In Norway, the city of Bergen makes an entire town built from gingerbread every year.
‘Good morning,’ I say cheerily as I walk into Mistletoe Gardens on Thursday. Joss is sitting on his workbench outside the bandstand with his legs dangling over the side, sipping a coffee.
He looks up and gives me a smile that brightens his face, but does nothing to hide the dark circles under his eyes.
‘You’re here early.’
‘Couldn’t sleep.’ He holds out the cardboard takeaway coffee tray with one cup left in it, and I put the box I brought containing two stollen muffins down on the workbench beside him.
The hunch that seems to be settled over his shoulders lifts for a moment as he tears into it and takes a bite of the muffin. His eyes drift shut with pleasure and he makes a noise that probably means ‘thank you’ in dolphin.
I take my coffee and stollen muffin and turn around to sit against the workbench next to him, and he shuffles nearer until his thigh is pressed against mine, and I’m sitting close enough to feel his shoulders sag again.
‘How was your mum last night?’ It’s been two days since the night of icing swirls in the dark, opening up to each other, and kiss emojis, and I only saw Joss for a little while yesterday morning before he had to leave.
‘She was okay.’ It takes him a while to answer. ‘I told her about you.’
‘Me?’ My throat has to work hard to stop myself choking on the piece of muffin I’ve just swallowed.
‘She’s always happy to sit and have a chat with me, and last night she decided I was positively glowing.’
‘Probably literally, after all those luminous marshmallow Krispie Cakes you ate yesterday.’
Joss and I spent the morning making giant gumdrops by mixing melted marshmallow and Rice Krispies and moulding them into silicone muffin moulds to get their size and shape. To get their colour, we used enough food colouring to make them bioluminescent, and as usual, Joss ate most of the mixture.
He laughs, but it’s a sad, tired laugh. ‘It was nice. It felt normal for a minute. Like when I used to come home and we’d have a catch-up in the kitchen. I’d sit at the island in the middle with a cuppa while she insisted on cooking because she was convinced I wasn’t eating properly in Bristol. I told her about the gingerbread house and she let me show her a photo. It was a nice moment. There have been more of those lately.’
‘Do those moments make it harder in the long run?’
‘Yes.’ He lets out a sigh. ‘It’s a reminder of who she used to be. The mother I miss so much. A flash of hope in an illness where there is no hope. A harsh punch of how much I wish I could sit there and really talk to my mum. I can’t even call her Mum any more. It’s disturbing for someone who can’t remember ever having children to be called Mum.’
‘I’m sorry, Joss.’ My hands are full, and so are his, so I press my thigh harder against his and lean forwards until I can see him over my shoulder.
He looks exhausted. The dark circles make the lines around his eyes stand out more than usual, and there’s a slump to his shoulders that he seems unable to lift. ‘Did you sleep last night?’
He thinks about it for a moment. ‘Define sleep.’
I laugh. ‘If you need me to define it, you clearly didn’t.’
His pale face breaks into a smile. ‘Honestly, no, not much. But on the plus side, I am now probably owed the Guinness World Record for staring at the ceiling. Will you be my plus one to the awards ceremony?’
I laugh, but it isn’t funny, not really. I want to slip my arm around him and hold him close, but before I can figure out the logistics from this angle, he flops against me. His body leans heavily on mine and his head drops to the side to rest on my shoulder, and he lets out another long sigh.
I turn my head until I can rub my chin against his forehead, just to let him know I don’t mind him there.
‘You okay?’ I whisper into his hair.
‘Yeah. I got them to put more shots of espresso in my coffee than is probably legal. I just need a minute for it to kick in and I’ll be up and at ’em.’
‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’
His face shifts into a smile against my shoulder, and he’s quiet for a while. So quiet that I’m not entirely sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. Even his grip on the coffee cup in his lap goes lax, and it feels like the most open and unguarded Joss has ever been. And I realise how oddly content I am. The smell of gingerbread in my nose, a hot gingerbread latte warming me up, and this beautiful soul trusting me enough to let his walls down in my presence…
And then the familiar sound of clacking startles us out of the morning reverie.
‘Haven’t we suffered enough?’ Joss groans and rolls his forehead against my shoulder like he’s trying to hide, but the kind-hearted tone in his voice doesn’t match the words.
