tutted, but she couldn’t ignore the fact it still soothed her. Christmas played a very lowly second fiddle to St Nicholas celebrations for the Dutch and whilst, as an expat, she had embraced her new home’s traditions, she still felt a need to mark her own childhood customs. She went in for the full Christmas works – they did the tree, Christmas carols, mince pies, stocking, and in spite of her exceptionally limited culinary skills, she still heroically grappled every year with the smallest turkey she could find (which was unfathomably never less than five kilos).
Almost there.
They were gaining ground incrementally but the queue sometimes lurched forwards, as now, when a group reached the front and then peeled off en masse.
‘A gingerbread?’ an elf asked her, stopping by her elbow and making her startle. She hadn’t noticed him making his way from the back of the line. He was holding out a tray of gingerbread biscuits.
‘Thanks.’ She took one and Jasper was on his feet in a flash, agonizing over which of the absolutely identical gingerbread men he should choose.
‘Excuse me, but is it absolutely necessary for me to queue?’ she asked the elf as they waited for Jasper’s decision. ‘I’m not actually here for the signing. I just need to ask a question.’ Just one question and she could go again and pretend this – unwelcome but unavoidable – interlude had never happened. She was very much looking forward to getting on with never having to see him again.
‘I’m afraid everyone has to wait in line, madam,’ the elf replied, staring pointedly at the copy of the book held in her arms, before wandering off.
‘Can I get another book, mama?’ Jasper asked, sending crumbs all over the floor.
‘Sure,’ she sighed. ‘But come straight back here. And stay where I can see you.’
She watched as he ran back to the children’s corner, having completely forgotten the book he had just been reading. She bent down to pick it up before someone tripped over it. She put the book in her arms with the other three Jasper had picked and, as she straightened up, she saw the woman in front of her was now having her copy signed, Sam’s head bent as his pen squiggled across the page. ‘I hope you enjoy it. Happy St Nicholas,’ he smiled, handing the book back to the reader and his eyes already sliding over to the next cust—
Her.
She saw the smile fade from his face, a flash of panic and then something else – something darker – bloom in his eyes at the sight of her. Did he think she was going to cause a scene and start another argument? Or was he remembering Matt? She’s all yours. Did he sense what she’d done? Could he guess she’d done it to spite him? Did he even care?
Whatever was going through his head, none of it could account for, or make less confusing, the fact that she was standing here now.
Hesitantly, she stepped forward. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello,’ he said in a short tone, and it was quite apparent from his expression that he had never expected to see her again either. He had closed the door on her and turned the key. ‘This is a surprise.’
And not a nice one, clearly. ‘Yes, I—’
His eyes fell to her copy of the book in her hands and he reached out for it brusquely, looking away from her. His mouth was set in a grim line. She stepped in closer, pushing the book towards him.
‘Look, Sam—’
‘At least I don’t have to ask your name,’ he murmured, flicking for the title page. ‘So we can do this quickly.’
‘No,’ she faltered, watching him, feeling his hostility. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’
He looked up, pen paused mid-air, one eyebrow arched. ‘What?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘You’re aware this is a book signing? I’m working. This is hardly the time.’ His words were quiet; to onlookers, they were just having a conversation.
‘Sam, I need your help.’
‘I sincerely doubt that,’ he said, going to sign his name and seeing his own handwriting already written across it. One of his free marketing copies.
‘I do. I need to find out where this book was left.’ She pointed to the number written in the top corner. ‘I tried your marketing department but they won’t talk to me.’
‘You did what? You spoke to my mar—’ He shook his head as he stared back at her and she felt the invisible thread between them quiver. But he looked away quickly