Page 32 of Under the Mistletoe with You

A furious flush creeps all over Christopher’s body, and before he can give a second’s thought about his body turning the colour of a very ripe strawberry, he storms into the bathroom and slams the door.

It takes a moment for the shower to heat up, so he lets it run, and almost jumps out of his skin when he catches his eerily pale reflection in the bathroom mirror.He looks like a ghost thanks to Nash’s little home gym situation.

Obviously, today was going to be complicated, but he hadn’t expected it to involve a veritable bomb of flour.And he doesn’t even want to think about how much that cost, on top of the refund for Nash’s stay.That minus number in his bank account is growing by the second.Maybe he can get a refund for his train tickets as he couldn’t go yesterday?Perhaps Nash will offer to cover the flour?He hates talking about money, but he might have to.

The shower doesn’t help, really.Being a baker, he probably should have remembered that flour and water makes a sticky proto-dough paste, and so he’s halfway to making a decent flatbread by the time he realises.Naturally, it doesn’t go down the drain.It gathers in sad-looking clumps around his feet.The shower needs a clean now, but that can wait until Nash has de-floured too.Two shampoos gets much of it out, and once he’s wrapped in clean towels and moisturised, Christopher feels a little bit more himself.

His clothes wait outside in the suitcase, and while he doesn’t really want to go wandering around in just his towel, given Nash just saw him in pants and socks, it can’t get much worse.

When he leaves the bathroom, he sees that Nash is still standing at the top of the stairs, arms held out from his side as if he’s malfunctioned.

‘What are you doing?’Christopher asks.

‘I’m not moving, as you instructed.’

Is Nash taking the piss or behaving?It’s unclear, so he splits the difference and ignores this comment.‘Your turn.There are towels in there.’

‘Thanks.’With a stiff and very careful walk, presumably so as not to dislodge any more flour, Nash waddles into the bathroom.At the top of the stairs where he was standing is a small mound of flour.

It’s freezing cold in the living room, so Christopher turns up the heating and hopes this doesn’t mean the weather is worse today.He hasn’t even been able to check, with therude awakening and all the chaos.There’s no gale battering the windows though.

Worried Nash is going to appear again, he dresses hurriedly under his towel into a pair of nice blue jeans and a warm oatmeal Henley top under a thickly knitted jumper with a high collar.His hairdryer is in the bedroom, but as he doesn’t want to risk another semi-naked Nash interaction, he does his best with the towel.

He is damp and cold and annoyed, and he hates to be any of those individually, never mind all three at once.

To add salt into the wound, the doorbell rings.

Christ.Who on earth could that be?

He slings his damp towel on the hallway radiator – optimistic, as it very rarely manages to churn out any heat, no matter how often he bleeds it – and stomps down the stairs.When he flings open the door, he does so with a little too much gusto, causing it to bang against the internal wall.

‘All right, drama,’ croaks Shaz.

‘Shaz!’he cries with relief, pulling her into a hug.She’s wrapped up in her enormous puffer and so much knitwear that only the pink tip of her nose peeps out.He’s pretty sure she’s wearing two scarves today.

‘I knew you couldn’t last without me,’ she laughs.

‘Come in.There’s no reindeer as I didn’t get a chance to bake yet, but I can do a coffee.’

‘Oh, you treasure, if you insist.’She knocks her knee-high snow boots against the door frame as she comes in, dislodging snow onto the mat.It reminds Christopher of this morning.

‘Come through the kitchen.’

‘Ooh, the behind-the-scenes tour.I feel special.You’ve never let me in here before.’

‘Christmas treat.But don’t get too excited.And, err, don’t touch anything.’He flicks the lights back on, and Shaz gasps.Even though they swept up and dusted off a lot of the flour, there’s still a fine layer of it everywhere.

‘Bloody hell, what happened in here?Looks like Miss Havisham’s place.’

‘Well, that’s part of the whole ...situation.Come on.’

As they walk through, he realises how cold and quiet it is in here.It’s weird, not having the machines on at this time of day, nothing baking or proving or cooling.It’s like a dusty old mausoleum.

In the café side, Shaz de-robes, creating a little Shaz-shaped pile of outdoor wear on one of the counter stools.Free of her many layers, she joins him behind the counter, which she knows she’s not allowed to do.But he lets her off; it’s not as if there are customers here.She’s leaning against the cupboard with the Biscoff biscuits.He gestures for her to open it up and when she finds them, she makes a low noise of glee.

‘How is Gar doing?’Christopher asks as he fires up the coffee machine.

In answer, she shakes her head and shrugs at once.‘Still mostly sleeping, which I think is the best thing for healing really.Made me come out to see you while the kids were watchingTheMuppet Christmas Carol.The power those Muppets have over my kids is truly impressive.I might have to get a Gonzo to speak through.’