I wave as the Mystical Mistletoe Magi pushes her cart of potions towards us, the wooden horse’s head click-clacking above her, and her shawl billowing in the breeze as she totters to a halt.
‘Hello, MMM.’ I’m always pleased to see her. It’s like Mr Arkins in his dino suit – Folkhornton wouldn’t be Folkhornton without her.
I’m surprised when Joss doesn’t move but stays leaning against me. Either he doesn’t mind her seeing him this relaxed, or he’s too tired to sit upright.
‘Don’t you two look cosy on such a chilly day?’
‘My cockles are warmed by your presence, MMM.’ His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I have to bite down a laugh.
‘While I’m proud to have that effect on the ventricles of your heart, Mr Hallissey, I’m prouder to see my potion working.’ She stands back and looks us over, and the horse’s head peers down too. ‘I’ve seen plenty of people fall in love, but I’ve never seen anyone literally melt into love before.’
I can feel the scathing look he gives her. ‘No one’s in love, charlatan.’
I smack at his knee for being so rude, and he instantly tightens his legs and holds my hand in place by squeezing it between his knees. It’s definitely not love, but Joss is so open and intimate lately, and I once again wonder what this could be if he wasn’t leaving.
‘Cold fingers,’ he mumbles under his breath, like he needs to warm them up for me.
‘You’ve made an interesting assumption, Mr Hallissey. Nowhere, anywhere, did anyone suggest that potion was to make you fall in love with each other. It was to bring love back into your life in whatever form that may take. How you chose to interpret that is your own doing.’
‘I don’t believe in love.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ she says sagely. ‘All of your feelings about love are associated with something negative. All you need is to meet someone who makes you see the positive side again. Love is magical. Falling in love is the universe’s way of letting us have a fairytale of our own. Your problem is that you gave your heart to someone who ripped it to shreds rather than cherishing it, and you let that injury fester and scar, rather than realising some people just aren’t meant for each other, and others are. When a heart has been broken – whether by romantic love or by grief for people who are no longer with us – it can come back stronger and warmer rather than harder and colder, and it’s okay to let yourself fall again. It takes more courage to trust again than it does to shut down.’
‘I’m too tired to make sense of that,’ he mutters. ‘Needless psychoanalysis aside, what can we do for you this morning, MMM? Come to shake us down for more cash?’
‘Actually, I came to show you this.’ She produces a dinosaur magazine from amongst the folds of her oversized shawl. ‘Page fourteen.’
‘There are actual magazines dedicated to this sort of thing?’ Joss lifts his head and pushes himself upright, and I miss the feeling of him leaning against me. I take the mag and hold it so we can both see it.
‘What do a giant gingerbread house and a festive dinosaur have in common? This small Welsh town is all too happy to tell you.’ I read the headline aloud.
There’s a two-page spread with a photo of the gingerbread house and one of Mr Arkins painting dinosaurs onto his snowy background scenery, and on the opposite page, a picture of one of the biggest trees filled with balls of mistletoe.
It’s a festive story of a tiny town versus a heartless council. As the council move to bulldoze Mistletoe Gardens, the only green space in Folkhornton in the South Wales valleys, the residents are fighting back. Local baker Essie Browne and local builder Joss Hallissey have teamed up to build a life-size gingerbread house, from which Santa will meet and greet children, but why stop at Santa? Folkhornton is going one step further, by also offering a meet-and-greet with their very own Christmas dinosaur, also known as Mr Arkins of The Dinosaur Shop.
The article goes on to explain the legend of the mistletoe, and give dates and times for when Mistletoe Gardens will be open, and lists the stalls that will be run by the locals.
‘Mr Arkins must’ve done this,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know anything about it.’
Joss makes a noise of agreement. ‘This is the first physical thing I’ve seen, everything else has been online. That’s fantastic.’
‘They’ve got a large readership. The Dinosaur Shop stocks copies and sells out every month,’ MMM says. ‘Mr Arkins believes in what you’re doing here. We all do. You’ve created the impossible.’
I glance up at the gingerbread house. I’ve been so caught up in getting everything done on time that it’s easy to forget how far we’ve come. Between us, we’ve actually built a life-size gingerbread house. Something that I suggested three weeks ago and never believed we could actually do. And we’ve done it, just the two of us.
Joss catches my eyes and his mouth tips up into a smile that makes his eyes look brighter, despite the tiredness still clouding them.
