I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,72

he had emptied the sock of all it had. He reached into the toe and found the rectangle of paper. On it was drawn an imitation cheque, signed by Robin Raymond.

I promise to pay the bearer: half an hour of my time to use as you will.

Charlie looked squarely at Robin to make sure he had understood correctly.

‘Half an hour of your time?’ he asked.

Robin nodded slowly, emphatically.

Charlie’s hand came out to his, grasped it firmly and his eyes became glassy.

‘Thank you, Robin. Thank you.’

‘What’s this? Is it saucy?’ asked Luke.

‘Sexier than you could imagine,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s leave it at that.’

‘It’s obviously hit the spot,’ said Jack, hoping his present hit the spot too. Inside him, two lots of fingers crossed as Mary picked up her sock.

‘More nuts and an orange,’ said Mary. ‘Who put these in here?’

‘Elves,’ said Jack, who suspected either Luke or Robin as the most likely culprits, if it hadn’t been Mary.

‘I do hope it’s a Chanel handbag. I know that’s what you were hoping for,’ said Bridge, mischievously.

‘Somehow I don’t think so, but that’s okay,’ replied Mary, pulling out a slim red diary, House of Quill stamped in gold at the bottom. No prizes for guessing who this was from because she’d opened the parcel in which it had arrived. Jack had ordered it to give to Mrs Chikafuji as a present. It cost over a hundred pounds and was absolutely beautiful. For a diary.

‘House of Quill,’ said Charlie with a whistle. ‘Very nice.’

‘To whoever bought me this,’ began Mary in the spirit of ‘secret’ Santa, ‘thank you, it’s beautiful. I shall treasure it.’

She tried not to look disappointed, tried to see something other than a glorified diary. A typical Jack present, a complete gift mismatch to the recipient, at least when the recipient was her. Her formal Christmas present from him, given to her the day before they set off for Tynehall, had been a tartan headscarf, shopping bag and a box of jellied fruits. Presents from a person who didn’t know her at all and had no intention of ever getting to know her. The diary was functional and practical and reliable and boring. This was how Jack saw her: an office thing.

‘You shouldn’t treasure it, you should use it,’ said Charlie.

‘Oh I most certainly will.’ Mary maintained her bright smile for the benefit of her new friends; she couldn’t look at Jack, though, because her eyes would have made a lie of her words.

‘Me next,’ said Luke, with more excitement than a room full of Labrador puppies finding a stash of toilet rolls. He picked up his stocking, shook it. More nuts and a small orange. And a matchbox. He opened it to find it was full of ash.

‘Ash?’ A present from Bridge, he knew. No doubt she couldn’t find a piece of coal to give him, as Santa rewarded the kids on the naughty list.

‘Well, cheers, whoever you—’

‘It’s symbolic. I’m going to give you Sabrina’s ashes,’ said Bridge, interrupting him. ‘I know as presents go it’s a bit weird but I also know you’d treasure them.’

Luke, for once, was speechless.

‘A dog or a cat?’ asked Charlie gently because he could see how taken aback his new friend was.

‘Dog,’ Luke and Bridge answered together.

Bridge had kept their dog’s ashes because she could. Luke had asked if he could have half of them, to bury in his garden, grow a rose over the spot. She’d refused just to be arsey, even knowing how much such a concession would mean to him. She’d confused kindness with weakness before she’d grown up to realise there was a dignity and strength in the quality. She had kept Sabrina’s collar; Luke should have the ashes in their entirety.

‘This means a lot, Bridge,’ said Luke, swallowing a ball of emotion lodged in his throat.

‘I know it does,’ she said as she reached for her own sock, which was the fullest of all of them. She scooped out the nuts and the small orange before pulling out a can of plum tomatoes. Then she laughed.

‘Memories,’ she explained for the benefit of the bemused others. Her eyes drifted to Luke and stayed there. ‘Happy memories.’

‘We were very happy once, believe it or not, Bridge and I,’ said Luke, addressing them all, before his eyes locked with Bridge’s.

They’d chopped up the tomatoes and heated them in a pan on the fire because they had no coins for the electric meter. They’d stirred it with loads of salt and pepper and