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“Mel?” She doesn’t look at him, and he sighs. When she glances back at him, he’s running a hand over his face. “This isn’t going to work, is it?” His voice is barely more than a murmur, but it feels like he’s shouting at her.

She frowns. “Has someone said something?”

He hesitates. “No. But us, together…” He gestures at the space between them. “I should never have suggested it.”

“No,” Mel says shortly. “But you did.” And she never should have agreed. But she did.

Finn rakes a hand through his wet hair. “They’re going to find out.”

“No they’re not,” she says, feeling a rush of frustration. It was his bloody idea in the first place—why is he making her talk him into it?

“Maybe I should tell them the truth,” Finn continues, as if he hasn’t heard her. “I could drop you at the station this morning.”

She feels heat flood her cheeks. First he begs her to come, then he wants to discard her? No fucking way. “We are not doing that,” she hisses. “How do you think leaving in the middle of the holiday will make me look?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s going to make me look worse than you.”

“No, Finn. We’re not telling them. You wanted me here? Well, tough shit, because you’ve got me. So deal with it.” She grabs her washbag from her suitcase. “It’s five days. We can manage five bloody days.” And it’s her who has to do the managing, isn’t it? It’s his plan, for fuck’s sake.

Finn watches her as she strides toward him, and he only moves out of the way when she opens the door practically on top of him.

“Get dressed,” she snaps. “We’ve got a Christmas agenda to keep to, remember?”

He heaves in a breath. “Fine.”

“Fine.” And, feeling fully self-righteous in her anger, she slams the door behind her.

—

Susan is making pancakes with Freya when Mel gets downstairs. There’s an assortment of bowls with different batter—chocolate chip, blueberry, and plain—on the counter, and Freya is standing on a stool, peering down into the saucepan. Susan places her hand over Freya’s carefully on the handle, and together they flip it—just about catching it again. Kristen is watching them beadily from the sidelines, like she’s about to lurch forward at any second, but Susan and Freya both laugh as Susan pokes the pancake fully back into the pan. Mel can’t help smiling, too, watching them—until she sees Finn over at the table, cup of coffee in front of him. He tries to catch her eye, but she ignores him—still annoyed about their earlier conversation.

Hattie comes in from the back garden, phone in hand, shivering dramatically as she shuts the door. “Dylan says he’s looking forward to seeing you all tomorrow,” she announces to the room at large. She pulls her coat tighter around her Christmas pajamas. “And, also, it’s fu—” She cuts off when she sees Freya adding another pancake to the plate and clears her throat. “It is really rather cold outside—I hope whatever you have planned for today is indoors, Mum.”

Susan gives her a twinkling smile from behind the stove and taps her nose, while Kristen brings the first batch of pancakes over to the dining table. Mark puts down the newspaper he’s been reading and smacks his lips theatrically.

“These smell delicious, Freya-bean,” he says. “Looks like we have an aspiring chef on our hands.”

“What does ‘aspiring’ mean?” Freya asks Susan.

Susan runs a hand over Freya’s red hair. “Brilliant,” she says, earning a toothy grin from Freya.

Susan and Freya bring over the rest of the pancakes, while Mel makes herself useful, finding cutlery and plates and helping Kristen to lay the table. She’s feeling a little on edge, wondering, like Hattie, apparently, what the first activity on Susan’s Christmas agenda is. She has her own to-do list of things she needs to get done at work, preferably before the new year, and she’s slightly dreading a whole day of playing happy couples with Finn—who she is still studiously ignoring.

They all sit around the table, Freya climbing into Kristen’s lap to eat her pancakes from there. Mel sits opposite them, deliberately keeping Mark between her and Finn. Freya peeks up at Mel, but when Mel smiles at her she turns her face into Kristen’s chest.

Kristen pats Freya’s back. “Don’t be silly. You remember Auntie Mel, don’t you?”

Auntie Mel. Something twists inside her, hearing it, and she tries to hide it by gulping down some coffee. Freya peeks out at Mel, but gives no confirmation as to whether she does, in fact, remember. She feels Finn looking at her, too, and distracts herself by getting out her phone, while pancakes are handed around.

There’s a WhatsApp from Amanda: Lillian wants to see more designs like the fireworks earrings before the call.

Mel’s heart does a funny little jolt. She’d added them to the Christmas catalogue that Amanda had sent to the agent without really thinking. It had been one of the only designs that was actually hers in the catalogue, inspired by her very first pair of earrings, the ones she’d worn on New Year’s Eve when she’d met Finn for the first time. It was only because he’d turned up at her flat, reminding her of their history—it must have leaked into her subconscious somehow.

Does she definitely want a similar pair out in the world, to be worn, no doubt, by hundreds of other people to a New Year’s party, where they might be kissed by a random stranger? She doesn’t really have a choice now, does she? What Lillian Hart wants, Lillian Hart gets. The only issue is time. Can she bail on whatever activity they are supposed to be doing today? Probably not. Besides, she’s not even sure she has it in her to work up a few more similar designs—she hasn’t done it properly in years. No, it’s better if one of her designers does it and she can improve if need be.

Can you get Jodie on the case? All to be run by me in the first instance.

Will do.