‘You can keep that, dearies. You keep it, Mr Hallissey.’ The MMM takes it from my hand and thrusts it towards Joss. ‘Proof of what you’ve achieved here, together. It’s you who needs the strongest reminder of how magic can happen when you’re willing to let it.’
I expect Joss to say something sarcastic, but he takes the magazine and thanks her for it, his fingers tracing over the cover with reverence. ‘Go on then, what potions have you got on offer today?’
I’m not sure which one of us is most surprised – me, the MMM, or possibly Joss himself for actually asking. Without a word, he shifts on the workbench until he can pull his wallet out of his back pocket. I go to get my purse out, but his hand touches my wrist, stopping me.
The MMM is so taken aback by his request that she forgets all the smoke and fanfare to whip the cloth off her cart as she peruses the bottles that clink together every time she moves.
She eventually picks up two of them. ‘These are just the ticket.’
Joss holds out a crisp ten-pound note to her, and she takes it, and then encloses a bottle in each of our hands, the labels concealed. ‘Don’t look at them until after I’ve gone.’
‘So we can’t ask for a refund when the labels say “Robinson’s Orange Squash”?’
‘So you can work out the importance for yourself, Mr Hallissey.’ She gives him a sarcastic smile and says goodbye, and we both watch as she click-clacks her way to the gate, the horse’s head jingling with bells, its ribbons trailing in the breeze behind it.
‘I do not like that woman,’ he mutters.
‘Well, you must be doing something right because the horse’s head didn’t snap at you once today. And you asked for her potions.’
‘I felt sorry for her. She can’t get much custom, and she’s an old lady peddling her wares on a cold mid-December morning. She needs that tenner more than I do.’
‘I think you like her more than you’re letting on.’
‘She’s just weird. Quirky.’ He rolls his eyes like he’s about to say something he’ll regret. ‘I’d miss her if she wasn’t about, all right? There’s something comforting about her presence, like a kindly grandma who you might not see very often but you know will always be there with dry homemade cakes and ugly sweaters knitted for you.’
My hand is still closed around the bottle, and I hold it up and tap it against his. ‘Thank you. Again. Ready to see what’s in store for us today?’
He holds his hand up so the side is resting against mine, counts down from three, and we both open our fingers.
‘Believe in yourself,’ I read aloud. ‘Burdock, chicory, neroli. When you’re convinced you can’t do something, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
‘Believe in others,’ Joss says. ‘When you’re convinced other people will let you down, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
He twists the lid off and holds up the little bottle to toast against mine. ‘Cheers to whatever’s in these bottles not being poisonous.’
We clink the little bottles and down them in one.
‘Dr Pepper, no doubt about it.’
‘Canada Dry, I think. A staple of any nineties childhood.’
He laughs, and it makes something tingle inside me, so much so that I take leave of my senses and drop my head to the side so it rests against his shoulder.
I feel him move to look down at me and his lips inadvertently brush my forehead as he speaks. ‘You believe in yourself yet?’
‘I’m starting to. When I look at what we’ve done here, yes… But it doesn’t make any difference in the long run. It’s not going to make my mum take me seriously. It’s not going to make her let me go in a different direction with the bakery. And I still don’t have the courage to push myself forwards and be shut down again.’ I shift my head but I’m at the wrong angle to catch his eyes. ‘What about you? Are you starting to believe in other people?’
‘Some of them, I suppose.’
‘Any specific ones?’ I ask, cringing at how needy I sound.
He laughs and rubs his cheek against my hair. ‘One very specific one indeed.’
‘Mr Arkins, right?’
He laughs out loud. ‘It’s definitely not Mr Arkins, Ess.’
I can’t think of anything else to say that won’t lead to having to confront the butterflies in my belly, and we sit there for a while longer, my head on his shoulder and his head on mine as the sky turns to full daylight, revealing cloudy grey skies so typical of this time of year in Wales.
‘It looks good, right?’ I whisper, my eyes on the bandstand.
As well as the rooftop gumdrops I installed last night, this morning the house has windows in the once-empty window frames, which I made by melting Glacier Mints while Joss was visiting his mum yesterday.
‘It looks nearly finished.’ His tone doesn’t sound as excited as it should be, and I lift my head to meet his eyes, and the same feeling is reflected back at me. While it will be amazing to see the house finished, it will also mean my time with Joss is over and it isn’t right to feel this amount of pure dread at the thought of saying goodbye to him.
