I get the feeling she’s taking her time on purpose.
Patrick looks like he’s debating whether to just turn and go. The muscles in his jaw work and it’s a good twenty seconds before he can lift his eyes to mine. When he does, he blurts the words out.
‘Listen, I’m not on the Dunham rota for Saturday night, and Shell said you’d roped her in to playing Santa Claus at the grotto’s opening weekend. I think you should come with me to Dunham Gravey to see what all the fuss is about.’
‘Is this about what Izz said? The friend zone thing? Because you know she’d been…’ I mime Izz knocking back the mulled wine and going cross-eyed, but he won’t be consoled.
‘No, it’s not that…’
‘There’s no need,’ I say in my friendliest, lightest voice. ‘We’re fine, Patrick. We’re friends. All right? I get it. There’s no need to prove anything.’
‘What? I’m not… Look, I haven’t seen you properly in ages, and we should spend an afternoon together doing something… fun.’
I think of Rusty and his definition of fun. Rusty couldn’t be further from loyal, solid Patrick.
‘I mean,’ Patrick says, still rushing his words, his hands stubbornly jammed in his pockets. ‘You have this irrational dislike of the Dunham lights; why don’t you come see them for yourself? Maybe you’ll pick up some tips for when the gingerbread exhibit kicks off again next year?’
‘First off, my dislike of that place is totally rational,’ I say. ‘Secondly, Patrick, my gingerbread grotto days are over. I’ve been feeling it for a while now and watching that film of Mum’s exhibit really underlines that. This is my last year here… on the committee,’ I add hurriedly.
The concern in his eyes fades away. He probably thinks I’m just overtired too.
‘Maybe you just need some time away from Wheaton? And gingerbread?’
I lift my eyes in surprise. ‘You think I should get away from here too?’
‘Course I do. Come with me to Dunham. A few hours away will cheer you up.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. A few hours. Well then, sure.’ I shrug, accepting his offer.
‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘I’ll pick you up at four. Wear something warm, OK?’
‘Can I bring Lucy?’
‘Uh…’ He’s blinking at me, not sure what to say. He had no intention of taking both of us. I can hear Izz’s voice ringing in my ears.You, Patrick Wootton, have been friend zoned.
‘Sorry. Just me. That’s fine,’ I tell him.
His shoulders drop a fraction. ‘Four o’clock, Saturday,’ he says, backing away, bringing his hands together in a clap like he’s catching a baseball in a mitt, pleased with himself. ‘Warm clothes,’ he shouts as he passes Lucy carrying the projector down the path.
‘I’ll be Arctic-expedition ready,’ I reply stupidly.
We both watch him drive away.
‘Old-school date, is it?’ Lucy smirks by my shoulder.
‘What? No.’ I wave away the suggestion and immediately busy myself with my keys. ‘It’s not a date,’ I repeat as I let us both inside, but that’s not what my traitorous body is telling me. My heart’s pounding and the back of my neck’s gone all hot.
‘Sure it’s not. Try telling Izz that when she’s had half a cup of mulled wine.’ Her voice is droll and amused.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ I tell her. ‘Make the cocoa.’
She sniffs a laugh at my stubbornness and sets the projector down, and in spite of myself, I find I want to laugh too.
Chapter Thirteen
Overnight
I barely slept, and not just because of the rain lashing at the windows like ice pellets.
