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Charlotte

Squatting on the floor behind her desk, Charlotte risked a glance up as Mr. Wilson came lurching over.

‘He’s gone,’ the headmaster said. ‘Do you want to tell us what that was all about?’

Charlotte shook her head. ‘I’d rather not.’

‘Well, he’s gone after Billy Toad. Is he safe around children? He looked a little unhinged.’

Charlotte remembered the conversation she’d had with a tearful James the night before. ‘Ah … I’m not sure.’

‘For goodness sake, Ms. Harding, you’re going to have to be a little bit clearer on things. I’ll have Maud call the police just in case.’

‘I don’t think—’

‘Do you want to take the risk, Ms. Harding?’

Charlotte, cheeks burning, shook her head. ‘Perhaps not.’

‘All right. Well, why don’t you get off home now?’

‘Okay, I will.’

With the snow still making the roads difficult for any vehicles without four-wheel drive, Charlotte walked. Halfway home, and aching with despair, she pulled out her phone and called Kelly.

‘Are you free?’ she asked. ‘I’m having a bit of a drama.’

‘Just got off a shift. Sorry I missed your call last night. I had to do an all-nighter.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Nothing a bit of coffee won’t fix. You know the Oak Leaf is open late in December? Meet you there?’

‘Great.’

Charlotte headed over to Sycamore Park. A fresh dusting of snow had left the park looking delightfully Christmassy, with strings of fairy lights lining the paths turning it into a glittery wonderland. Charlotte walked past the theatre, where a towering poster of James advertised his shows, even though tonight it was showing a midweek performance of The Nutcracker, performed by a local theatre group, then crossed in front of the public library to where the Oak Leaf Café sat on the northern edge of the park.

A sign outside advertised openings until seven p.m. right through December. A pretty cuckoo clock over the counter told her it was just after half past five. A few couples, mostly elderly people, occupied some of the tables. A sleepy cat looked up from a basket by the door, above which was a noticeboard covered with postcards from around the world. Charlotte looked at a couple from Italy, one from Egypt and another from South Africa, then the waitress appeared and showed her to a corner seat.

A little snowman ornament held the menu in wiry twig-fingers. Charlotte was just trying to decide between a marshmallow tower hot chocolate with Christmas spice and a ginger and cinnamon latte topped by miniature gingerbread men, when the door opened and Kelly came in.

‘You sounded desperate,’ Kelly said. ‘I came as fast as I could. Whatever we order comes with an espresso, or my advice will be half-baked and lacking clarity.’

‘Deal.’

They ordered, both opting for the ginger and cinnamon latte, with a side order of Christmas cake.

‘My life is a total disaster,’ Charlotte said, fighting back tears.

‘Tell me from the start.’

Charlotte gave Kelly a brief overview of the events of the last day, leaving nothing out. Kelly was a nurse; she could spot a misdiagnosis at a hundred paces.

At the end, Kelly ran a hand through her hair, blinked sleep out of her eyes, and took a long swig of what latte was left. ‘So, you really think you have feelings for Jacob the Milkman, while the rich and powerful, world-famous illusionist who literally flies you to Paris and then picks you up in a Rolls Royce isn’t good enough?’

Charlotte grimaced. ‘In a nutshell.’