* * *
All I can hear is yawning. For the past few hours, all I’ve heard is yawning. I’m up on the scaffolding, piping lines of white icing in neat semi-circles around the edges of every gingerbread roof tile, and finishing off each one with a blob in the centre that holds on a real gumdrop in alternating red and green colours.
I can hear Joss’s jaw crick because his mouth isn’t wide enough to accommodate the size of yawn that’s trying to escape.
Darkness set in hours ago, and we’re working by the light of Joss’s floodlights, and even though I’m rushing to finish the roof, it’s still six o’clock before I climb down and make my announcement. ‘Right, that’s it. Tools down. Early night.’
Joss does a sarcastic laugh from inside the house, where he’s gluing flames made out of melted orange sweets into the gingerbread brick fireplace he built today. ‘We open tomorrow night. We haven’t got a tree in yet, nor have we actually got a tree, we haven’t done the window boxes, I haven’t finished icing this mantelpiece, and there are no decorations inside. No one’s having an early night.’
‘Look at me,’ I say from the doorway.
He does.
‘Joss, your eyes are bloodshot and can barely focus and, interspersed with the yawning, all I can hear is you swearing at yourself for making mistakes. You need to go home and sleep, and come back refreshed tomorrow. We’re arguably wasting more time by pushing onwards when we both really need a break.’
‘We don’t have time for a break.’
I sigh. I know he’s right – tomorrow night is when Mistletoe Gardens opens to the public. The gingerbread house is supposed to be finished by then, and Santa arrives on Saturday morning and will hopefully have children queuing in their droves to visit him, but Joss currently looks like he could sleep through a squashing by Santa’s sleigh, and I’ve been too knackered to focus and keep having to wipe icing off and re-do it.
It’s been a quiet day in the park. Early drizzle turned to heavy rain, coupled with a bitingly cold wind that’s put most people off their Christmas shopping and kept residents indoors. We’ve had the tent drawn around the bandstand all day, and our only visitor has been a very wet Rob, chirping from the wall outside to demand extra food, and making the most of the damp ground to peck for worms in the grass.
‘Do you want to watch a movie?’ I blurt out.
‘Would it be a Christmas movie?’ he asks without looking up.
‘It’s December fifteenth, of course it will be a Christmas movie.’
‘Why? Where?’ He looks around and then over at me. ‘Here?’
‘You’re exhausted, Joss. I’m trying to send you home for an early night and you refuse, so the next best thing is finishing work early and relaxing.’ I point down into town towards the bakery. ‘I can be back in ten minutes with my laptop, my Netflix subscription, blankets, and cinnamon popcorn.’
He makes a wanton noise. ‘I am weak in the face of cinnamon popcorn.’
I laugh and shrug my coat on. ‘Be back before you know it.’
He looks like he’s about to protest, so I walk out through the gap in the tent before he has a chance. The rain from earlier hasn’t eased, and I splosh through the damp streets and get to the bakery in record time. I stuff a rucksack with as many cosy blankets as I can find, slide in my laptop, make a flask of hot chocolate and a huge bucket of microwave popcorn which I coat with a mixture of butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon, and then fill up two hot water bottles to keep us warm.
The streets are as empty as they’ve been all day, and the Christmas lights are dulled by the rain dripping from them, and by the time I get back to Mistletoe Gardens, Joss has turned off the floodlights and turned on all the Christmas lights inside the gingerbread house, and set up a little area where we can recline against a plank of wood leaning on a tool box, and there’s a nest on the floor made from a bouncy-looking pile of clean dustsheets from his van.
‘Oh, wow.’ It’s the first time I’ve seen the gingerbread house in the dark with the fairy lights on, each set a multicoloured rainbow of lights sparkling from inside the gumdrops I pushed each LED bulb into, hung around each of the four window frames, a set around the doorframe, and Joss is arranging a pre-lit garland of holly leaves and cinnamon sticks across the gingerbread mantelpiece.
He looks up. ‘Never mind watching a Christmas movie – I feel like I’ve stepped into one. Even Hollywood set designers wouldn’t build a set this good. I can feel the festiveness seeping into my veins.’
