Page 113 of Unbind

‘Hi, Adam.’

I swallow. ‘Hi, Stephen.’ Hastily, I shift the hamper to my left arm and stick out my right hand. He gapes at it.

Please don’t leave me hanging on Christmas Eve mate, even though you have every reason in the world to do it and I deserve exactly that.

He holds his hand out and shakes mine. It’s a firm handshake, I think. A committed one. It’s not fearful; it doesn’t seem unwillingly given.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I say as we shake.

He nods curtly, as if embarrassed, and jerks his head to the left. ‘Come on through.’

As I follow him through the narrow hallway with its jaunty festoons of Christmas cards tacked to hanging ribbons, I find I’m shaking as if I’ve just braved a bungee jump. The fading adrenalin has me feeling weak and oddly weepy, too.

I’ve done it.

I’ve shaken Stephen Bennett by the hand.

He may not have given me the warmest welcome, but he was civil. Far more civil than our past warrants.

My reward for jumping off this metaphorical cliff reveals itself before we’ve cleared the hallway. My girlfriend comes out of a doorway at a trot, her arms full of a lovely baby girl who appears to be dressed as Mrs Claus. Nat’s a vision in a belted sweater dress and the thigh-high, chocolate brown stiletto boots I insisted (for my own nefarious reasons) on purchasing for her in Stuart Weitzman when we were stateside.

I break out a genuine smile, because she’s a total knockout.

‘Hi,’ she says breathlessly, pulling me into a group hug with the baby and kissing me on the lips. ‘Sorry—I was trying to give this one her bottle or I would have got the door.’

‘Hey, sweetheart,’ I say. ‘You look beautiful. And this must be Chloe, right?’

‘Mrs Claus to you,’ Stephen says stiffly, and I recognise and appreciate the gesture of his awkward little joke.

‘Hi, Mrs Claus.’ I tickle her under her chin before pulling my hand away, conscious that, while Stephen may be making uneasy peace with the idea of me dating his little sister, he may not be ready for me to lay a finger on his beautiful baby daughter. Even if she’s beaming at me with all the judgement-free, drooly joy of a true innocent as Nat hands her back to her brother.

I know enough about what Nat’s early years looked like. I know what she lost in material comforts. This house may not be a mansion in the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, but the Bennetts now have a decent-sized home. What’s more, the warmth here is palpable before I’m even in the living room. There’s no faking a vibe like this.

‘There he is!’ Adelaide approaches as we enter what looks to be the main living room, her arms outstretched and a smile so genuine at the sight of me that I could weep. She’s wearing a long red dress and looks as elegant as always.

Behind her, the room is aglow with what looks like a real fire. A plump tree stands in the corner, decorated with the multi-coloured jumble of decorations that families tend to accumulate over years and decades.

‘We’re so happy to see you, sweetie,’ she says as she hugs me around the hamper. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ I say, a little more hoarsely than I’d like. This is an emotional overload: being invited into the Bennett’s home on such a special occasion; seeing Stephen; having to look Noel in the eye. So Adelaide’s generous, effusive greeting feels like a gift. ‘This is for you and Noel,’ I say, glancing over her shoulder at her husband, who’s hovering behind her.

‘Oh heavens,’ she says, taking it from me. ‘How lovely. Fortnum’s! My favourite.’

‘Adam.’ Nat’s dad steps around his wife, holding out his hand. ‘It’s good to have you here, son. Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas, Noel.’ I can scarcely get the words out, and when I do, my voice cracks. Dear God. These people are so… there’s no animosity. Awkwardness, yes, but no sign of hostility or even conflict. They seem genuinely at peace with my being here.

I have no idea what kind of conversations Adelaide has had to have with Noel and Stephen to bring them around to the idea of my being in Nat’s life, let alone stepping foot in their family home. All I know is that the woman’s warmth, her compassion, is a gift, and I can only conclude it’s infectious.

‘Thank you so much for welcoming me into your home,’ I tell Noel and Adelaide now as she offloads the hamper onto him. ‘It means the world to me.’

She lays a kindly hand on my arm. ‘Of course, dear. We wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, I’m sure you could use a stiff drink after walking into the lion’s den.’

I laugh awkwardly, because it’s an apt metaphor. ‘Not at all. And I’m driving this one back later’—I gesture at Nat, who has her hand on my bicep, a show of support that grounds me—‘so I’ll stay off the booze, if that’s okay.’

‘I’ve made virgin mojitos,’ Nat says with a grin, and that gets a real laugh from me.

‘How festive.’

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