‘Not especially. Not if it would bother you?’
Patrick nods like he’s reassuring himself. ‘OK.’
‘You should call him, though. Say goodbye properly.’
‘I might,’ he says, and things go quiet for an awkward moment.
‘Did you tell your brother to stay away from me?’ I ask, but I don’t add ‘because you don’t want to lose me,’ like Charlie said.
He can’t meet my eye. He changes drill bits instead, acting occupied. Eventually, because I’m just standing over him refusing to give up now it feels like we might actually be talking about something important for once, he says, ‘I can’t tell anyone who to date, or who not to date, but…’ he sighs like he’s giving up an internal battle. ‘I told him not to go hurting you… after everything you’ve been through lately.’
Oh God, that is so like Patrick. Why must he be so nice?
I smile when he flits his eyes to mine. He’s searching for signs I’m disappointed or offended, maybe?
‘If your brother had asked me out, I wouldn’t have said yes anyway.’
‘OK,’ he says again, looking a tiny bit relieved.
‘In fact, I am romanticising my own life,’ I add, grandly.
‘What does that mean?’ He looks sceptical.
‘It means I’ve had enough with random Kenneths and Rustys and Charlies.’
He throws me another quick glance then sets to work once more. I have to raise my voice to speak over the sound of his drill.
‘I deleted my dating app,’ I tell him. ‘Won’t be doing that again in a hurry.’
Suddenly, Patrick stops and straightens up, hands on his tool belt. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Good to know. Sensible.’
There’s another quiet moment where I don’t know what to think or how to act. Have I said the wrong thing? Thankfully, Patrick fixes things with an abrupt change of subject, pointing out that our exhibit looks underpopulated.
‘Is this some kind of commentary on second-home ownership in the Cotswolds or something?’
‘Hadn’t thought of that,’ I laugh weakly, catching my breath after the awkwardness. ‘The school kids will be bringing their own crowds of gingerbread people tomorrow, after Sully and me—’
‘And me!’ cuts in Lucy, who I hadn’t realised was eavesdropping all this time. Did she hear that whole weird thing about Charlie, and Patrick telling him to leave me alone? I won’t hear the end of it if she did.
‘Yes, you too, Luce, after we’ve had our icing party at the school.’
‘So Mr Bold softened then?’ Patrick looks impressed.
‘Like month-old gingerbread,’ I say, proudly.
‘I think Sullivan Scrimengor had something to do with it,’ Lucy adds, and I hear Fern mumble her agreement from behind her phone screen where she’s typing away busily.
‘I heard they were going out for dinner in Broadway tonight,’ Lucy adds.
‘So romantic,’ Shell says, now that she’s got the churchyard finished.
‘It is,’ Lucy says, then adds in an oddly exaggerated manner, ‘Christmas is a time for asking people out on romantic dates.’
Izz wanders in from the foyer bringing the smell of cinnamon and oranges studded with cloves all prepped for tomorrow’s mulled wine. ‘Who’s asking who on a romantic date?’ she says, innocently enough. I notice her lips are pink. She’s had a snifter of red wine while setting up the refreshments stand. All the young ones exchange glances and smile.
‘What’s this?’ Patrick asks, as confused as I am.
‘Oh! I see,’ Izz says, a little less innocently, looking from the giggling Fern to me then back again. ‘Well, asking someone out on a romantic date is the only way out of the… the, um, the, um, what did you call it, Fern dear?’
