← Back
I went. Obviously I went. My mum would have driven to Manchester and collected me personally.
The Hartley family home in Stockport was full of tinsel, my dad’s terrible jazz CD and the smell of roast potatoes. Gemma flung her arms round me at the door. Behind her, in the hallway, wearing reindeer antlers and holding a glass of mulled wine, was Tess.
Our eyes met. Something happened to my face. Something happened to hers.
“Ben!” Tess said brightly. Too brightly. “Long time no see!”
“Ages,” I squeaked. “Literally ages. Months. Since. The barbecue.”
Gemma looked between us. “Why are you both being weird?”
“We’re not being weird,” we said at exactly the same time.
Dinner was a nightmare. Mum seated us opposite each other. Every time I looked up, Tess was looking at me. Every time she looked up, I was looking at my sprouts. At one point her foot brushed mine under the table and I knocked over the gravy.
After pudding Gemma announced it was time for Secret Santa. She’d drawn the names, she said, and she’d made sure nobody got their own.
“Ben,” she said, handing me a small wrapped box with a wink, “you’ve got Tess’s present. And Tess has got yours.”
Across the room, Tess turned the colour of the cranberry sauce.
I could survive this by avoiding her for the rest of the night. Or I could go and sit next to her.