Middledip sparkled with evening frost, Christmas trees twinkled from windows and the pub was lit up like a float in a Christmas carnival. It would have been scrumptious to follow Nico and the kids into the welcoming warmth of Honeybun Cottage but Hannah knew hers and Nico’s feelings were as new and delicate as spiders’ webs, so she hugged them all goodbye and towed her rolling luggage to Nan’s.

Nan was still staying with Brett and the house felt empty without her. Hannah had called her on the drive from the airport and told her she’d be managing the Christmas Opening tomorrow after all. Nan had exclaimed in her creaky voice, ‘Me and Brett will call in. Can’t wait to see you, duck.’

‘Nico and the girls plan to visit too,’ Hannah had answered, hoping her happiness didn’t filter into her voice and prompt Nan to ask searching questions. She was still getting used to the way he made her heart beat and didn’t want even one sceptical word to disturb the precious beginning of something she felt would be deeper and more grounded than anything she’d ever felt for Albin.

A small heap of unopened Christmas cards lay on Nan’s doormat along with a key to the Carlysle Courtyard office. The note inside the envelope read, You’re a lifesaver. Think Christopher and I would have divorced if we’d had to run the opening. Cassie x

More than half wishing she hadn’t agreed to undertake the mammoth day’s work Hannah set her alarm for six-thirty and plummeted into bed, glittering dreams of the promised Christmas with Nico swimming through her mind.

In the morning, with no opportunity to get hold of a proper Christmas costume, she pulled on thermal underwear then thick black leggings and a green overshirt cinched in with a yellow belt, hoping it was the kind of outfit Santa’s helpers might wear. She stapled a ball of silver tinsel to the point of a bright red woolly hat and it stood upright and looked quite elfish once she’d stuffed it with her hair. With fingerless mittens and knee-high black boots she hoped she’d be able to put up with the cold.

In her mum’s little car she bowled beneath the lights hanging gaily between the trees lining Main Road and took the lane to Fen Drove, headlights picking out the icy skeletons of hedges, mind fixed on the day ahead. ‘It is what it is,’ she philosophised aloud. ‘Even Christopher Carlysle can’t expect Christmas Opening perfection. I’ll settle for avoiding chaos.’

She arrived at Carlysle Courtyard to see every shop brightly lit. Mark from the model shop emerged dressed as a beaming Santa, lengths of tinsel floating from his hands. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he cried. ‘That idiot Simeon’s locked the gazebo in the office. How are we supposed to get it up and decorated?’