‘Fiction?’ Danny raised his voice. ‘Fiction?! I should leave you to him.’

‘Now don’t do that. After an effort like that you should at least see it through.’

‘It worked though, didn’t it?’ Danny winked.

‘I guess it did,’ Nicole replied with a laugh.

They talked right up till they reached Nicole’s door, and she had to admit, she didn’t entirely dislike the company.

‘Thanks for walking me home.’

They stopped on her front verandah. Danny brushed her fringe to the side and his green eyes looked into hers.

Nicole could feel the heat rising over her skin as Danny’s hand lingered against her neck and she drew in a sharp breath.

‘Sorry,’ she said, casting her eyes down.

‘Is everything okay, Nicole?’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’ She shoved her hands into her coat pocket. She didn’t dare look into his eyes.

‘Right, then.’ He cleared his throat and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘Goodnight.’ He headed back down the steps and out the gate.

As she entered the cottage, she knew she somehow had to put out the heat that enveloped her. Maybe Ivy could help with that.

15th December, 1946

My Dearest Tom,

The festive season is upon us and you will never believe what Lucy has me doing. We are making decorative angels to give away at the church’s Christmas stall next week. We are using all manner of objects to make them – gumnuts and leaves, newspapers and fabric scraps, cleaned-out tin cans – whatever we can scrounge. I never considered myself at all creative, as you are well aware, but Lucy has a real gift. I mostly help her with gluing and tying things under her direction. I am not sure I am of any help, but she never complains. And the hours we spend together creating them are such fun.

It is a hard time for both of us and I suspect the choice of crafting angels and not stars or baubles is her not-so-subtle way of helping me through my grief. She sees right through me and knows that I have not yet come to terms with losing you. I try not to analyse things too deeply, though, because I know that if I did, I would come to the conclusion that Lucy also realises I still carry the burden of our angel baby much too heavily around my heart. And that is something I much prefer to keep deeply buried.

Mother and Father have joined me at the cove for the holidays and it is a relief to have our activity as an excuse to be gone from the house for hours at a time. Mother thinks it is trivial, a waste of time. She also insists that if I must continue to make the ‘ridiculous things’, then I should be selling them rather than giving them away, even though she is adamant they are not worth a half-penny.