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“This the kind of thing you’re teaching in your school, huh? Remind me to tell Mark not to send Freya there when she’s old enough.”
She waved him away. “I DO love you both,” she insisted—and he knew she was more than a little tipsy, because Priya didn’t always hand out affection easily. “Please don’t ever break up, okay? I want us to still be doing this when we’re in our eighties. Hopefully by then I’ll be with someone other than Ross.” She squinted. “Where is he?”
“Hopefully not near enough to hear you say that,” Mel said, her lips twitching.
Finn swung his arm around Priya, squeezed her gently. “And don’t worry,” he said. “We won’t break up.” He smiled at Mel and she looked right back, unflinching. He’d been so confident, so sure. In that moment, he never would have questioned that she would be his for life.
Shows how much he knew, doesn’t it?
Priya shoved his arm away. “Okay, I better go look for him. I invited him on this holiday; he’s my responsibility.” She got to her feet, a little unsteadily, and headed toward the villa.
Finn looked over at Mel. “Would you ever actually want to move abroad somewhere like this?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said lazily. “It’s not realistic, is it? I know in theory I can make jewelry from anywhere, but I need to sort the business—and London is the place for that.”
She lowered her sunglasses, watching him—and she knew he was wondering if, maybe, London could be the place for him too. She wouldn’t ask, though—wouldn’t pressure him. For now, they were making it work, a combination of staying at her flat with Priya, and her coming to visit him in whichever house he was working on. The most recent house, near Oxford, they’d stayed at for a long weekend, living among the rubble, her helping him to smash down a wall and apparently loving every minute of it. They’d had sex against what remained of the wall, dust in her hair, disarray all around them, so that they’d felt free to do whatever the fuck they wanted.
“What are you thinking about?” Mel asked.
“You,” he answered honestly.
She grinned. “Explains the drool.”
He laughed. “Just the house I’m doing up.”
“I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished.” No mention of what would happen afterward—where he’d go next.
No, Mel wouldn’t push him. And he’d always shied away from London, never thought that the nine-to-five office haul, the chaos of the capital city would be for him. But now, watching her here under the sun, he wondered if he had that wrong. He wondered if, maybe, for her, he could do it.
Chapter Seventeen
Two days to Christmas
Mel wakes while the house is still quiet and sleeping, the world outside pitch-black from what she can see through the sliver of window behind the curtains. She shivers, pulling the duvet closer to her for a moment. It is colder, without the heat of Finn’s body next to her—because last night he’d insisted he sleep on the floor, barely fitting in the space between the bed and the door. They’d had a hushed argument about how ridiculous that was, potentially fueled by both the alcohol and all the unsaid things between them at the pub.
You will be so uncomfortable.
It’ll be more comfortable than sleeping next to you, trust me.
And, again, that echo of one more thing he’d said on the street outside. Maybe, Mel, I just can’t fucking help myself when I’m around you.
At least she’d actually slept, though, which is an improvement from the night before. Only, now, she’s wide awake. She grabs her phone off the bedside table. 5 a.m. She lies still for a couple more minutes, then gives up, throwing the duvet off her and scrabbling around in the dark to find a cardigan, which she pulls on over her pajamas.
She steps as quietly as she can over Finn’s sleeping form, opening the bedroom door just wide enough to slip out and tiptoe down the stairs, wincing at each creak. She switches the light on when she reaches the kitchen, her feet cold on the tiles, then blinks. Through the French doors she can see the back garden—which is currently completely white.
Snow. There’s snow outside.
She feels a childish excitement rise within her, wants to go and wake someone up, to tell them about it—but of course it’s far too early. But she can’t resist grabbing her trainers and stepping outside, relishing the feel of fresh snow crunching under her feet. It’s not very deep, but there are still some tiny snowflakes falling—and there’s enough to build a snowman, surely.
She pulls her cardigan closer to her, the tips of her fingers turning icy. She smiles. There is something magical about being out here in the early morning, before it’s light, like the snow is her secret. She tilts her face up to the cold, feels a snowflake land on her cheek and melt. And lets out a long, slow breath.
When she goes back inside, she makes herself a cup of tea to warm up, then clings to the Aga as she listens to a couple of voice notes from Priya. It’s got to be midafternoon in Australia, and she wonders what Priya is doing now—it’s school holidays so she won’t be working. Priya sounds upbeat as she tells Mel that she and some colleagues are going for a “barbie,” that it’s actually easier to be vegetarian than she thought there, that she’s thinking of taking up surfing. Mel thinks of her assertion that Priya would meet a surfer out there and snorts quietly to herself.
But underneath the positivity, Mel feels as if there is something in Priya’s tone she can’t quite read. She’s probably trying too hard to make something out of it—it does sound totally dreamy, living right next to the beach, spending Christmas in the sun. Priya finishes with asking Mel if she should come home for New Year’s Eve.
What do you reckon? I can be there on the thirtieth and we can make a plan to go somewhere fun. Edinburgh again? Or, actually, maybe not, sorry. We could even just do London, you know, go really big, I’m sure we could get in last minute somewhere. You can tell me all about the holiday and I’ll tell you about it all here. And then if you’re feeling sad I can be there to cheer you up.
It is carefully put—but Mel knows Priya is worried that there will be a fallout after this week with Finn. That maybe Mel will fall to pieces after it’s done, no matter what she keeps insisting. In all honesty, Mel is starting to worry about that too—but she puts that to one side for now, and records her message on WhatsApp.
