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‘My cousin Debbie’s getting married in January, did I tell you that?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘Really? I meant to. I knew you’d love it. Can you believe she’s marrying a Christmas elf?’
‘What? Like … a real one?’
‘Oh, Charlotte. No, of course not. But that’s his job. She met him at a Christmas theme park in the Lake District where her best friend runs a café. They were on-off for a while, as she’s never been keen on settling down, but apparently they decided to form a metal band together, and now they’re getting married.’
‘Honestly, if I could draw, I would make a picture book of some of the stories you come up with.’
‘It’s completely true—’
‘Well, hello.’
Both of them looked up as a thin shadow fell over them. James Steamblack loomed over their table, resembling a weird post-modern art version of a tree with a huge black golfing umbrella held over an already wide black hat. His face, as pale as the snow, was the only part of him that wasn’t completely black, so from certain angles his body seemed to disappear.
‘James!’
The surprise Charlotte felt came with a telling sense of disappointment. There was no disputing that he was handsome, and charming, of course, but there was something about him that … lacked humanity. That he wasn’t real in the same way that other people were. That … Jacob was.
‘My dear Charlotte. I hope I didn’t disturb you. I’m very much looking forward to our date.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be foregoing the helicopter on this occasion, sadly, for something a little more appropriate for this weather. I’ll pick you up at five p.m. tomorrow.’
Suddenly Charlotte couldn’t think of anything she would rather do less. It would be best to nip it in the bud now, as Grandma might have said, rather than let it pass its sell-by date.
‘James, I—’
‘Five p.m.’
He lifted an arm, and a cape she hadn’t even noticed rippled up to encircle him. There was a flash and a bang, the smell of fireworks. She flinched, and when she opened her eyes, the pavement in front of her was empty. The only trace that James Steamblack had ever been there were a few tracks in the snow.
‘Where on earth did he go?’ Kelly said, turning in her chair to look up the street.
Charlotte said nothing. She could only stare at Aunt Marjorie, who had appeared out of the door just a moment before, perhaps early enough to hear the last of the conversation. Holding a tray in her hands, she looked a little confused, as she said, ‘Can I … um … collect your plates?’
