Soft. Soft. Pulling the covers over me. No need to get up yet.
‘I thought that might be our house,’ Dream Sully is saying to Leo.
Sweet Sully. Sounds like he’s blushing. There’s laughter. A kiss.
Oh, I don’t want to get out of bed. It’s still early.
There are children laughing. Getting louder. Footsteps…
Footsteps?
I jolt awake the second the school bell rings.
‘Oh no! Oh no!’ My heart’s pounding. I cover my ears. Was I drinking last night? Was I…?
‘Oh shit!’ Patrick says, springing awake beside me.
We’ve slept the night away on the floor of the grotto, wrapped in metres of red velvet drape and our winter coats.
Patrick’s bleary-eyed but on his feet already, buttoning his shirt.
‘Shh!’ I pull him towards me. I jab my finger in the direction of our exhibit. ‘Out there behind the screens, I think I heard Sully and Leo. They can’t know we’re here,’ I whisper.
The sound of children chattering gets louder and my tired eyes bulge.
‘We have a very special surprise for you, Year One,’ says a teacher just outside the hall doors.
Oh my God! The kids are coming in here!
Patrick rushes over to where we chucked off our shoes and bundles them up in his arms.
‘Handbag, handbag,’ I hiss, and he has to run back to locate it.
‘This way.’ He yanks me towards the side fire exit, keys in a code, presses the bar lock down, and we’re outside in the icy chill of Wednesday morning.
I hear the kids filing into the exhibition, still beautifully lit from the night before. They’re gasping and shrieking at the transformation in their gymnasium just as Patrick eases the door closed behind us.
We pull on our boots and outer layers in the bitter cold. It’s only just growing light out here behind the school by the big bins.
‘I was only going to close my eyes for a minute,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ he laughs. ‘How is it eight forty-five? Come here.’ He leads me further round the back of the school and into a padlocked shed he has the keys for.
‘I can make you coffee?’ he says once we’re inside. There’s barely room to move for piled logs, tools and stacks of papers, but I see a kettle and a mini fridge.
‘I should get back. Lucy won’t know where I am.’ I check my phone. No messages. No missed calls.
Patrick notices and says with a smile. ‘I reckon she has a pretty good idea where you are. Or at least who you’re with.’
‘Oh God,’ I laugh, my face in my hands. ‘You should get to work. Leo… Mr Bold will be wondering where you are.’
‘Not yet,’ he says, firing up the heater at my feet and straightening up before me, taking my hands in his. ‘Come here.’ He pulls me into a hug.
‘I feel like we were at a party and we drank a bottle of vodka,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ he says, still holding on. ‘It’s the exhaustion. I can’t believe we’ve got the gingerbread grotto ready in time.’
I pinch my eyelids with my fingertips, still leaning firmly against Patrick’s chest. ‘My head hurts.’
