Page 53 of The Whole Package

‘You deserve a day out, man. Come on, Harri,’ he added, quieter now too, his pitch matching mine.

As I held his gaze I thought how I hated how much I liked the way he said my name. My real name.

Chapter Seventeen

Half an hour later, I was dressed in plain leggings, a black leather jacket I’d found in my cupboard and a black T-shirt with a sequinned Christmas tree motif on. I wasn’t actually sure if it was a pyjama top, but it was the best I could find in Mum’s wardrobe. I scraped my hair into a tragic wee ponytail and kirbied the sides like I was about to square go someone in the school corridor. And applied some of my mum’s concealer and mascara to my face.

When I went downstairs, Jamie was in the living room with Mum and Dad, chatting away about the football and slurping tea like he’d grown up here and I was the guest.

‘Oh, you look smashing, hen.’ Mum beamed when she spotted me.

I smiled, knowing how untrue that was. But I accepted the compliment regardless, feeling my face go red.

‘I didn’t bring any of my stuff when I left London,’ I said. ‘So this is . . . whatever this is.’

‘You look good,’ Jamie agreed, getting to his feet. ‘You set?’

His usual calm demeanour had become a little uneasy. Shit. Was he nervous? Somehow, that made me feel it too.

‘Yeah, I’m set,’ I echoed with a shrug, trying to act laid-back.

‘Here, hen,’ Dad said, slipping me a twenty. ‘You go and have fun, Harri.’

I lit up like I was ten and getting handed a few quid for the school disco. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

Outside, the cold slapped me right across the face as we walked down the icy path.

‘Is this your car?’ I said, stopping dead. It was an old black Volkswagen Golf. I couldn’t remember the last time I got in a car so small.

I suppose Tyson Fury did drive a Passat as a way of staying under the radar.

‘Aye, it’s a belter, eh?’ he said. ‘You excited?’

I rolled my eyes, trying hard not to smirk. He unlocked the doors, and we got in, once again side by side.

‘I’m glad you’re wearing your Christmas top.’ His eyes dipped.

Shit, was he staring at my tits now? ‘Why?’ I managed, immediately sitting up straighter, like I was presenting them for inspection. Jesus Christ, why am I encouraging this?

‘Because I’ve noticed, Harri,’ he said calmly, ‘that a whole lot of shite is going on and you’ve totally lost your Christmas spirit.’

I let out a dry laugh. ‘Trust me – that was lost a long time ago.’

Jamie frowned. ‘So you don’t really like Christmas? Like, ever?’

‘Not really.’ I shrugged defensively. ‘Obviously, when I was wee I liked it, but now . . . it’s just stress, expectations and feeling like you’re always two glasses of wine away from crying in the kitchen.’

‘Wait. So, all of this anti-Christmas act isn’t because this year’s been a disaster?’

I laughed. ‘I mean, this year is particularly bad. But no, I just don’t like it.’

I thought back to my Christmases with Rupert, and how they always felt so staged. It was weeks of planning, of finding the perfect lighting for unboxing, for the dinner, then hours of takes, acting up to the camera to portray the perfect image of a happy family; it was nothing but a day’s hard filming.

He started the engine with a long sigh, as if I’d personally insulted Santa. ‘Fuck man, that’s tragic. It’s a dyno time of year. But—’ He glanced at me, a small smirk creeping in. ‘—I’m fixing that today.’

As we pulled away, I clocked Mum and Dad at the window, waving like I was being deployed.

‘So where are we going?’ I asked.