Page 21 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

‘Ah, it’s no problem. Just like old times, eh?’

Jen had to stop herself flinching at the little stab of guilt this brought on. Perhaps she wasn’t as good a friend as she’d thought.

Rich laughed. ‘And who could blame you? He is stupidly handsome.’

Jen and Ted stared at him, raising their eyebrows.

‘What?’ he asked, shrugging. ‘I’m a happily married man. Credit where credit’s due, that’s all.’

Ted laughed. ‘All right, you nutter. Get yourself off to bed, man.’

Rich did just that. Ted smiled at Jen. ‘You turning in?’

She shook her head. ‘Of course not. Stay up with me a bit, will you? Nightcap?’

He shrugged, walking into the kitchen. ‘How could I refuse the birthday girl? What do you want?’

‘What do we have?’ she asked, squeezing in front of him to peer into the open fridge and reaching for a bottle of wine.

‘Hey!’ He lurched, exaggerating, staggering backwards. ‘You big bully.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, taking the wine into the living room. ‘Bring some glasses.’

They settled in front of the fire, basking in the glow of the embers and the gentle light from the Christmas tree and wreaths. Outside, snow still fell.

‘This reminds me of old times,’ Ted said, filling their glasses and clinking his against hers. ‘All those nights you were begging me to stay up till the sun rose.’

‘Oh, you liar!’ She was genuinely outraged. ‘You were the one begging me, you party animal.’

‘Rubbish. And don’t call me an animal. That’s ape-solutely outrageous.’

Despite herself, Jen snorted. Ted’s jokes weren’t funny, but his commitment to his terrible sense of humour over the years had to be admired.

‘So,’ she said. ‘Getting serious with Sarah, right? Are we going to be getting wedding invitations any day now?’

He choked on his mouthful of wine, spluttering as he wiped his mouth, eyes rolling. ‘God, no, steady on! Where did that come from?’ He frowned at her, nervously wiping his soft wool jumper.

‘All right, no need to throw your drink about! I was only asking, you just seem – keen, on this one. You’ve gone all romantic in your old age!’

He grunted, stretching out a leg and wincing. ‘I think I’m more rheumatic than romantic, these days. But – well, she does keep dropping hints about moving in, so . . .’

‘So?’

He shrugged. ‘Ah, I don’t know. It’s still early days, I think we’re OK as we are for a bit.’

Jen frowned. ‘I thought you’d been together for a while?’

‘Just a few months.’

‘But – when you all got together for Lou’s birthday, you know, that barbecue, she came with you then, didn’t she? And that was May, so . . .’

‘You’re the one that’s all starry-eyed this weekend though, aren’t you? So what’s going on with you and Train Guy?’

She stared at him levelly, as the light from the fire and the fairy lights lapped gently. ‘Smooth change of subject, genius. Don’t think I didn’t clock that! But I’m bored of talking about you now, so I’ll let you off.’ He grinned. ‘Train Guy’s name is actually Anthony.’

‘Cool. And what did you find out about this Tony?’

‘Anthony is a writer.’ She stopped, rocking back a bit and taking a swig of wine, giving him time to be impressed.