“Is everyone in your family anosmic?” I ask.
“No, just me. Which is strange because I think it’s hereditary,” Harry replies, sending my panic spiralling further.
“These nibbles taste weird,” Callum says.
“Let me try one,” Katey says, taking the platterfrom her son.
But before she can confirm anything, I’ve already figured out what’s happened.
“Harry, I need to leave,” I say as Katey says, “Oh, you know, this tastes like that almond and oat cream cheese that our Jen uses.”
Harry looks at me, looks at his sister, at the tray of mostly devoured canapés, and back to me, my panic mirrored in his gaze. “Okay, I’ll drive us to mine,” he says, getting to his feet. Not,“We can’t leave yet.”Not,“But it’s Christmas.”Not,“I’m staying with my family.”
“Where are you two going?” one of the twins says. I’m freaking out too much about shitting myself in Harry’s childhood home in front of his entire family and don’t have any spare spoons to work out which twin said it.
“We’re going back to my flat because this little ass-nugget poisoned my boyfriend.” Harry points at Casper.
Instead of denying it, Casper puts his hands on his hips. “Wait a minute, this morning you said he wasn’t your boyfriend. Pick a lane.”
“My keys are in the kitchen.” Harry pulls my arm, dragging me through the house.
“Bye, everyone. Sorry about this. It was nice to meet you all,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’m going home with Lando. Casper gave him the wrong cheese,” Harry says, interrupting whatever conversation Donna, Jason, Lionel, and Toby are having in the kitchen.
Donna gasps and places her hand in front of her face. “Oh my god, no. That was my fault. I must have mixed up the Phillies. I thought I had it . . .” She looks on the edge of breaking down.
I’m just trying to hold in my farts that might be more than farts.
“It’s fine, but we’re gonna go. Lan’s got logs to deliver.”
Lionel gives a nervous laugh, his expression falling into horror when he sees no one else is laughing.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll plate you boys something up and bring it round tonight. Where are you going? Back to yours, Har?” Donna chases us through the house and out to Harry’s little Ford Fiesta.
It should be a ten-minute drive to Harry’s flat, but it’s Christmas Day and the roads are empty.The Muppet Christmas Carolsoundtrack blasts through Harry’s speakers, as it has done since the first of November. Harry sings along, adorable and tuneless as usual. It’s almost enough to divert my attention from my insurrectionist bowels.
“Can you drive faster?” I ask, clenching as though my life depends on it. Clenching as I have never clenched before.
“I’ll try, but don’t worry if . . . you know. I’m not bothered.”
“You don’t care if I get shit all over your seat?” I say, half laughing.
“Honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to pay for the professional removal of bodily fluids.” Harry puts his foot down and speeds through a light as it turns amber. “Not shit, but one time I really needed a wee on the motorway, and the next services were like twenty miles away. So . . . I only had this empty Fanta bottle, yeah?”
I wince, already knowing where this story is heading.
“I had no idea that you need to put a straw in the bottle or leave a gap because of the airflow or whatever.”
“Nooo,” I say, palming my face, but at least it’s distracting me from the pain. “Babes!” Okay, now I’m laughing. “You poor baby.”
“Piss everywhere. Luckily I couldn’t smell it, but I had to get the inside valeted for everyone else’s benefit. So don’t worry if the worst happens. I know a good place to take the car for cleaning.”
Outside Harry’s flat, he tosses me his house key. “Downstairs door code is nineteen sixty-nine. I’ll park up and come find you.”
“Okay,” I say, launching myself out of his car and running into his block. The big front door is already open. Someone’s just leaving for a Christmas Day walk with their King Charles Spaniel. “Merry Christmas!” I scream as I fling myself up the endless flights of stairs, and they stare bewilderedly after me.
I don’t make it in time. Story of my life. But my timing has only ruined my underpants, and thankfully not my Balmain jeans. I take both off and I’m on the toilet before I can defile Harry’s floor tiles.