‘Look at this place, Joss.’ I don’t want to raise my voice too loudly in case it breaks the spell. ‘It feels like magic. Like our own little Christmassy den. We built a gingerbread house. I know it still needs decorations to turn it into a cosy living room inside, but this is exactly the sort of place where elves would hang out in the North Pole.’ I thrust the hot bucket of popcorn at him. ‘What Christmas film have you never seen?’
‘I… um…’
I remember an earlier conversation as I point at the nest he’s set up. ‘It’s a Wonderful Life it is then. Get comfy.’
He laughs a tired laugh at being bossed around, but willingly obeys, settling down in the bubble of dustsheets as I hand him a hot water bottle, throw two red blankets with gingerbread men on them at him, and pour two cups of hot chocolate out of the flask. He’s set up another tool box at a perfect height to put the laptop on, so I position it where we can both see it, and the dongs of the bell in the opening credits reverberate through the gingerbread house.
I sit down beside Joss in the nest. He’s got one hand wrapped around his hot chocolate, the other is stuffing popcorn into his mouth, and the hot water bottle is held against his chest. I settle back against the angled wooden board so I’m half-reclining, put the hot water bottle on my stomach, pull my fleece blanket over me, and sip my hot chocolate. It’s damp and cold outside, but in here, it’s a cosy little burrow. It feels like we’re in a magical Christmas cottage, away from the rest of the world, where no one will ever find us.
Joss moves the bucket of popcorn nearer, closing the space between us until he’s sitting next to me, and then he reclines too, wriggling around until he’s comfy, and I look over at him and grin. ‘Most Christmassy thing you’ve ever done?’
He’s got a soppy smile on his face that looks like he couldn’t get rid of it if he wanted to, and it answers the question for me.
When the hot chocolate is gone, the popcorn bucket is mostly empty, and George Bailey is telling Mary he’ll lasso the moon for her onscreen, Joss spreads an arm out towards me, silently asking if I want to snuggle up against him, and it’s a good thing the hot chocolate has gone because I would definitely have spilled it in my rush to shift closer, until his arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me into his side.
He lets out a long breath and sinks further down, leaning his head back on the wood behind us, and I do the same, listening to the sound of the rain pattering on the roof of the bandstand high above our little house.
It’s the most perfect, warm, cosy, and festive romantic moment I’ve ever experienced.
Joss has to swallow before he speaks. ‘If anyone had told me a month ago that I’d be lying inside a gingerbread house, watching It’s a Wonderful Life, and cuddling the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, I’d never have believed them.’
I’ve got one of the blankets pulled up to my nose, and my face flares so hot that I’m surprised my cheeks don’t singe a hole straight through it. ‘You’re too tired to know what you’re saying.’
‘Nah, I’m not.’ His voice is starting to slur and his eyes are barely open. ‘I never knew it was possible to enjoy Christmas this much.’
It sends a zingy thrill through me because he sounds so happy.
He lifts his head to watch the film, but I suspect the chances of him making it to the end are slim to zero. To be honest, I don’t think the chances of him staying awake for the next five minutes are all that good either.
He’s blinking slow, and every time his eyes close, it takes longer for him to open them again. His head starts to nod forwards, and each time, he jerks awake with a start, blinking wide eyes open.
By the fifth time, I’ve had enough. When his head drops forward this time, I slide my arm around the back of his neck, tangle my hand in his hair, and tug his head down onto my shoulder. ‘Close your eyes, lovely boy. Let yourself be as tired as you are.’
‘How’d I get this lucky, Ess…’ His words slur so much that he can’t finish the sentence, and I squeeze him tightly.
He’s asleep before his head touches my shoulder. His whole body melts against mine, and he lets out a sigh and snuggles in. I kiss his forehead. ‘Night, Joss.’
I keep my arm around him, stroking his hair from the other side, holding him tight as his breathing evens out. His hot water bottle has fallen onto me and I gently ease them both between our bodies, keeping us warm, and I pull another blanket over so it covers us both, not wanting to jostle him too much in case he wakes up.
It might not get It’s a Wonderful Life ticked off his bucket list of Christmas movies, but at least it gets him to relax and catch up on some much-needed rest.
The combination of the warm drink, warm body beside me, and festive cosiness of the gingerbread house makes my eyes drift closed, and I rest my head against Joss’s soft hair and let myself doze too.
