Page 45 of Someone For Everyone

Surely not?She touched her neck, only to feel soft wool. It was official: she was losing her mind. ‘Don’t say a word.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Suppressing his grin, he pointed to a row of stalls set up outside the village shops. ‘Mulled wine? Mince pie?’

As she looked over, it occurred to her that it was just the two of them left – everyone else had disappeared. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. ‘Yes, okay… but I could do with proper food first. I skipped dinner and I’m starving.’

‘You also skipped lunch.’

She folded her arms. ‘What are you, the food police? Anyway, I didn’t skip lunch, I had crisps.’

‘Crisps are not lunch. And they’re not healthy.’

She shook her head. ‘You sound like my mum.’

‘Good. Then maybe you’ll listen to me… Katiekins.’ He steered her towards the food stalls.

She laughed, even though she wasn’t sure about being called ‘Katiekins’ by anyone other than her mum. Nonetheless, she allowed him to lead her over to a stall selling hot food – she was too hungry to argue. ‘What’s your nickname?’ she asked, needing to redress the balance.

‘Don’t have one.’ He pointed to the menu board. ‘What do you fancy?’

‘All footballers have nicknames.’ She read the list of options. They had everything from hot dogs to melted-brie-and-cranberry toasties. Her stomach growled appreciatively.

He was standing next to her, looking fashionably warm in his layered outfit of brown jacket over a green hoodie. ‘Know a lot about being a footballer, do you?’

‘I know enough.’ She glanced up, noticing the way his hair was tucked through the gap of his baseball cap. ‘What was it? Johno? Jonnyboy? Boris?’

He laughed. ‘None of the above. I told you, I don’t have a nickname.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ She returned to studying the menu. ‘I’ll find out, you know.’

‘No, you won’t. Now concentrate.’ He pointed to the menu board. ‘What do you want?’

‘Chilli, please.’

He dug out his wallet. ‘I’m paying for this, so don’t even bother arguing.’

‘Fine.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Thank you. You can deduct it from my bill.’ She ignored the look he shot her. Behind them a group of people had congregated on a makeshift stage. ‘What does your mum call you?’

For a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he said, ‘My family call me Cal.’ He turned away to order the food.

Kate watched the activity taking place on the stage. A man was tapping a microphone, and a plump Father Christmas was entertaining the kids congregated below. The village square was packed with people milling about, enjoying the festive atmosphere. It was a heart-warming sight.

‘Here you go.’ Calvin handed her a carton, complete with plastic fork and festive napkins.

The chilli smelt fantastic. She took a mouthful, sucking in cool air when she realised it was hot. ‘Aren’t you having anything?’

‘Maybe later. I’ve already eaten.’ He watched her eat. ‘Good?’

‘Really good.’

‘Is your appetite improving?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ She ate some more. ‘This is delicious.’

He seemed to study her. ‘Then how come you still skip meals?’

She lifted her shoulders. ‘Too busy, I guess. Before I didn’t eat because I didn’t want to. Now it’s because I get engrossed in what I’m doing and forget. Usually, Geraldine or Esme bring me something if they know I haven’t eaten, so I’m never going to starve.’

He rubbed his forehead. ‘You need to take regular breaks, Kate. I don’t want you working yourself into the ground. Or, you know… having a panic attack.’ He’d lowered his voice, as if fearful of being overheard.

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