Page 30 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

Julia arrived, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, her hair a little fluffy now it was released from her woolly hat. She leaned in the doorway, smiling as she watched George and Jen play for a minute.

‘You’re so good with him,’ she said. ‘You always had a gift with children.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Jen smiled as George held up a train for her to admire. ‘He is lovely though. Aren’t you, Georgie?’

He nodded as he placed the train on the track, and they laughed.

‘Modest, too,’ Julia said. She came into the room and sat down next to her son. ‘You love the trains that Auntie Jen gave you, don’t you?’ The cat slipped into the room, slinked onto Julia’s lap and curled up there. ‘Hey Tigs,’ she said, stroking it.

Jen stood up. ‘Well, now you’re back I’ll go and . . .’

‘You don’t need to leave.’

She shrugged. ‘I have some things to do, so . . .’

The ‘things’ she was referring to mostly involved messaging Anthony, scrolling through Anthony’s Instagram and deciding what to wear on her first date with Anthony. She felt a sudden urge to share all this with Julia, to tell her every detail of every encounter she’d had with him, to ask for her help drafting the message, to giggle with her as she tried on outfits. Just as they had once done, years ago.

But that was before everything had been ruined.

She would call Lou instead; she was desperate for a titbit of vicarious excitement, and had already messaged to ask if Jen had heard from her Train Guy.

Jen looked down at Julia, at the expression of resignation on her face as she nodded. A part of her wanted to make that expression go away, wanted to make her laugh and smile as only sisters could. But she resisted.

She holed herself up in the bedroom they’d given her, occasionally looking out at the view of snow-covered fields as she messaged Anthony. He responded straight away, and they were soon chatting over text. She kept Lou updated with every detail.

Jen sometimes looked at dating apps, swiping while she watched Netflix, sometimes messaging, often with the whole enterprise leading to nothing, and she was fine with that. It was entertainment, meaning little more than scrolling Instagram, staving off boredom. Mostly the conversations just petered out.

This felt different. She found herself waiting eagerly for Anthony’s next message, watching with a smile of anticipation as the dots that indicated he was typing danced on the screen. His replies were smart and funny and self-deprecating. He asked about her and responded to her replies with more questions.

By the time she realised it was time to fetch Amy from school, she felt like she was really getting to know Anthony. The connection she’d felt with him on the train was growing even stronger; they liked the same books and films, the same music. They both liked city living and live music and travel. She knew all this, and she hadn’t so much as glanced at his Instagram yet.

The snow was falling again, thick and fast, layering every path and branch with a coating of crisp white, quietly erasing all the tracks that had been left in it earlier. Everything was new and fresh, and as the light dwindled, the colourful reflections of Christmas lights twinkled through the falling flakes. She and Julia wrapped up and walked to the school, hands deep in pockets, chins dipped into scarves.

Amy and Lottie ran out together, holding hands, all previous arguments apparently forgotten.

‘Auntie Jen!’

‘Train Lady!’

They both landed against her in a heap of half-buttoned coats and hats on backwards, giggling as they wrapped their arms around her waist.

‘Hi girls,’ Jen said. ‘How was your day?’

They babbled together about the school play and learning carols for the church nativity service and the Christmas fair that Mr Piper had told them all about.

‘Can Lottie come and play with Auntie Jen?’ Amy asked Julia, opening her big brown eyes as wide as they would go.

Jen shook her head. ‘Sorry. Auntie Jen needs to see Mr Piper now, but maybe another time.’

The girls’ mouths opened into perfect circles. ‘Were you naughty?’ Amy asked in a whisper.

Jen laughed. ‘I certainly hope not! I’ll see you later.’

The girls were soon mollified with promises of hot chocolate, and Jen made her way against the flow of parents and children past the little wall of Cotswolds stone and the sign where the inflatable Santa bobbed, up the path that edged the playground and into the school.

The secretary recognised Jen and buzzed her in. There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the hallway, sporting coloured lights and bright baubles. Parcels wrapped in Christmas paper and ribbons sat underneath, and next to it was a postbox made of a cardboard box painted red and with cotton-wool snow glued to it that said ‘Christmas Cards Here’ in round, childlike writing. Jen grimaced, but grudgingly decided she could just about forgive all this unnecessary festive merriment given that it was aimed at primary school children.

A noticeboard which said ‘Welcome to Babblebrook Primary School’ in bouncy letters, and had pictures of the staff pinned on, sat on the wall. There was Ted, smiling in a smart tie: ‘Mr Piper, Deputy Head Teacher’.