When I come back, Crumpet is by the window, looking at something in the garden. He gives a low growl. Probably seen a rabbit. I go over and peer out, and a figure in a dark coat suddenly appears in front of the window, and I let out a scream. Crumpet leaps up excitedly. Oh god, it gets worse. Does the guest house manager perv through the windows? The figure turns to face me, and then I realise—I know those googly eyes.
Chapter 12
Heaving up the sash window, I poke my head out into the icy air. ‘What the fuck? You scared me half to death!’
Bailey pulls a contrite face. ‘Uh, sorry. I wasn’t sure which room was yours. Then I saw Crumpet. Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.’ He jigs around on the frozen ground, crushing plants underfoot.
I step back, and Bailey awkwardly folds himself under the lip of the window. He slides forward on the sill and tumbles through onto the carpet, narrowly missing the stain.
After he’s in, I yank down the window sharply, shutting off the flow of cold air and turn on him. ‘Why the hell are you lurking around in the garden?’ My relief at seeing him makes the words come out sharper than I intended. Crumpet whines at my tone.
Bailey gets up and brushes off his coat while Crumpet bounces around him. He rubs his head. ‘Hey, boy. I tried reception, but that guy refused to let me see you. Grumpy bastard, what’s with him?’
I agree. But because I’m perverse, I stick up for the grumpy bastard. ‘He’s just making sure guests aren’t harassed.’
Bailey raises his eyebrows, and I fold my arms defensively. ‘Well?’ I ask, resisting the urge to tap my foot.
‘Something wasn’t sitting right about you being here. Then I thought maybe “I’m visiting my grandmother” was a euphemism for “I’m escaping my abusive boyfriend”.’
His gaze shifts to my red, watery eyes and the crumpled piece of toilet paper I’m still clutching in my fist.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You’re on the run from some jerk.’
I quickly stuff the toilet paper into my pocket out of sight.
‘There’s no abusive boyfriend.’
‘Then why are you crying?’
‘I ... I just have a cold.’
Bailey looks disbelieving. He strides to the wardrobe and yanks it open, then does the same with the bathroom door. ‘Just as I thought—no sweet little old grannie. I think you’d better spill the beans about why you’re choosing to stay in this ...’ He eyes the ripped wallpaper and wrinkles his snub nose. ‘Shitty hole for Christmas.’
‘It’s a long story.’
He sits on the bed, making the springs creak alarmingly, and crosses his legs at the ankles. He pats the space beside him. ‘I’ve got time.’
I hesitate. Should I tell him? On one hand, it would be a relief. But he’ll want to see the TikTok, and I’m ashamed of my anti-festive rant. Bailey is so pro-Christmas that he might be disgusted, and I realise that I don’t want that. I want him to like me, even if it’s only a smidgeon.
Feeling like I’m going to my execution, I perch next to him on the bed, being careful not to bump elbows. Crumpet flops by my feet and heaves a sigh, as if to say ‘Here we go’.
‘I couldn’t stand to be in my flat for Christmas. It felt like the walls were closing in on me ...’ I say in a faltering voice.
‘Go on,’ Bailey says in an encouraging tone.
‘So ... I decided to go to Inverness for a bit. I thought I’d book somewhere to stay en route, but all the guest houses were full apart from this place. Then the train broke down, and I met you ... And you were asking all these questions. I didn’t want to admit I was alone for Christmas like a loser. So yes, I fibbed about my grandmother.’
Bailey silently digests this.
Please let him believe me. It’s partly the truth, the watered-down version.
‘Do you really want to stay here?’ he asks slowly.
I shake my head. ‘Not particularly.’
‘Then I think you should come back to the house with me. This place is dire.’ He looks at the stain on the carpet. ‘I think someone’s bled to death over there.’
I breathe out in relief. ‘If that’s still an option, thanks. But one question.’
