Page 26 of His Until Christmas

We don’t have time for strolling through a winter wonderland of homeware and festive decorations, but I accept his offer, although I don’t linger over baubles, garlands, or Advent candles. I inhale the scent of cinnamon and vanilla and keep moving, all while explaining more than I could have predicted about how I spent my Christmas breaks when I was younger. Reece being a professional listener must be the reason. He’s so good at letting me rattle on. I must bore him rigid when we reach the fabric department.

“Gran was a housekeeper until she retired. At a big country house where Gramps ran the stables after he left the Blues and Royals and stopped being a Horse Guard.”

“Here?”

“In London? Yes. It’s where they met. Later, she virtually ran a stately home. Had lots of staff to manage, tons of parties to plan. She still found time to make sure I had fun each Christmas when Mum and Dad were busy at work.”

We’re surrounded by vibrant bolts of Liberty print cotton. By linen. And by velvet I can’t help touching. I’m drawn to a basket of off-cuts where fabric is printed with a street map of this city. Silk shimmers when I shake it out. “Gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Reece breathes. He clears his throat before adding, “How did she make sure you had fun?”

“By not treating me like I was too young to be useful. She taught me how to make a to-do list. How to be organised, so life ran as smooth as this for her employers.”

I don’t think. I rub printed silk against his cheek and am instantly flustered into folding the fabric tightly and speaking even faster.

“We planned projects together, like cutting down one of my grandfather’s old Horse Guard cloaks so it fit me. She taught me how to sew on his regimental buttons. And how to line it with silk.”

I can still feel the little scrap she sewed inside my school trouser pocket for days I needed a reminder that Horse Guards were brave on the outside but soft-centred like Gramps. I could be brave too when big boys laughed and pointed, all I had to do was touch silk and remember.

Now I gesture around us. “She bought everything I needed right here at Liberty’s when I was little.” I leave that busy blue off-cut behind and snort. “When I was little? I still am.”

Silk suddenly drapes me.

Reece turns me to face a mirror. “You’re one of the biggest people I know.” I’m cloaked in blue. It catches the light, as iridescent as I feel when he adds, “At least your vocabulary is.” Reece echoes what I spent the last few days thinking. “Missed it over the weekend.” He pulls the silk away to refold it, and I could make a much tidier job of that for him if I could move.

I can’t.

I’m fixed to the spot until he says, “Want a photo for your Gran?”

I do. He takes one of me hemmed in by festive fabrics, which gets an almost instant response.

Mum:She’s loving these pics!!!

Mum:Thanks, love.

I’m not sure what makes me feel more of a hero—silk around my shoulders or Mum’s confirmation that I’m making a sad day better, but my God, I can’t stop yapping all the way to our actual destination.

“Gran always made a special trip here at Christmas to revisit all the special places her and Gramps went together when they met. Places he’d send her postcards of before they married. These days, I try to grab daytime shots if I’m out and about for Rex. Then I make special trips into town to take nighttime ones when the lights really sparkle. The angels over Regent Street are her favourites. Bonus points if it’s snowing.”

Reece doesn’t walk one step behind me now. He’s beside me, still listening. I can’t tell if he thinks my annual mission is cute or the height of stupid. I continue regardless.

Continue?

I can’t stop.

“I’ve done it since I first came here.”

“Because?”

“Because it reminds her of Gramps. He only had eyes for her. Bet he’s still watching from…” I point at a sky heavy with clouds and glance sideways, a little bit horrified at how I’m rambling like a drunk on the Tube, convinced strangers need to hear his whole life story.

Reece isn’t a stranger. And he doesn’t look bored or cornered. His expression actually stops me in my tracks, which could prove fatal given the busyness of this shopping district. I’d get mown down if I tried the same without him as a wall between meand oncoming foot traffic. With Reece in the way, it parts around us as he does something else rare in London—his face creases with compassion.

“I’m sorry you lost him, Jack. I bet he’d like how you’re keeping up the family tradition. Letting your gran know you’re thinking about her, I mean. How you care enough to send her what she most enjoys. And she must enjoy getting to see where you’ve been so happy too.”

We walk on until his next comment.

“I know getting texts from you always made my morning.”

---