Page 37

“Leave him alone, Mark,” Kristen says sharply.

“Yeah,” pipes up Hattie. “Besides, not everyone wants kids, do they?” Mel glances over at her at that, catches the way Dylan looks at Hattie too. But, thankfully, the whole subject is dropped at that point, as Susan moves the conversation on to the film Dylan is currently shooting and what role he’s playing.

They all clear the plates together, then Hattie brings out their dessert—homemade Yule log with little icing snowflakes, topped off with sparklers stuck in it.

“Wait for it,” Hattie says, and holds her hand out to Dylan, who produces a lighter for the sparkler. Hattie grins. “Ta-da!”

Although she’s not sure how she’s going to fit any more food in, Mel takes a forkful of cake. She sighs. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m more drunk than I was at the beginning of the meal but this is amazing. Ten out of ten.” Hattie grins at her.

“We really do have to get Freya to bed now,” Kristen says as dessert is finished. She shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’ve let her stay up this late. I’m a terrible mother.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Finn says. “Someone call child services immediately.”

Mark—who has clearly had one glass of wine too many—snorts quietly as he squeezes Kristen’s shoulders in reassurance, though she moves out from under his touch a little too pointedly.

“You’re a brilliant mother,” Dylan says gallantly. “An inspiration. Isn’t she, Hattie?”

“Sure. Whatever you say, babe.” She looks pointedly at Finn and Mel. “And that is how you pull off a pet name.”

“It’s been a brilliant evening,” Kristen says, getting to her feet. She moves to kiss Susan good night on the cheek.

Susan pats Kristen’s hand. “It really has, hasn’t it?”

“Please leave the clearing up,” Kristen says. “I can help with it all tomorrow.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Susan says. “I don’t think any of us can be bothered to do that this evening. In fact, I am going to retire too—I’m so full I don’t think I can do anything but lie down.” Susan beams around at all of them. “Thank you all for this wonderful evening, and for getting so involved. You all outdid yourselves.”

As Susan heads upstairs, and Kristen and Mark usher Freya out through the front door, shouting out last goodbyes, Hattie calls out, “Mum! You didn’t tell us who won!”

“You all did,” comes the reply from up the stairs.

Finn shakes his head at Hattie. “You are such a child.”

She shrugs. “Of course. Life’s more fun that way. Although that may also be the several glasses of wine—hard to be totally sure.” She rests her head on Dylan’s shoulder and yawns.

“Bedtime?” he asks, squeezing her shoulder. She nods and he pulls her to her feet. Which means that Finn and Mel are left alone at the table.

The music is still playing in the background. Candlelight still flickers between them. Mel twirls the stem of her wineglass in her fingers. She should go up—there is no one to pretend for anymore. Instead, probably because she’s had too much alcohol, she sighs and murmurs, “I’ve missed this.” Missed hanging out with them all, missed being a part of it, the chaos and the teasing and the general love between all of them.

He doesn’t ask what she means. Instead, he smiles, a little sadly. In the dim lighting, shadows dance across his face. “I’ve missed it too.”

“Why? They’re your family.” There is a touch of bitterness in the way she says it. She loves her mum and dad, wouldn’t change them for the world. But she’d allowed herself to think of Finn’s family as hers too—and when he’d broken up with her, she’d realized just how fickle that was.

He hesitates. “Since I left London, I’ve kept my distance a bit—things just haven’t felt right.” He blows out a breath. “I haven’t known what to say to them all, to be honest.” She doesn’t know how to answer that. She wonders if Susan has been like her mum has—tiptoeing around, not wanting to ask the wrong questions. Only the difference is that her own mum had gotten angry too—after the disbelief faded. She’d been sure they would stick, from the very first time they’d met him, on a skiing holiday in the Alps. So she was livid that Finn had not only broken her daughter’s heart, but that she hadn’t seen it coming.

“You think you’ll keep doing it?” she asks, thinking of what Mark said. “Moving around, flipping houses?”

“I don’t know,” he says, seeming to consider the words carefully. “You remember when we had our first date, in Paris?” She nods—the Paris story had been the envy of all her friends. “I told you about this house I loved, in Devon.”

“I remember,” she says quietly, surprised that he can remember it in that detail too.

“Well, if I found somewhere like that, out in the countryside, maybe I’d stay put.” He pulls a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what I’d do for work.” He shakes his head, like he’s shaking the thought away. Like the idea of being tethered to one place is too much—and if he can’t manage one place, how is he supposed to manage one person? “For now, though, it works. I still love it.”

She nods, pressing her lips together. “Well, then, I’m happy for you.”

He grins, slow and wicked. “Liar.”

She laughs a little. “Okay, well, I want to be happy for you. In the future. One day, I’m sure I’ll want to be happy for you.” She realizes it’s probably true. You don’t love someone that much and want them to be in eternal torment, despite what some of her conversations with Priya over the last six months would suggest.