CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
The first glimpse I get of the village is the mercurial shimmer of fairy lights on snow.
The cottages and shops seem to huddle together against the chill, windows aglow with flickering amber light.
The air is rich with hot sugar and sweet cigars and the hearty burn of hearth fires.
An eclectic group of carolers sing “Silent Night” on the village green.
It’s all a perfect sensory backdrop for sweater weather.
I’ll compare every Christmas Eve to tonight for the rest of my life.
The Drowsy Cow is the archetypal English pub from my imagination.
Magical, with a gritty earthiness about it.
There’s a bit of mud and melted snow on the scuffed hardwood floors, a few patrons with dogs curled up at their feet.
Creaking chairs and lively, lilting conversation.
A fire, filling the air with the resiny scent of woodsmoke.
Each beam along the ceiling drips with a canopy of cut winter foliage.
Sprigs of spruce, downy-soft branches from fir, and the waxy leaves of fragrant juniper.
Even the baubles are arcadian—simple shapes covered with dried moss, a ball of pinecones, braids of English ivy.
Globe bulbs in bright white and soft amber thread throughout the greenery like silver and gold stars in a winter wood.
We approach the bar. There are rows of old mugs hanging there for decoration, and Jake has to duck his head a bit.
The man pulling pints is very Santa-coded, with a bright white beard, pink cheeks and a red nose.
Jake raises the hinged service hatch at the end of the counter to go behind the bar.
The bearded bartender doesn’t look up from the taps. “Looking for a job, lad?”
Jake thumps the older man on the back, smiling. “I’m considering it.”
The bartender passes four frosty mugs of beer to the people waiting. He turns to Jake, yanking him into a hearty hug. “Good to see you, kid.”
I love seeing how Jake is loved here.
“Evie, this is Hutch.” Jake grins. “He was my school’s headteacher. I called him Mr Hutchinson back then, though.”
“Pleased to meet you, Hutch,” I say.
“Retired now. Living the dream. My wife Bonnie and I bought The Cow few years back. Best choice I ever made, ’side from marrying her.”
“I’m already counting down the days,” Jake says.
“To marriage, or retirement?”
“Yes,” Jake chuckles.
Hutch’s laugh booms, but his smile falls quickly, and his eyes soften.
“All will be well, lad.” Something quiet passes between the two men.
I can’t decode it, and I don’t have time to linger on it, because Jake claps his hands together, winks, and says, “Right. We need drinks, big man. That Old Hooky isn’t going to pour itself. ”
* * *
“So is this a new tradition now, bringing Americans with you for Christmas?” Miles says to Jake.
Jake has his pint glass halfway to his mouth, frozen mid-air.
Ewan clears his throat and takes a long drink of his ale, and Jake’s sisters share a matching raised-eyebrow glance.
Miles glances individually at everyone. “What? We’d know more about him if he came round more than two or three times a year. ”
I remember Jake mentioning another American woman during one of our early dates, but the way he described her didn’t make her stand out in my mind. There was certainly no suggestion that they’d been serious enough for him to bring her home with him for Christmas.
Genny breaks the awkward silence. “Let’s play Make Me Laugh.
This is the first time in a while we’ve had enough of us home for a proper game.
Last year it was just Ewan and Indi and me mugging at each other over our sad pints.
We went home after one round and snoozed through three hours of Rosemary & Thyme with Mum. ”
I’m the only newcomer, so they give me a rundown of the rules. “To start, everyone at the table contributes a pound to the pot,” Jake says. “We determine turn order by drawing straws.”
“First person is the Joker. Their goal is to make at least one person laugh,” Indi says. “They can target someone specifically, or say something to the whole group.”
“No touching or tickling,” says Jake. “Otherwise, anything goes.”
Ewan adds, “Whoever smiles, snickers, or laughs, they’re out.”
“Then the next round starts with a new Joker,” Miles says. “Everyone left in the game puts in two pounds this time. And it escalates from there, though this bunch of numpties rarely makes it past four or five rounds.”
