face, exchanging the quickest of thank-you glances with Cal as I did so.
‘You’re not?’ I said, shock in my voice.
‘No!’ George replied, his voice giggly. ‘Of course, I’m not!’
‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry, ladies. It looks like we’ll have to keep him here.’
‘Oh no, what a shame!’ They joined in the game and George giggled some more as I finished off wrapping the last purchase and processing the transaction. I handed them the gift bags containing their goodies, and we all waved them off out of the shop. Neither Cal, nor I missed the slight glance they cast between us as they pulled the door closed behind them and headed out into the damp street.
‘Come on, pest. Let’s get you home and tucked up.’ Cal effortlessly scooped his son up with one arm.
‘Can I just look at the sleigh quickly, Daddy?’
Cal plopped George down on the floor. ‘Two minutes.’
His son nodded, crossed the shop, and began investigating the sleigh Matt had built as another novel way of displaying stock. Within moments, he had climbed aboard and was busily amusing himself by having a long conversation with the oversized teddy driving it.
Cal leant back against the desk, and grinned down at me.
‘What?’
‘You. This place. But mostly you.’
‘Oh dear. What have I done now? If it’s about earlier, when I said about surprising you with what I know, I didn’t mean …’
Cal raised an eyebrow, waiting.
‘Anything,’ I finished, weakly.
‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry about it. I think you brightened up the Warner sisters’ day anyway with whatever spin they were putting on it in their own minds, from that wink she gave you.’
I laughed, feeling anxiety release from me. ‘I was hoping you hadn’t seen that.’
‘I don’t miss much.’
I made a mental note of that.
‘Actually I think it was George who brightened their day the most.’
Cal gave a wide smile and glanced to where George was now pressing his nose against the window, peering out into the dark and watching the snowflakes drift down.
‘And I don’t think you were too far behind in the stakes either.’
At my comment he turned back to face me. ‘Sorry?’
I shrugged. ‘Just saying.’
Cal laughed and shook his head. ‘I should get him home. He’ll keep fighting it otherwise and feel worse.’
‘Dan and I were the same when we were his age, apparently.’
Cal raised a brow. ‘From what I know of you now, I’d say not too much has changed.’
I gave a conciliatory shrug and smiled at George who was now drawing happy faces in the steam from his breath on the window. ‘George,’ Cal called, gently. ‘Lexi’s going to have to clean that.’
George looked round. ‘Oops. Sorry, Lexi.’
‘Don’t worry about it, peanut.’
Cal mouthed the word “sorry”.
‘No, seriously. I have seven nieces and nephews. Believe me, if a window is the worst thing I have to clean up, I’m totally winning.’
Cal let out a laugh – deep and rumbling – and if I let it, I knew it would wrap itself around me like one of the cashmere blankets stacked up for sale, just as warm and just as soft. He cast his eye down at his son. ‘They can definitely be a challenge in that department.’ The love in his eyes as he said it showed he didn’t mind a bit. I felt the familiar twist in my stomach and squished it down, pasting a smile on instead.
‘Ready for home, then?’ Cal asked.
George nodded.
‘Say bye to Lexi then.’
I bent down and George flung his arms around my neck. ‘I love coming here. It’s like Christmas all the time.’
‘It is at the moment – you’re right. And you’re welcome any time you want, but you have to go and get into bed and get better first. OK?’ I gave him a little squish. He released me and I stood.
‘OK.’ George took Cal’s outstretched hand and waved as they headed to the door. Cal raised a hand and smiled as he turned, pulling the door closed behind him. The shop was once more silent, except for the Christmas music playing subtly in the background. Reaching under the desk, I grabbed a duster and the bottle of window cleaner and headed over to where George had been drawing faces. I crouched and huffed over the same spot and the smiley face appeared again. I waited until it faded again and then cleaned the glass.
Calmly, I walked back to the desk and tidied the cleaning items away, before stepping into the back room to flick on the kettle. It would be time to go home soon but I needed something to do, to occupy my mind. I went through the motions but it wasn’t working. There were times when nothing worked. I only hoped that, one day, things might become a little easier to deal with.
Weak winter sunlight filtered through the chink in my curtains where I hadn’t quite pulled them enough, highlighting a strip of floor at the end of which lay the long, gangly legs of our family’s Great Dane, Apollo. His big square head rested on the rug beside my bed as he peacefully snored, the gentle rumbling causing the large pink tongue that lolloped out of the side of his mouth to reverberate with each exhalation.
I rolled over and watched him for a while, then dropped my hand down out of the warmth of the covers and stroked his golden coat gently with my fingertips. He snuffled a little, stretched out his back legs, and pushed himself closer to the bed, then went back to snoring. We both lay there for a while until nature could no longer wait for either of us.
Getting up, I padded over to my door, and unlocked and opened it. Apollo scooted down the steps, sniffed around for a suitable spot, did what he needed to, and then charged around the back of the house to find his breakfast. I did what I needed to, threw on some clothes and – after inspecting the bread I had in my little kitchenette – binned it and followed Apollo’s example of heading to the main house in search of food.
Both suitably fed and watered and having given time for the dog’s breakfast to go down, I pootled back up to my room and tidied myself up a little more, slapping some protective BB cream on my face before wrapping a cosy scarf around my neck and shrugging into my down-filled jacket and pulling up the fur-lined hood over my woolly hat. I grabbed my boots and sat on the doorstep lacing them up as Apollo wandered out, a lead attached to his collar and trailing behind him.
Mum tapped on the kitchen window, gave me a thumbs up and waved. I returned all the gestures and descended the steps, which, since hearing about my incident the other evening, my dad had been religiously gritting every day. When I got to the bottom I picked up Apollo’s lead.
‘Come on then, boy.’
Apollo did the little excited dance he always did before going on a walk and we set off. Heading across the fields, I unclipped the catch and let the dog run free. He charged about crazily for a while, braking suddenly every now and then when the possibility of an interesting sniff distracted him. Occasionally he would run back to me, assessing that I was still there, before charging off again.
After a little while, he returned to my side and we made our way through the crunchy, frost-hardened grass and leftover stems of the autumn. Together we plodded along, Apollo stopping occasionally when he caught the scent of something else worth investigating, before trotting along to catch up and walk beside me again.
Cutting