But there’s something so calming about him being so close, still doing the four-second breathing technique, and I find my breathing falling into sync with his and feel myself relaxing too, surrounded by the heady scent of his cologne. He smells so delicious that I’m half-tempted to lick his neck just to make sure he doesn’t taste as good as he smells. But that would be a bit too weird, even for me. He smells of nutmeg and cloves and something orangey – it’s a surprisingly Christmassy cologne for someone who hates Christmas so much.
He takes another sip of tea and rests the cup on his knee again.
‘What’s your story then?’ I murmur, afraid that speaking in my regular voice will break the calm quietness that’s settled over us.
He groans. ‘When I said you could take advantage of me, I meant my credit card’s in my wallet, the PIN is 7829, and I won’t remember this in the morning. Please don’t make me talk as well.’
I’m not sure whether to laugh or snort and end up doing a disturbing mix of both. ‘Did you seriously just give me your card number?’
‘I don’t know. Did I?’
‘It’s a good thing I’m not interested in robbing you blind then, isn’t it?’ I lean my head to the side so it rests against the top of his. ‘Tell me, Grinch. How does someone who hates Christmas end up working in a Christmas decoration shop in a Christmas village in the most Christmassy part of Wiltshire?’
He lets out a long sigh and I can almost hear him resigning himself. ‘My father runs a festive business and next Christmas, I have to take over. He’s handing me the reins, so to speak.’
‘You? Running a Christmas business?’ I say in surprise, trying to ignore how much I want to laugh at the pun. ‘It’s not delivering toys, is it? In a sleigh? On Christmas Eve? He’s not literally handing you the reins? Because there have been movies about Christmas-hating children having to take over from Santa Claus fathers …’
He laughs too. ‘No. It’s …’ He goes quiet for a moment before he speaks again. ‘It’s Christmas crackers. You know, the pull, bang, party hat, joke things. It started with those and then branched out into seasonal decorations and accessories for other celebrations throughout the year. He and my mum built it up from scratch decades ago and it’s been their baby for as long as I’ve known. My parents have put every waking hour into it for over forty years, and now it’s my turn.’
‘They’re retiring?’
He hesitates again and lets out a long breath. ‘Yeah. Well, my dad is, and my mum won’t be able to do it on her own, so it’s time for me to step up and take over.’
‘That doesn’t sound like your ideal job.’
‘I’ve only known you for a day and you already know me too well.’
‘It was the overflowing Christmas cheer in you that gave it away. You don’t want to take over?’
‘Of course I don’t. I despise Christmas. It’s bad enough that I already work there, but I’m in the office. Sales and distribution, figures, that sort of thing. I don’t have to get involved in the Christmas stuff.’
I can’t see his face but I can hear the scorn in his voice. ‘So that’s where the bad jokes come from.’
‘Oi. My jokes are class. Why can’t penguins fly?’
I grin because I know this one. ‘Because they’re a chocolate biscuit?’
‘Because their feet can’t reach the plane pedals.’
I try not to laugh. I really try because he seems so earnest, but it gets the better of me and I end up cackling so hard I’d make any witch jealous.
‘You seriously work for a Christmas cracker company?’ I say when I’ve recovered some dignity.
‘They’re just a thing I have to sell. I shut myself into my office and persuade distributors to take on a product. Actually running the whole company is so much responsibility. My mum and dad love Christmas, it really matters to them, and their whole company is based on their love of it and bringing people together, and all that fun stuff you probably love too. And I just … don’t. I don’t care about Christmas. And I’m not sure what to do about it. I’m not sure what to do with it. I can’t let the company die because it means so much to my parents. They’ve put their whole lives into it and I don’t want to let them down, but honestly, if I hear one more person “donning now their gay apparel” it’s going to make me want to deck someone with a bough of holly.’
His bluntness makes me laugh again. ‘So what are you doing here? Were you serious when you said exposure therapy yesterday?’
‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’ He sighs. ‘I’ve been getting really stressed at work. More than my usual amount of work stress. I’ve known this would be my father’s last year for a while now and I’ve buried my head in the sand and convinced myself it wouldn’t happen, and the closer it gets, the more stressed I get and the less I know what to do about it. The accident last week was just one in a long line of things that wouldn’t have happened if everything wasn’t getting on top of me.’
His head presses a bit harder against my shoulder like he’s trying
