Chapter Twenty-Four

Christmas Day, Late Morning

Smelling of Lori’s expensive, special occasion shampoo, Misty was engaged in the important task of choosing an appropriate ensemble for the day. The red sweater with snowflakes was a given, considering the weather, and the white canvas boots with red sequins were suitably festive. Now it was a matter of deciding between the pink net skirt, or the purple. Lori, bundled into jeans and a red sweater with glitter in the wool, was sat on the end of the bed, towelling her hair dry. The labels in her niece’s sartorial choices – the cheaper end of the high-street chains – suggested that Gilly had been responsible for buying them. The contrast with the tasteful neutrals and pastels of Lark’s gifts couldn’t have been any greater. Misty had made a decision. She would wear both. Wriggling into them, her eye was caught by the snow, piling up on the outside window ledge. ‘Can I make a snowman? Will Mr Drew help me?’

‘You’ll have to ask him.’ Clearly aunts were not considered to be good snowman technicians. ‘It will have to stop snowing first. If you go out in this, you will turn into a snowman.’

Tickled by the idea, Misty laughed, running over to the window to peer out. ‘Lots and lots of snow.’

Lori considered her niece’s back view, the glitter and the clashing colours. It was all very Misty. And her sister was missing this. Although, if her daughter had gone with her to the Seychelles, she probably would be wearing pastels. Lori bent to pick up the clothes Misty had pulled from the wardrobe and rejected. She’d wondered again about her niece’s reaction to Drew’s unexpected intrusion into their Christmas, but Misty seemed to have accepted it without question. Lori inserted a hanger under the straps of a pale blue tutu and carried it back to the wardrobe. From the label and the quality of the fabric, soft and slippery under her fingers, it was one of Lark’s choices, so she did have some handle on her daughter’s preferences. Or someone in the entourage does.

Lori shook her head slowly. Misty was a sunny, outgoing and tolerant child, mature for her years, but was it really the way for a four-year-old to live? Once the holiday was over she had to try to do something about it.

She held out her hand to her niece. ‘Come on, snowflake. Let’s go and check that Griff hasn’t eaten Mr Drew.’ Misty put a small paw into Lori’s, giggling. ‘That’s silly. Griff isn’t big enough. ’sides, he’s had his breakfast.’ She tilted her head on one side, looking up at her aunt, suddenly solemn. ‘Mr Drew didn’t have any presents.’

Lori took a sharp breath. Dangerous ground. In several directions. ‘That’s because we weren’t expecting him to be here,’ she said carefully.

Misty was frowning. ‘But didn’t Father Christmas know?’

‘Father Christmas doesn’t work the same way for grown-ups. All Mr Drew’s presents will be waiting for him at home, where he’s meant to be, with his friends.’ She held her breath. After a second, Misty nodded, but she still had a question. ‘Father Christmas won’t be looking in the place we found him?’

‘No, pet. That was … a joke. A silly joke that someone played on him.’ She knelt down to Misty’s level. ‘But we found him, so that is as good as a Christmas present.’

Misty preened. ‘We were clever. And the fairies in the wood must have helped.’

‘I’m sure they did. Are you ready to go down now?’

When they got downstairs Drew had cleared a space on the floor and laid out the pieces of the fairy castle, watched closely by Griff, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa, supervising.

‘Ahah!’ He looked up with a smile. Lori’s insides did the loopy thing again. ‘I need an assistant who knows about fairies. You look like a good prospect.’ Misty didn’t need to be invited twice. Two heads, one dark and one fair, bent over the pieces of the castle. Lori flipped on the radio, to a station playing Christmas tunes, grabbed a bin bag from under the sink and began to collect wrapping paper.

His damaged hand was making construction of the castle painfully slow, but Misty was proving an able castle-builder’s mate, knowing exactly where and how to hold the pieces so he could fit them together.

‘Tea break.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ He nodded as Lori put a cup of tea down beside him. There was a chocolate biscuit in the saucer.

‘Eat it before it melts.’

Misty was already two mouthfuls into her biscuit. Lori perched on the arm of the sofa that Griff had just vacated, holding her tea. ‘I think she’s going to be an engineer, when she grows up.’

‘No.’ Misty denied it through a spray of crumbs. ‘I’m going to look after animals and paint pictures.’

‘That’s good too.’ Carefully Drew leaned back, lying on the floor, propped on one elbow. He’d just caught a breath of the same scent on Lori, when she bent to give him the cup, as was on the child’s hair. Shampoo, he guessed. That was family. Sharing things. Inside him something twisted. Warmth. Light. People. Close to you and you close to them.

You could have been alone in that hut, slowly freezing …

Lori nudged him with her toe. ‘Don’t think about it.’

He looked up, and got a shock at the understanding in her eyes. She knew where your mind was. And then a double shock when he realised abruptly how much he wanted to hold on to that understanding. That, and maybe kiss the woman senseless.

He swallowed the rest of his tea in one mouthful. ‘Ready to go back to work, castle builder’s mate?’

By the time lunch was ready – Christmas was a never-ending stream of food – he and Misty had the castle put together. Carefully, he lifted it on to a side table. Lori was called over to admire it. ‘It looks awesome,’ she agreed. ‘Wait a minute, I’ve got an idea.’ She scooted off, collecting things from around the room. Misty looked at him with a question in her eyes.

‘Dunno mate, your guess is as good as mine.’

‘Wait and see,’ Lori admonished when she came back. Opening the front of the castle she popped a couple of the Christmas tree lights inside, shut it up and scattered some wisps of artificial snow around the base. The lights blinked in the windows and the snow shone. ‘There, now it’s a winter fairy castle.’

‘It’s beautiful.’ Misty hugged her aunt’s legs ‘Thank you Auntie Lori.’

Lori gave her a mock bow, laughing. ‘Now wash your hands and let’s eat.’

Christmas lunch was cuttlefish ink spaghetti paired with a jar of clam and tomato sauce. The pasta was as black as a witch’s hat. There was a vegetable casserole too, that had been cooking slowly in the oven all morning, filling the barn with scent – a spicy mix of tomato, peppers and aubergines, topped with cheese, and a plate of warm garlic bread. It looked totally un-festive and tasted delicious. After that, and a helping of Christmas pudding, Drew was too full to move. Lori waved him off from more washing-up. ‘I’ve got this, you can do teatime.’

‘Teatime!’ He groaned and subsided on the nearest sofa, pulling a cushion over his face. ‘Never.’

Lori turned up the radio for the Queen’s speech and came to sit on a chair opposite him. Misty was lying on the rug, nursing Griff and the toy dog, still without a name. Drew eased himself into a more comfortable position on the sofa, careful to avoid the various bruises. His hand was throbbing a little, but not enough to worry about. He’d been using it too much. If he rested it, the pain would stop.

If he wanted something to worry about, the sudden surge of feeling towards the woman sitting opposite him could come high on the list. Where had that surge of desire … lust … come from?

Proximity, it had to be proximity.

And gratitude.

And circumstances of the day. The child. The decorated barn …

He dropped his head on to the cushion, listening as the National Anthem played. He’d always avoided all this – the traditional stuff. But today it had wrapped around him. In fact …

He hadn’t finished the thought when he fell headlong into sleep.