of course, just a kind of glittery powder that catches the light and crunches a little when you walk on it. The elves may not be real elves. One of them is chewing gum, and another is listening to an iPod, but they are wearing pointy green hats and red boots and wrinkly green tights. The fairies look bored, and one of them has a pierced eyebrow and a ladder in her tights, so I’m pretty sure they’re not real either. I think they could be students, earning a little extra cash, and that’s OK.

It’s even possible that the man in the red suit and white beard may not be the real Santa Claus, but his blue eyes are kind. He listens very patiently to Kazia as she talks. There is a long queue of hopeful children, including Ben and Nate, but Santa doesn’t rush things. Perhaps Kazia is telling him the story of the stolen boots, or explaining about Dad’s business and the flat with peeling wallpaper.

Santa hands her a gift from the sack beside him, a painted Russian doll, which opens up to reveal a whole family of smaller dolls inside. Kazia gives him a big hug, and one of the bored-looking fairies has to drag her away with a wave of her wand and a sprinkle of fairy dust. Everyone in the queue smiles and sighs and the elves look at their watches. It’s obvious they can’t wait for it to be eight o’clock when the whole late-night grotto thing is over.

‘Oh, Anya!’ my little sister says, her smile as bright as the fairy lights. ‘He says he will bring us everything we want, on Christmas Eve night!’

I catch Dan’s eye. Kazia will probably be getting an apple and a selection box and a pair of new mitts on Christmas Eve night, if she’s lucky. Still, right now she’s happy, and Ben and Nate are too, asking Santa for PlayStation games and bikes and rollerblades, and pulling on his beard gently, to check it’s the real deal.

‘I gave Santa one of the vouchers, Dan,’ Ben announces as we walk back up Renshaw Street afterwards. ‘For the free cakes. I told him to come any time. Think how many customers we’d get if the real Father Christmas started hanging out in our cafe!’

‘Great idea,’ Dan says.

‘Maybe the elves and fairies will come too?’ Nate smirks.

I smile. That’s all the cafe needs… a whole bunch of grumpy elves and fairies, alongside Ringo with his yellow cab and Lonely Hearts Club. Oh, and the misfit schoolkids too.

Kazia, Ben and Nate are still fizzing with excitement, skipping on ahead, the boys playing with the plastic swords they got from Santa while Kazia dances around them, bright-eyed, laughing.

‘It was a very kind thing,’ I tell Dan. ‘Taking Kazia to see Santa. It was very different from Poland, but good!’

‘Mum used to take me, when I was a kid,’ he shrugs. ‘I loved it, and Ben and Nate still do. Mum’s too busy this year, and it’s not like Dad’s gonna help, so I promised… and I had an idea Kazia might like it. I didn’t want her to think that Liverpool was just full of boot thieves!’

‘She doesn’t,’ I promise him. ‘She loves it – we all do.’

What would Dan think if he knew we might be heading back to Krakow in the New Year? I can’t even bring myself to tell him, because it would mean facing up to it myself. What if Dan didn’t care? And worse – what if he really, really did?

We reach the bus stop and lean against the shelter. The Christmas lights flicker and shine, and the streets are busy with groups of office workers on Christmas nights out. Restaurants and bars are overflowing, and every second person has fluffy reindeer antlers or a length of tinsel round their neck. Kazia, Ben and Nate link arms and start some random carol singing, and a group of women fuss and sigh and give them a five-pound note.

‘I was wondering…’ Dan says. ‘You know the Christmas dance Frankie and Kurt have been talking about? On the last day of term? I just thought I’d ask… um… d’you think we should go? Me… and you?’

I can’t stop grinning. Dan wants to go to the Christmas dance – with me! The whole evening feels like magic, with the Christmas lights shimmering, the office workers with their Santa hats, the kids singing.

And then the whole thing skids out of shape.

‘I’d like