Shit. My family. They are not going to take this well either. They all love Ed. Probably more than I do, especially my little brother, Tom. He adores him.
‘Well, we can’t not go,’ I reply. ‘They’re expecting us. My mum has made you that avocado vegetarian crap you like.’
‘So now being vegetarian is a problem?’ he responds. ‘At least I care about my diet. I’m not the one who couldn’t button their jeans at the weekend.’
I gasp. ‘Are you calling me fat?’
He shrugs. ‘Just stating a fact. My waist is the same size it’s been since I was fifteen.’
‘Not the only part of you that didn’t grow then. . .’
‘Mature, Kate,’ he responds. ‘Very mature.’
‘Well don’t call me fat, avocado boy.’
We sit again in silence, staring out of opposite windows.
‘Look, we’re halfway there,’ I finally say, realising that we can’t just sit forever in a service station. ‘They’re expecting us. Let’s just go, smile and deal with this mess when we get home.’
He frowns. ‘Are you serious? You expect me to act like none of this just happened? You’re unreal.’
‘What’s the alternative? Just not show up and ruin everyone’s fun?’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time. . .’
I give a frustrated shriek, which makes him jump. ‘Really? You’re bringingthatup. I was in court, Ed! We got held up. They don’t tend to let you postpone because you have dinner plans.’
‘It was my birthday!’
‘Oh, grow up.’
He folds his arms and continues to look out of the window while I consider hitching a ride on the HGV that’s just pulled in.
‘Look, your parents are expecting us,’ I say again, firmly. I’m pretty sure we can be adult enough to get through this. OK?’
‘Fine.’ He sits sulking for a few more seconds before starting the car. ‘Can’t believe you made a joke about my knob,’ he mumbles as we drive away.
Three rather stressful hours later, we approach a familiar sign on the road ahead.Welcome to Castleton. It doesn’t matter how often I make this journey, I still feel a sense of calm the moment we enter the village– like stepping into the wardrobe and finding that behind it exists a land without Pret a Manger and pollution. The old, pale-bricked houses with their little stone-walled gardens look as charming at night as they do during the day but especially so at Christmas. Fairy lights dressing bare trees line the road and the B&Bs with ‘No Vacancy’ signs let me know that the pubs will be busy with hikers and backpackers, but this is nothing new. People flock here all year round and I especially like it when they bring their dogs. I always wanted a dog but my mum said she had enough on her plate without vet bills and chewed furniture, so she got me a goldfish instead.
Castleton is the place where I grew up and Ed moved to when he was fourteen, and while it’s hardly the most exciting village in the world, we made the most of it. With a population of only 600, we were forced to make our own fun, often meeting up with classmates from neighbouring villages who were just as desperate to leave as we were. I often wonder if Ed and I would have been so close if we’d grown up in a city or attended a high school with more than three hundred pupils.
My mum and I moved to Hope twelve years ago when she married my stepdad, Gary, a gentle man with a penchant forsoda bread and bird watching– a far cry from my biological dad, Brian, whose proclivities were limited to heavy drinking, arse scratching and attempted life ruining. Thankfully, Hope is only a mile and a half down the road from Castleton, so Ed and I were unaffected, but I was always sad to leave my first home. While it might not have held great memories for Mum, it did for me.
Even at one-thirty in the morning, we see hikers making their way into the village, night-walk headlamps still attached to their woolly hats. However, as we drive further into the village, my stomach knots as we pass the Blue John Craft Shop, which has been here longer than I have. It’s the only place in the world where you can mine Blue John stone and Ed bought me a necklace from there for my eighteenth birthday, just before we left Castleton separately for uni. A small love heart with a purple blue stone on a silver chain. I still think it’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.
A couple of minutes later we pull up outside Ed’s parents’ home– a detached Victorian house which they’ve spent the past decade renovating. As usual, it looks like they’ve gone all out for Christmas; flashing fairy lights on the front hedges, spray snow on the windows and a beautiful wreath on the door, which I know will smell of cinnamon and spiced orange room spray. It always does.
Ed turns off the engine, and we sit for a moment, neither of us ready to face the next few days. Before long, the curtains twitch and I see Yvonne, Ed’s mum, waving frantically.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ he mutters, waving back. ‘I thought they’d already be in bed. Fuck, she’s wearing an elf jumper.’
I wave too, watching Chris, Ed’s dad, bound down the path. For a seventy-year-old, he’s certainly sprightly. He’s wearing the same jumper as Yvonne, only the elf’s face is tightly stretched over his stomach, dragging it out of shape. As much as I want to laugh, I’m too drained.
‘You’re here!’ Chris announces, gleefully, as we exit the car. ‘Here, give me those bags, and let’s get you in. Your mother’s been worried.’
‘Didn’t you get Kate’s text?’ Ed asks, handing the first bag to his dad.
Chris shakes his head. ‘Your mother got a new phone. I’m not even sure she knows how to turn it on. You know what us oldies are like.’
