Page 46 of The Start of the Story
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Well, I’ve had a shout at the Met Office so that was therapeutic.’
I stared at him, kettle suspended halfway to the tap. ‘You rang the Met Office to tell them off because it snowed more than you thought it would?’
A half-laugh. ‘No, no, of course not. It’s not their fault. I shouted at the app. Then I checked the news and the forecast, and it’s set to freeze. Looks like we’ve got another Beast from the East.’ Another mirthless laugh. ‘All the planes are grounded anyway, so I might get my money back for the missed flight.’
‘Urgh.’ I filled the kettle, glad that I’d closed the office now and didn’t have to even pretend to try to struggle up the hill out of the little valley. ‘Chess did say they were forecasting a white Christmas.’
‘So, anyway, I rang home and cancelled myself.’
The kettle wobbled as I had a momentary panic. Hehadto go! I needed to get my thoughts in order and my equilibrium back. ‘Can’t you go tomorrow? Or the day after?’
Connor gave his phone another resentful look, as though it were responsible for the sudden change of plan, and then put it firmly down on the table. ‘Tomorrow doesn’t look much better, and the day after is Christmas Eve,’ he said.
‘Yes, but things still move.’ My voice had a slight note of terror, it was high and a bit strained. ‘People travel on Christmas Eve. They’re noted for it, in fact. I think there’s even a film about it.’
He looked at me curiously. ‘I know. But it’s hardly fair to Mam and the family, to have them all on edge about whether or not I’m going to come walking in like the return of the prodigal, is it, now? Better for their planning to say I’m not going to be there, than to have them panicking about the number of sprouts and puddings they need.’
‘Oh.’ This sensible and considerate thought hadn’t occurred to me.
‘But I won’t be a nuisance. I won’t interfere with your Christmas plans; I can make myself a cheese sandwich and get some work done.’
‘I don’thaveany Christmas plans.’
‘You were going to Chess’s open house, I thought. Cocktails, wasn’t it, now?’ He put his head on one side and looked at me from under a flap of hair.
‘I only said I might,’ I said defensively, aware that I knew as well as he did that the chances were high that inertia would have kept me in the cottage. I might haveintendedto drive the twenty miles to Chess’s place, and throw myself into partying and playing daft games, but, ultimately, would I have really done it? Or would I have walked the silent lanes and come back to wrap myself in a blanket and remember past Christmases, as I’ddone for the last three years, because it was easier? Easier to live with memories than make new ones.
‘Ah, well. If all this melts tomorrow I can take myself off to York or somewhere. I’ve a few of the lecturers who have offered me Christmas dinner and a sofa if I want, if I couldn’t make it back to Dublin.’
‘That’s… nice of them.’ I didn’t know what I wanted in that moment. The snow to instantly vanish, and Connor miraculously to be able to go back to Dublin? Or a forecast thaw, with him heading to a Christmas lunch in York, where they would discuss current historical theories over a turkey and drink thick red wine with pudding and talk about Romans?
Or him, here? Captive, in the cottage over Christmas, which sounded disturbingly like the title of a Hallmark Christmas movie – that, or a Stephen King book.
I became aware that I was staring at him, blankly. ‘You can stay here,’ I said. ‘There’s food.’
‘I know. I put most of it in the cupboard last night.’
My confused thoughts were interrupted by a peremptory rapping on the window. An orange eye was angling in, and feet paddled on the ledge.
‘The ducks are waiting for their toast,’ Connor observed neutrally. He didn’t seem upset by my seeming lack of enthusiasm at probably being stuck with him, snowed up for Christmas.
‘Yes, yes, we ought to have breakfast. Of course.’
He stood up. I thought he was going straight for the toaster, but he came across to me and touched my shoulder gently. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It really is.’ Then he scuffled over to the bread bin and began making toast and tea, without elaborating on what it was that was okay.
Did he mean that it was all right that we hadn’t exactly got a complement of Christmas foods? Or was he reassuring me thathis family wouldn’t mind this sudden change of plan? Or that his presence wouldn’t disrupt my own Christmas festivities?
Or was he telling me that this Christmas was going to be different? Which, of course, it was, obviously. I was trapped in my own house with a man who… well, he was still my adversary in the matter of folklore versus history, but apart from that… I didn’t quite know how I was meant to be reacting to him.
‘I’ll probably be up in my room for most of the day today,’ Connor said eventually, bringing the toast over to the table. ‘I’ve got a little bit of work to do – I was going to sort it out over in Ireland, but I can do it here as well as anywhere. So you don’t need to worry about amusing me.’
‘I wasn’t in the least worried about amusing you,’ I said briskly. ‘You’re stuck here, you can amuse yourself.’
He laughed. ‘Ah, go on, a little bit of amusement between us wouldn’t be a bad thing!’
I wondered what form he thought this amusement would take, and concentrated very hard on my toast.
