can’t help saying, a little censoriously. “Let’s agree, we’ll only shop locally at, you know, Selfridges and Liberty and places.”
“OK,” says Suze, nodding earnestly. “We’ll do that. Only local shopping. Ooh, what are you going to get Luke?” she adds. “Have you got any ideas?”
“I’m sorted,” I say smugly.
“Already?” Suze stares at me.
“Well, I haven’t actually bought it yet,” I admit, “but I know exactly what I’m getting him. We were in Hector Goode and we saw this lovely coat and Luke said he liked it. So I said, ‘Well, maybe a little elf will get it for you!’ ”
“Lucky thing,” says Suze enviously. “I have no idea what I’m going to get Tarkie! Why haven’t you bought it yet?”
“I wanted to see if it was going to be reduced,” I explain. “But the shop people won’t tell me. They’re so unhelpful.”
“So unhelpful,” agrees Suze sympathetically. “What about waiting till Black Friday?”
“It might sell out. So I’ve decided I’ll order it tonight—” I stop midstream as two women in Puffa jackets enter the gift shop, and I approach them, smiling. “Hello! Welcome to the Letherby Gift Shop. Can I help, or are you happy to browse?”
The pair of them ignore me. A lot of people do that, I’ve noticed, but I always just smile even more brightly.
“Hygge,” says one, looking dubiously at the sign. “What’s that?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” chimes in her friend. “Only isn’t it all nonsense?”
Nonsense? I gaze at her, feeling insulted. How dare she call my lovely table nonsense?
“Hygge is a Scandinavian word,” I explain as charmingly as I can. “It means coziness and warmth…friendship over the cold winter…lighting lots of candles and making yourself feel good. Like Christmas,” I add, suddenly resolving to host a totally hygge Christmas. God, yes. I’ll have a million candles and woolly throws and warming glasses of glogg. (Glug? Glygge?)
As the women walk away, I start making a mental list—candles, throws, glogg—then realize I really need to start writing this stuff down. I’ll buy a special Christmas planning notebook, I decide. And a gorgeous new festive pen. Yes. And then it will all fall into place.
That evening I sit down on the sofa with my brand-new Christmas-planning notebook and pen. (Both from the Letherby leather range, 15 percent staff discount.) Minnie’s quietly playing with her tea set before bed, so I’ve got time to start on my master list.
I write down Christmas on the first page and look at it with satisfaction. There. Started. People get in such a flap about Christmas, and there’s no need. It’s simply a matter of itemizing the tasks you need to do, calmly completing them, and ticking them off. Exactly.
Briskly, I write down: Buy vegan turkey.
Then I stare at the page. Where am I going to find a vegan turkey?
OK, maybe I’m doing this wrong. Maybe what I need to start with is a very simple task, which I can accomplish straightaway. I write down Buy Luke’s present and open my laptop. I’ll order it in two minutes, tick it off, and I’ll be on the way.
I find the webpage for the coat and squint at the photos. It’s lovely. It’s perfect! It comes in navy and gray, I notice. Which would Luke prefer? I try to imagine him in the navy one…then the gray one…then the navy one again….
“Hi, sweetheart.” As I hear Luke’s voice, I put an arm across the screen, look up—and freeze. Luke’s standing in front of me, in exactly the same navy coat that’s on my screen. How did that happen? Did I somehow will it into being? Am I psychic? I suddenly feel like I’m in one of those films with tinkly wind chimes and weird stuff going on.
“Are you OK, Becky?” he says, surveying me curiously.
“Luke…” I falter. “Where did you get that coat?”
If he says, “But I’ve always had it, darling,” in a toneless voice, I will seriously freak out.
“I bought it today.” He swings it around. “Nice, isn’t it? I’ll take it to Madrid day after tomorrow.”
“You bought it today? But…”
My shock has been replaced by indignation. Luke bought it for himself? How could he? No one should ever buy anything for themselves in November or December, just in case.
“What?” says Luke, looking puzzled.
“That was going to be your Christmas present!” I say reproachfully. “You knew it was.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did! We saw it in Hector Goode a month ago, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Luke peers at me as though I’m mad. “That’s