up and retrieved the second box from where he’d stashed it safely behind a mountain of other presents, then sat back down next to Faye, wishing he could stretch his legs out, tuck her between them, and let her lean back against his chest. But that was just a fantasy.
If things hadn't gone the way they did last night – first with Faye’s secret unfolding, and then his own – then maybe such casual affection could have been today’s reality.
Last night wasn’t how he’d wanted her to find out about the whole American ordeal that he was turning down, and he was going to send a very firm text to Bennet emphasising how Faye hadn’t known about Woodrow and Sturridge . He still hadn’t opened the email they’d sent which likely came with a hitch up in their commission percentage and salary.
He’d never planned to tell Faye at all until the offhand joke he’d made about Santa’s grotto in Lapland, when mistrust had flickered on her face as if he’d actually withheld that make-believe secret fro m her. Maybe in a few years, this offer could’ve been some inconsequential anecdote they looked back on.
But no. He knew now that he was wrong. And as far as he could tell it was all behind them now.
No more secrets.
There was just one more rather big one left for him to admit.
Leaning his elbow on his knee, Bash gnawed on his thumbnail while Faye unwrapped more golden ribbon and Christmas paper. He didn’t breathe at all as she unveiled the handmade model of her bakery. It looked like a corner cut out of a dollhouse; two walls, display cabinets filled with tiny trays of clay doughnuts that Maisie helped him make, the coffee machine, the tables and chairs.
“Oh wow … ” Faye breathed out and the other women in the room echoed her.
Nervous, Bash babbled, “I’m not the fastest craftsman, so it’s taken about three months to do, and I had to remake a couple of things and repaint when the colours weren’t quite right?—”
“Bash?” Faye was looking at him.
“Hm?”
“It’s brilliant. I love it. Thank you.” Her arms wrapped around his neck and Bash almost toppled over. If he’d have gone down, he’d have done so smiling with his heart feeling like it was ready to explode. He didn’t expect to see such gentle pride on his parents’ faces when he glanced their way.
“What is it?” Imara asked, leaning over carefully.
Pulling back with her hand resting on his thigh, Faye turned the model so Imara could see. “It’s my bakery.” Twisting back to him with eyes that glittered, she gaped. “I can’t believe you made this.”
Bash needed something to do with his hands to not focus on her fingers pressing into his thigh, but all he had were the cords of his jogging bottoms.
“It was only half the reason why I’ve come into Baked so much lately,” he said .
“What was the other half?”
Go for it, his mind said, and his pulse soared.
“To see you.”
The smile on Faye’s lips slowly slipped. He’d said it so casually without hesitation, but Bash was deadly serious. He could see it written in her eyes that she knew that.
Dampness built up around his own which threatened to well up at her reaction. Maybe now she would figure out all of the little things he said like that weren’t so little at all.
Maybe she could spare the fluttering in his heart making him nervous to confess how he felt about her if she realised it for herself. Her lips parted like she had done and the line of her throat moved up and down.
But like usual, Bash’s family gave him no reprieve.
Matt’s voice saying that they should probably get the model off of the floor made him remember they weren’t the only ones in the room. But for that minute as their eyes had held, it felt like they’d been the only ones on earth.
Faye generously brought presents for his parents, when she needn’t have done, as thank yous for letting her be here. Thank you wasn’t necessary at all when she was welcome whenever she liked.
For his dad, she’d found a tiny sculpture made from sea glass at the Christmas market she’d held a stall at. Bash didn’t know how she’d remembered Arthur’s hobby at all. And for Michèle, she’d played it safe but still sweet with a modest hamper of handmade candles, pot pourri, and macarons.
Her gift to him had been a scrapbook she’d put together of photos of them and their friends from the last ten years. From university, group holidays, all the way through to their most recent nights at Samuel’s. Bash loved it. But there were a handful of pages blank at the end.
When he’d asked why, she’d said, “They’re blank for the years still to come,” and he’d melted right there and then. A man-sized pool of goo on the cream carpet was all that was left behind of him .
He knew those empty pages were Faye’s way of promising that, even though she was moving away, there would still be more. More days together. More evenings. More nights.
“I know that everyone takes photos on their phones now and people don’t print them off much anymore,” she said, “but this is permanent.”
He’d hugged her sideways for a long time and ignored the curiosity in his brother’s gaze when he didn’t let her go.
Here, on the carpet, the worry that Bash had for confessing his love for Faye came tumbling back.
How could he tell her now that he was hers when she was leaving for a year? Two things would happen if he did:
One , she’d reject him and he’d be wounded, and she’d leave for Manchester. Maybe meet the love of her life there and never return.
Two , she’d agree to see where a relationship with him might go and then change her mind on leaving. He’d want her to stay, obviously, but she’d be throwing away a great opportunity if she did.
But what if he did tell her, and she didn’t push him away but fell for him too? Things between them could turn into exactly what he’d always wanted. How much would he regret never finding out?
After opening the stockings – which Faye was surprised to have found hers containing little gifts from his parents – only one more thing was left to do.
“Right!” Arthur announced, holding up a conspicuous looking unclaimed gift. “It’s time to see who wins the naughty gift this year.”
Faye’s shoulder brushed Bash’s. “What’s happening?”
He suppressed his laugh at how confused she looked. He probably should’ve warned her of this tradition beforehand .
“It’s our tradition where you tell a story of your naughtiest moment from this year, and whoever was the naughtiest wins the extra prize.”
“Oh … ” She was terrified, clearly.
“Hm. Start thinking now.”
The submissions had to be PG which ruled out Bash entirely, on account of his naughtiest moments not being safe for young ears. He made up something about accidentally making a mistake at work and pretending it was Bennet’s fault, a safe answer that likely wouldn’t let him win.
“Faye?” Michèle prodded. “What about you?”
This should be good. Bash turned on his numbing bum to her and waited.
Faye thought for a second. “I … had a customer who was rude to my staff, so when he wasn’t looking I might have added an extra doughnut onto his order, which he didn’t realise until he’d paid. He didn’t want the second doughnut and I pointed to the sign that says ‘No Refunds.’”
Michèle and Saira both clapped their hands up in the air.
“That’s evil, Faye,” Matt said and Faye shrugged.
“I got to keep the doughnut and the five pounds, and he learned to not be rude to my staff.”
Bash was oddly proud.
The girls tried their best with their stories, but it was Saira who won.
“I washed out a box of dishwasher pods, lined it with kitchen towel, and have been keeping chocolate in it all year.”
Matt was scandalised. “You devious woman!”
Whilst they bickered and Saira unwrapped her prize satsuma, Bash leant to Faye. “I’d have given it to you.”
Her eyes blew wide, chin snapping to her shoulder. “What? Why? I’m a good girl.” She clamped her mouth shut as soon as she realised what she’d said.
His brow arced, inches from her face. “Oh are you now?” Redness coloured F aye’s cheeks in an instant and Bash lowered his voice by her ear. “Was that what you were when you flashed me last night?”
“Flashed what?” Maya jumped on him and much like her father, hit him too close to the delicates with her knee.
Many sets of eyes glared at him and Bash panicked. “Flashed her … lovely smile at the party yesterday!”
Matt coughed and sniggered, and for at least half an hour, Bash avoided looking at Saira’s fiery glare completely.
* ? My god