“That’s because I’m not looking for the right girl, Mum, so don’t get any ideas about marrying me off to one of the locals in some weird Willow Bay ritual,” said Peter.

Annie made a show of pretending to write in her notebook: “No forced marriages, no sacrificial burnings. Right, got it!”

“If I see one wicker effigy, I’m hightailing it outta there!” said Peter.

“I’m hoping for some peyote rituals and spiritual enlightenment,” said Alex.

“You guys have really got the wrong impression of Willow Bay.” Annie laughed.

—

After a not unpleasant evening relaxing with Tiggs on the sofa, while the log burner crackled merrily in the corner and Colin Firth wrote books in a roll-neck jumper in Love Actually, Annie scooped a good portion of lamb stew into a bowl for Alfred. She covered it in foil, then wrapped it in several tea towels to keep the heat in, poured him a large glass of wine, and carried the supper down to the café, with a couple of extra blankets from the airing cupboard. It was cold tonight, even for a seasoned rough sleeper like Alfred.

Back in the warmth of the flat, snuggled up with a book in the soft bed, under the weight of a heavy duvet and an overweight cat, Annie counted her blessings, and wondered what the future would hold for Alfred. If he agreed to go to the shelter, she would miss him, but it would be the right thing for him—hopefully.

Her phone buzzed with a message from John. I can’t sleep. What are you reading?

How do you know I’m reading?

You’re always reading. Answer the question.

A Christmas Carol.

What chapter?

What are you doing?

I’m downloading it, so that we can read together from our separate beds.

I’m halfway through stave one.

Wait for me.

Are we reading buddies now?

In the absence of kissing, I thought we may as well share books.

Instead of saliva.

What a charming way with words you have

Let me know when you’re ready, Mr. Granger, Scrooge and I are waiting.

Annie smiled and waited for John to message that he had caught up. Was it weird that this felt like the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her? They read to halfway through stave two, where Fezziwig has his Christmas party, stopping at intervals to message their thoughts about a particular line or paragraph; John asking if she could rustle up a similar feast for the Christmas festival and Annie telling him not to push his luck, and both of them Googling what negus was.

Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now? Annie messaged, feeling her eyelids drooping.

I’ll give it a try. Thank you, Annie.

What for?

Just thank you.

You’re welcome. Nite nite, John. Sleep tight xxx

Don’t let the bed bugs bite xxx

Chapter 74