The game starts pretty tame. We make a full circle around the table with everyone getting a turn. It’s in the second go that people start dropping.
“Hey, Gen,” Ewan says. “What do you call a fish with no eyes?” He hasn’t even delivered the punchline yet, and Genny’s bottom lip quivers. “Fsssh.”
Genny cracks. “Not fair, picking on your own wife.”
“Sorry, love, you’re the easiest target.”
Jake addresses the whole table next. “Someone asked me once what my favorite dinosaur was. I told them I don’t know, I’ve never met one.” All it earns him is a few groans.
Indi seems to have it in for Miles. “The last time Miles had a piece of ass was when his finger broke through the toilet roll.” This one makes Ewan choke on his beer. Miles simply holds her eye contact and sucks his teeth.
On my turn, I say, “What’s the difference between a dog and a complex sentence? One has clawses at the end of its pawses, and the other has pauses at the end of its clauses.” It bombs completely, winning me a few grimaces and a sympathetic pout from Jake.
Miles leans back in his chair for his turn. He taps the shoulder of a serious-looking middle-aged man at the table behind us. “Hey, mate. Did you hear that they said you were an owl?”
When the man says, “Who?” Miles turns back to us with a truly diabolical smile on his face. I have to roll my lips between my teeth to stay in the game.
Jake’s turn. “What did the zero say to the eight?” Bless his heart, he pauses theatrically. “Nice belt.”
More rolled eyes.
Indi’s turn again. She aims for Miles. “You know, Miles, believe it or not, I actually love cats. It’s just—I can’t ever manage to eat a whole one myself.”
Miles breaks. Swiping beer from his chin with the back of his hand, he says, “Oh my god, what is wrong with you?”
Jake swivels around to Indi and says, “Absolutely brisket.”
She cracks, and everyone else laughs, too. “Well, fuck.”
I look around the table. “I need context for that one.”
Genny grins and says, “Every time she tries to say absolutely brilliant in our family group chat, that’s what her phone corrects it to.”
Indi shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t even try anymore.”
It’s only me and Jake left. We volley back and forth a few rounds, stone-faced. Conversationally, I say, “Do you think people named Cornelius have the nickname ‘Corn’?”
Jake indulges me with an answer, stone-faced. “Well, here in the UK, we usually say sweetcorn.”
I give him a puzzled look. “How do you know, though?”
Jake frowns. “I don’t follow.”
“How do you know he’s sweet? Maybe he’s a real bastard?”
I think I’ve finally got him. His self-control is impressive—muscles tic in his jaw, a vein pops out on his forehead, his nostrils flare. All these microexpressions appear and disappear so fast I’d miss them if I blinked. Then he crumbles.
Everyone else laughs, too, and I fall a little bit more in love.
* * *
I have a new understanding of Jake now that I’ve met his family. And at the same time, I have more questions. What led him down such a different path from his siblings? How did he end up in London, all alone in that big, empty flat?
A three-piece band arrives midway through the night.
Their setlist is a combination of classic pub tunes and lively Christmas carols.
Dancing shakes the entire place. Before long, Jake’s siblings leave us alone at the table to join the ceilidh.
The moment we’re alone, he turns to me, taking my hand in his.
“What Miles said, earlier.” Quietly, he says, “Her name is Juno. The one I told you about. I brought her here for Christmas last year so she wasn’t alone over the holidays, but I swear to you, Evie, we really are just friends.”
So this is what it’s like, being met with openness and honesty in the face of a potential misunderstanding. I didn’t even have to be the one who brought it up. “I believe you.”
Jake’s shoulders relax, and he holds my hand a bit tighter. “Actually, I had a suspicion that Miles carried a bit of a torch for her. After his little swipe at me, I’m certain of it.”
“Do you think they’d notice if we left a bit early?”
“What are you suggesting, Miss McClane?”
“Let’s get out of here.”