George Bailey is realising what Bedford Falls would be like if he’d never existed when I blink back to awareness of my surroundings. Joss hasn’t moved an inch, but the film is almost over, a couple of hours that I don’t remember passing. I’m hyperaware of how content I feel. Still warm, still snug, my hand still in Joss’s hair, my mouth smushed against his forehead.
He starts to stir too, and my fingers tighten in his hair. ‘Don’t wake up yet,’ I whisper.
‘I assure you, I have woken up. This conversation would be a little difficult if I hadn’t.’ His voice is a low croak, sexily rough with sleep.
I hold him tighter. I feel so safe and free in this moment, like I could say anything and he wouldn’t judge me. ‘I meant, don’t jump up yet, let me cwtch you for a moment longer.’
Surprisingly, his head stays on my shoulder and he snuggles in closer. His arm snakes around me and he holds me tight. He exhales and his body relaxes against mine again.
The ending of the film plays on the laptop, and although my eyes are on it, all I can concentrate on is Joss. I wonder if he’s enjoying this closeness as much as I am. My fingers graze his dark hair where they’re still holding his head, and he turns into it, his fingers trailing up and down my opposite arm under the blanket, his arm a heavy weight across my body, and I let my lips brush across his forehead again, and his little sigh of happiness is one of the best things I’ve ever heard in my life.
It’s only when ‘the end’ appears that he starts to move. He stretches luxuriously and turns his head to nuzzle into my hair, and then his lips press against my jaw, just a gentle kiss laid there, making me glad I’m not currently standing upright because I soon wouldn’t be. It takes all my willpower not to curl my hand in his hair and drag his lips to mine.
‘Joss,’ I mumble for no real reason – a warning to stop or a plea for him to go further. I want him to go further, but the sensible side of me knows that he has to stop. After the disaster of the last time I fell in love, if I ever let a man get close again, it will be someone who there’s a future with. It can’t be someone who’s about to up and leave.
He gets the message and changes tack. His nose is freezing and he rubs the tip of it against my cheek, making me jump at the sudden coldness and smack at his leg. We’re both laughing as we roll away from each other. He pushes himself up to sit on his knees, and I get to my feet, groaning as my back protests that thirty-six is too old to be napping on a stone floor.
As I start tidying, he reaches out and catches my wrist. ‘I know I was already asleep when I said it, but I meant what I said – I don’t know how I got lucky enough to have you in my life. My marriage break-up knocked me sideways. It made me feel like I was worth nothing. For you to just sit there and hold me while I slept for no reason other than caring about me…’ He shakes his head like he can’t find the right words.
It takes every ounce of willpower to not tackle him to the floor in the biggest bear hug in the history of the world. I hold his beautiful blue eyes and he blinks back at me, not hiding anything tonight. His eyes show every bit of hurt and sadness that’s taken over his life in recent years, but tonight they reflect the twinkling of multicoloured Christmas lights too, and despite the dull night and the lingering tiredness, they look brighter than I’ve ever seen them.
His eyes close and he lifts my hand to his mouth until his lips graze across the sensitive skin of my inner wrist, and I make an unrecognisable sound that could most probably be likened to a whimper. It should be illegal for a man to do that unless they’re immediately going to follow it up with much more explicit things.
He suddenly comes to his senses, drops my wrist, and starts gathering dustsheets. ‘I’ll drive you back, I’m not having you walking through the rain again.’
When everything’s cleared away, he turns out the last of the fairy lights and I stand inside the door and look around. The outside is complete now, apart from a puff of candyfloss in the chimney to look like smoke coming out, but the inside is going to be a lot of work tomorrow.
Joss comes to stand next to me in the darkness and drops an arm around my shoulder. ‘Ess, you know where I live, right?’ I nod and he continues. ‘Will you come up to the house tomorrow morning? I’ve got something to show you before we start decorating the inside.’
I glance up at him but it’s too dark to see his face. ‘Of course.’
I want to prod and wheedle for more information, but he sounds so nervous that it definitely isn’t the time for teasing curiosity.
His arm tightens briefly around my shoulders, and then he nods to the dark house in front of us. ‘Nearly done.’
‘Nearly done,’ I repeat, trying to convince myself that his voice sounds as sad as I feel. Although I’m proud of having got this far, it also means that once the inside is decorated, that’s it. It’s done. This time with Joss is over, and I’m really, really not ready for it to end yet.