The Present: The must-read Christmas romance of the year!. Charlotte Phillips

‘She once tried to tell me a better way to mend a fence. I was like, who’s the carpenter in this scenario?’

      Lucy smiled sideways at him, and he waited while she signed off the skip paperwork, then walked with her back to the house.

      ‘Also, whoever sent the decorations, it definitely wasn’t Grandad,’ she said. ‘Can you imagine if I could find out some more about them and be able to tell her about it? It might really help her recovery pick up. What if the person who sent them is still alive? I could track him down.’

      ‘You’re thinking you could track down and reunite your gran and her wartime friend in three weeks flat, like something off Long Lost Family, while you simultaneously get this house straight, and do all your Christmas stuff?’ he said. ‘You don’t actually think this might actually be a bit of a massive ask?’

      ‘I can channel Davina McCall if I want to,’ she protested. ‘I do investigate for a living.’ She paused. ‘Well, at least I ask people questions a lot, and attend lots of community events and stuff. It’s not exactly Fleet Street. But I know how to track a story down. And I’m not looking that far ahead, to be honest, I just want to try to find out a bit more, that’s all.’ She closed the side door behind them with a grateful sigh. ‘Wow, standing outside for twenty minutes makes the crappy heating in here seem tropical.’

      She pushed the hood down on her parka and unzipped it. Her hair was messed up underneath, and she ran a hand through it, which actually made it worse.

      ‘I know what you’re saying,’ she said. ‘It just seemed really important to Gran, and whatever I might tell myself, I do know she isn’t going to be around for ever. I feel like I’ve been given a chance to get to know her in a whole new way. I’m not going to pass that up because my back’s against the wall over a few Christmas plans.’

      ‘Want some help?’

      Even as he said the words, he couldn’t quite believe that he was making the offer. What was he thinking? It was the chance thing, of course. The thought of having a chance to find a piece of someone to treasure that you could keep, even after they were gone.

      ‘I thought you were only around for a day or two? Don’t you have to be sledging down a mountain or something?’ she said.

      ‘Not for a few more days yet. I’ve got a bit of time on my hands.’

      It was true. He did. He couldn’t fathom why heaving tat into a skip held any appeal for him, except that she had looked so grimly determined, standing outside in the freezing cold with her lips almost blue, to run herself into the ground by Christmas all in the interests of hanging on to the past. He could relate to the need to do that better than anyone else.

      ‘You must have something better to do if you’ve got some time free. I mean, it is Christmas.’

      His parents flashed into his mind, the guilt-trip family Christmas visit that he had been telling himself, along with them, he simply couldn’t fit in.

      ‘I really don’t,’ he said. ‘I can bring stuff down from the attic for you. It will take you for ever on your own, and you’re basically an accident waiting to happen when you’re left to your own devices. I don’t want that on my conscience, and I’m pretty sure Olive would want you to make it out of the house sale alive. Take it or leave it.’

      She smiled up at him.

      ‘Go on, then. I should probably tell you to go and crack on with your Christmas, but I need all the help I can get.’

      In the space of a day, the kitchen and hallway ended up looking like the attic. She had succeeded in executing the opposite of house clearance. But there was the odd discovery that was really worth waiting for during the endless trawl through inconsequential receipts and old cracked ornaments, and the buzz of finding even the tiniest thing was becoming a bit addictive.