“Come inside the Hall,” she says. “Just while I’m working on this. I should do it inside. Better light. You could meet Daniel. Or Elspeth. I could wake her up. I bet Elspeth knows how to deal with this sort of thing.” Whatever this sort of thing is. “Theater people seem like they know how to deal with things like this. Come inside with me.”
“I can’t,” he says regretfully.
Of course. It’s against the rules.
“Okay,” Miranda says, adjusting. “Then we’ll both stay out here. I’ll stay with you. You can tell me all about yourself. Unless that’s against the rules too.” She busies herself with pins. He lifts her hand away, holds it.
“Inside out, if you please,” he says. “The fox on the inside.”
He has lovely hands. No calluses on his fingertips. Manicured nails. Definitely not real. His thumb smooths over her knuckles. Miranda says, a little breathless, “Inside out. So she won’t notice someone’s repaired it?” Whoever she is.
“She’ll notice,” he says. “But this way she won’t see that the fox is free.”
“Okay. That’s sensible. I guess.” Miranda lets go of his hand. “Here. We can sit on this.”
She spreads out the blanket. Sits down. Remembers she has a Mars bar in her pocket. She passes that to him. “Sit.”
He examines the Mars bar. Unwraps it.
“Oh, no,” she says. “More rules? You’re not allowed to eat?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve never been given anything before. When I came. No one has ever talked to me.”
“So you show up when it snows, creep around for a while, looking in at the windows. Then you go back wherever when the snow stops.”
Fenny nods. He looks almost abashed.
“What fun!” Miranda says. “Wait, no, I mean how creepy!” She has the piece of embroidery how she wants it, is tacking it into place with running stitches, so the fox is hidden.
If it stops snowing, will he just disappear? Will the coat stay? Something tells her that all of this is very against the rules. Does he want to come back? And what does she mean by back, anyway? Back here, to Honeywell Hall? Or back to wherever it is that he is when he isn’t here? Why doesn’t he get older?
Elspeth says it’s a laugh, getting older. But oh, Miranda knows, Elspeth doesn’t mean it.
“It’s good,” Fenny says, sounding surprised. The Mars bar is gone. He’s licking his fingers.
“I could go back in the house,” Miranda says. “I could make you a cheese sandwich. There’s Christmas cake for tomorrow.”
“No,” he says. “Stay.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll stay. Here. That’s the best I can do in this light. My hands are getting too cold.”
He takes the coat from her. Nods. Then puts it around her shoulders. Pulls her back against his chest. All of that damask: it’s heavy. There’s snow inside and out.
Fenny is surprisingly solid for someone who mostly isn’t here. She wonders if she is surprising to him, too.
His mouth is just above the top of her head, blowing little hot circles against her hair. She’s very, very cold. Ridiculous to be out here in the snow with this ridiculous person with his list of ridiculous rules.
She’ll catch her death of cold.
Cautiously, as if he’s waiting for her to stop him, he puts his arms around her waist. He sighs. Warm breath in her hair. Miranda is suddenly so very afraid that it will stop snowing. They haven’t talked about anything. They haven’t even kissed. She knows, every part of her knows, that she wants to kiss him. That he wants to kiss her. All of her skin prickles with longing. Her insides fizz.
She puts her sewing kit back into her pocket, discovers the joint Elspeth gave her, Daniel’s lighter. “I bet you haven’t ever tried this, either,” she says. She twists in his arms. “You smoke it. Here.” She taps at his lips with the joint, sticks it between his lips when they part. Flicks the lighter until it catches, and then she’s lunging at him, kissing him, and he’s kissing her back. The second time tonight that she’s kissed a boy, the first two boys she’s ever kissed, and both of them Honeywells.
And oh, it was lovely kissing Daniel, but this is something better than lovely. All they do is kiss, she doesn’t know how long they kiss, at first Fenny tastes of chocolate, and she doesn’t know what happens to the joint. Or to the lighter. They kiss until Miranda’s lips are numb and the justacorps has come entirely off of her, and she’s in Fenny’s lap and she has one hand in Fenny’s hair and one hand digging into Fenny’s waist, and all she wants to do is keep on kissing Fenny forever and ever. Until he pulls away.
They’re both breathing hard. His cheeks are red. His mouth is redder. Miranda wonders if she looks as crazed as he looks.
“You’re shivering,” he says.
“Of course I’m shivering! It’s freezing out here! And you won’t come inside. Because,” Miranda says, panting, shivering, all of her vibrating with cold and with want, want, want, “it’s against the rules!”
Fenny nods. Looks at her lips, licks his own. Jerks back, though, when Miranda tries to kiss him again. She’s tempted to pick up a handful of wet snow and smush it into his Honeywell face.
“Fine, fine! You stay right here. Don’t move. Not even a inch, understand? I’ll get the keys to the Tiger,” she says. “Unless it’s against the rules to sit in old cars.”
“All of this is against the rules,” Fenny says. But he nods. Maybe, she thinks, she can get him in the car and just drive away with him. Maybe that would work.
“I mean it,” Miranda says. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”
He nods. She kisses him, punishingly, lingeringly, desperately, then takes off in a run for the kitchen. Her fingers are so cold she can’t get the door open at first. She grabs her coat, the keys to the Tiger, and then, on impulse, cuts off a hunk of the inviolate Christmas cake. Well, if Elspeth says anything, she’ll tell her the whole story.
Then she’s out the door again. Says the worst words she knows when she sees that the snow has stopped. There is the snow-blotted blanket, the joint, and the Mars-bar wrapper.
She leaves the Christmas cake on the window ledge. Maybe the birds will eat it.
* * *
Daniel is still asleep on the couch. She wakes him up. “Merry Christmas,” she says. “Good morning.” She gives him his present. She’s made him a shirt. Egyptian cotton, gray-blue to match his eyes. But of course it won’t fit. He’s already outgrown it.