Quickly she squeezed herself into a pair of skinny jeans—although there was nothing very skinny about her in them—and a forgiving tunic-style cashmere jumper in a Christmassy green that brought out the barest glint of hazel in her mud-brown eyes. Some expensive hair products that she defiantly splurged on took care of most of the frizz, although, thanks to having been busy in a hot kitchen for the better part of an hour, her hairstyle did not resemble the gentle waves her various potions and products promised.

Dr Jekyll came into her tiny bedroom and wound between her legs, his bottle-brush tail waving high as he meowed plaintively.

“Dinner. Right.” She gave him a stroke but he ducked away, hissing, showing his Hyde-like nature as he often did. Olivia’s stomach growled in sympathy—she hadn’t eaten anything since mid-morning—but she didn’t have time to eat before the concert.

As it was, she hurried to open a tin of cat food for Dr Jekyll, and then grabbed her coat, giving her reflection one last hard stare, before heading out into the darkened night.

Quite a few people were heading towards the church at the bottom of the high street. Olivia was slightly ashamed to realise she’d only been there a few times since she’d moved to the village, for her friends’ weddings.

Her mum had taken her to church when she’d been little, but she’d fallen out of the habit when she’d moved to London and Sundays mornings had been for lie-ins. Now nostalgia enveloped her in its misty memory as she stepped through the ancient wooden doors and into the candlelit interior; the dusty, musty smell of old hymnals and candle wax took her right back to her childhood.

Someone at the door handed her a program, and she took it with murmured thanks, scanning the pews for Simon but not seeing him anywhere. Since he was one of the musicians she wasn’t surprised, but she still felt the tiniest bit disappointed.

She slid into a pew midway down the church and settled back, enjoying the sense of serenity that pervaded the soaring space. Creamy candles garlanded with holly adorned the end of each pew, as well as the choir stalls at the front. A small orchestra had been set up at the front of the church, and curiosity sparked inside her as she wondered again what instrument Simon played. She really didn’t know anything about him, and she hoped she’d have the opportunity to learn more tonight.

The church soon filled up and a few minutes later the vicar, a kindly looking man in his fifties, introduced the service. A few seconds after that the musicians came out, and Olivia recognised Simon’s rangy form instantly. He took his seat behind a cello, and she decided that seemed exactly right for him. The cello, the instrument closest to the human voice, the sound beautiful, emotional, a little melancholy.

She watched, unable to tear her gaze away, as he picked up his bow, his head bent over the cello, almost as if in prayer. Then the music started, filling the space, soaring up to the ceiling high above. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel...