For the first time in their lives, it was Emma telling Jack that she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she felt any more. She’d thought for so long that their biggest problem had always been that he hadn’t fought for her, not the way she wished he would; but she realised now that perhaps it was deeper than that. Perhaps he’d never really accepted her, and so, in many ways, she’d never really accepted herself. The trouble was, she was beginning to. She was starting to like the parts of herself that were odd, and different and perhaps a little inexplicable, and she didn’t know if she could be with someone who couldn’t accept who she was.

---

She spent a lot of time walking, often finding herself at the Tapas Hut. With the cold deepening and icy-cold winds blowing across the moorland, the clear plastic of the Bedouin tent protected Sandro’s customers from the worst of the inclement weather, along with the gas heaters and blankets. From inside this warm, festive bubble, which was full of the scent of ginger, and nutmeg, and soft Christmas music, she could still see the snow-covered moors stretching down the valley and the castle down the hill.

The hut was a haven away from the rumours and stares, though most of them had died down anyway once people stopped seeing the two of them together.

Jack didn’t want to accept that it was over.

‘I was an idiot,’ he said, the week before Christmas, catching up with her on the high street. She’d been having a cuppa and a chat with Maggie after she finished work.

‘Come on Ems, are you going to punish me for ever, just because I gave in for a second to the stupid rumours? I mean, can you blame me?’

She sighed. ‘No, I can’t.’

He looked relieved. His face split into a grin.

‘But Jack – even so, I can’t be with someone who is always going to want me to be someone else, someone he can change.’

His eyes widened. ‘I don’t want you to change!’

‘You don’t wish I didn’t have the family I do?’

He frowned. ‘Yeah, but no one’s family is perfect, and I mean it’s not personal, it’s just all that crap they believe in and how this place can get a bit nuts about it. C’mon, the mumbo-jumbo that comes with your grandmother and her sisters, that silly book of theirs, I mean… that’s them, it’s not you.’

Emma shook her head, wondering if he’d ever really seen her properly. ‘It is me, Jack.’

---

She was sitting with Aggie, having a glass of mulled wine, the first time she heard Sandro play the guitar. It was a few nights later. The Tapas Hut was bathed in warm firelight, and it was warm in the tent despite the snow falling softly outside. The tables had small live miniature Christmas trees with silver bells on them and the air was scented with cinnamon and ginger.

There was a rowdy group near the front, who started calling for him to play.

Emma saw him from across the room. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, bowed to the pressure and took a seat by the fire with his guitar, the flames casting reddish lights in his dark hair.

The sound was mellow and rhythmic, slightly hypnotic. While he played, his face was solemn, deep in concentration.

‘He’s really beautiful.’

Aggie raised a brow.

‘I mean, his playing is beautiful.’

Though he was too.

Afterwards he came and sat next to her. ‘Pajarita,’ he said, touching her hand. ‘There’s something I have to—’

He was interrupted by a woman with long blonde hair and a pretty smile, ‘Sandy, oh my goodness, you’re just so talented. I could listen to you all day.’

‘Thanks, Holly.’

Emma looked away. So that was Holly. When she looked up she saw him staring at her. ‘I think, you know, I’m going to call it a night. Bye, Sandy.’

---

‘Hey, Pajarita, wait up.’

She stopped, turned in surprise to see Sandro behind her.

‘Thought I’d walk you home.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I don’t want to drag you away from anyone, Sandy.’

He snorted. ‘Holly is just a friend.’

She frowned. ‘Okay,’ she said, slightly sarcastically.

He cocked his head to the side, staring at her as they walked. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing,’ she said.

He was still staring at her, so she shrugged. ‘Just that, well, you seem to have a lot of friends, you know?’

‘So?’

She scoffed. ‘Well, I suppose it is a free country – and you are the good-looking foreigner, why not take advantage?’

‘Is that what you think?’

She looked at him. ‘Sorry – I mean, it’s just I’ve seen some of the people who call, all the Hollys and Sarahs, and well, Dot’s told me some stories.’

He shook his head. ‘Dot – despite popular opinion – is not an authority on everything, eh, Pajarita.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, that sometimes she misses things that are fairly obvious to just about everyone else.’

She frowned. ‘Like what?’

His face looked suddenly angry. ‘Like that Jack Allen doesn’t deserve you – and he never has. Maybe that’s a rumour she should have thought to spread around.’

‘What?’ said Emma. His face was inches from hers. She felt her heart start to pound. ‘Emma—’ he started.

‘So that’s how it is,’ said a voice from behind.

She turned, sharply. ‘Jack?’

His face was screwed up in anger. His gaze glassy in the streetlight. A strong scent of beer was coming off him, and he looked slightly scruffy, his blond head uncovered and messy, his dark coat open, as if he couldn’t feel the biting cold.

‘Just be careful mate – she pretends to give a shit, like you’re the most important thing in her life, then one day, poof, like magic – you’re out and Spanish boy is in.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘It’s not like that, Jack.’

Sandro took a step away from her, a frown between his eyes. ‘Right. I think I’d better go,’ he said, his face tightening.

‘Yeah, I think you should,’ spat Jack.

‘Oh really?’ said Sandro, his eyes going suddenly cold.

‘Stop it!’ said Emma. ‘Jack, the only one who should go is you, you’re drunk. We’ll talk when you’re sober, all right?’