Kelsey waved a hand. ‘I already told you I didn’t want any money, but you did insist. Besides, the barge will soon start paying its way once the exhibition’s up and running and it’ll all be academic then.’ Kelsey crossed her fingers.
‘You shown Jonathan the framed prints yet?’
‘Not yet. There isn’t a lot of time on this trip. Maybe tomorrow though.’ Kelsey sipped her frothy coffee. ‘I know what you mean about missing home. It’s especially hard at Christmas. I thought what with Jonathan arriving I’d be made up, and I am, don’t get me wrong, but when Calum’s Darth Vader in a Santa hat Christmas card arrived this morning I just felt so…’
‘Far from home?’
Kelsey’s look confirmed it and they both fell to drinking again.
‘Did you,um, say anything to Jonathan about…’ Mirren looked around the room as though someone might be eavesdropping. Kelsey caught her meaning.
‘No, and I won’t be either. Christmas is hardly the time to mention runaway dads…’
‘He was in again yesterday, you know? Old Wagstaff.’
Kelsey gave Mirren a stern look. ‘No concrete evidence; no telling, remember?’
‘I remember. Look, I’d better clear some tables.’ Mirren left Kelsey to her thoughts and soon the bar was so busy there was no time for chatting. They barely had the chance to exchange a hug when Kelsey left, and before Mirren knew it, the day had passed in a blur of Christmas-jumper-wearing happy customers, the clinking of the tips jar, and at least sixty turkey dinners demolished, and her shift was over.
‘Hey! How did the interview go?’
Mirren was crossing the little bridge over the Avon in the dark, clasping closed the collar of her black faux fur coat with a gloved hand, trying to retain some of the heat of the Yorick when she flinched at the voice. Adrian was behind her, laden with wrapped gifts in two big bags.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said, surprised how happy she was to see him. ‘Do you live over this side of the river?’
‘My brother’s family do. I’m taking them their presents before they fly off to Disneyland for Christmas; they’re surprising my little nephew.’
‘No way? Lucky kid!’
‘Right? The closest I came to the magical kingdom as a boy was Mum taking me to sit on Father Christmas’s lap in Woolworths.’ They shared easy smiles. ‘You going home?’ he asked.
‘Umm.’ The barge was only a few yards along the riverbank; she could see the frost sparkling on its roof in the half-moon light from here. She couldn’t bring herself to point out thiswasher home. She was keeping her distance. The less he knew about her, she reasoned, the harder it would be for them to talk intimately, to get closer; and the easier it was for her to stick to her plan of feeling nothing at all for a while, of rebuilding herself from the inside out. ‘No, I’m just taking a stroll after work, it’s been a long day.’
‘Mind if I stroll with you for a bit?’
She shrugged as breezily as she could and let their pace synchronise, trying to suppress the sinking feeling of her resolve weakening.
‘I’m guessing Mr Ferdinand didn’t mention my interview?’ Mirren said in a droll tone.
‘He’s so secretive, we barely communicate outside of emails,’ Adrian said cagily.
‘It’s safe to say you and I won’t be sharing an office any time soon.’
‘Aww, that’s a real shame. I read your piece… the Scottish Brexit story?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I might have… seen your CV whileumm… filing it?’
‘You do Mr Ferdinand’s filing?’
‘Technically I was taking it out of the bin, but…’
‘Why would you tell me that?’ Mirren pretended to be wounded, but she’d known full well that Mr Ferdinand had binned her CV, just as he’d binned her last hope of a job in newspapers. ‘So youdidknow I didn’t get the job, then? Rummage through bins often, do we?’
‘I can’t say I make a habit of it, no. I rescued it and couldn’t help seeing your article listed and, well, I looked it up online.’
‘You actually read it?’
