Page 57 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘When you do, let me know and I’ll write something up about that, too.’

‘I know you said you didn’t want any payment, but…?’ she trailed off.

‘And I still don’t. I got paid when I sold the article.’

‘Can you send me the link? Betsan will be delighted, and so will the rest of the shareholders.’

‘Of course, but please do me a favour and not mention my name.’

Rowena looked confused. ‘OK, I won’t; not if you don’t want me to.’

‘You want to know why, don’t you? Let’s just say I like to be anonymous.’

‘In that case, of course I won’t.’ She was still holding his phone, and she scrolled up to the top of the article. ‘Planet B,’ she said, reading the byline. ‘Is that you?’ And when he nodded, she asked, ‘Does that stand for anything in particular?’

‘It does. There isnoplanet B.’

Rowena thought about it for a moment, then she got it. ‘There isn’t, is there?’ she agreed. ‘This is the only planet we have. We’ve all got to do our bit, and this is mine.’ She gestured around the shop. ‘Are you sure I can’t pay you? I feel awful, you doing this for us for nothing.’

‘Please don’t. It was my pleasure. While I’m here, can I have a kilo of strong white bread flour? Looks like I’ll be making pizza tomorrow.’

‘Of course you can, but—’

‘If you’re going to say that I can have it on the house,’ he warned, ‘I won’t shop here again.’

Rowena pulled a face and shook her head. ‘You are one stubborn man,’ she said to him.

‘I’ve been called worse,’ he laughed. ‘The very first day I was in Foxmore some chap called me a tree hugger because I was handing out leaflets.’ He smiled at the memory. That was the day he’d met Harriet, the day he had bet her that she couldn’t last a week without buying something new, and she had gone one better and issued a counter-bet that she could make it to Christmas. So far, she was winning.

As he strolled down the lane towards his van, he idly mused that neither of them had decided on a forfeit.

He would have to ask her about that. He knew he’d never collect on the bet if she lost, but it was the principle of the thing. Although, in reality, he had already lost because he strongly suspected he’d lost his most precious possession – his heart.

‘What do you think?’ Harriet urged Bobby to stand up. He was wearing a man’s overcoat with the buttons done up and his head was poking through them at about chest height. The rest of the overcoat stood to attention above his mop of curls, so it looked like he was carrying his head in some fake hands, which were actually a pair of men’s gloves stuffed and pinned to the coat. His real hands and arms were inside the coat itself and couldn’t be seen.

Owen squinted. ‘Not too keen on that monster’s face,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit scary.’

Bobby squealed. ‘I’m not scary! You are!’

‘I totally agree,’ Owen said, leaping to his feet and making growling noises, holding his hands in the air like claws as he pretended to stalk him.

Harriet smiled indulgently. The children were getting on so well with Owen, it made her want to cry. She could see how much they missed having a male role model in their lives, and although her dad did his best, he was their grandad and they had a totally different relationship with him to that which they were experiencing with Owen. Owen was always up for a laugh, always happy to spend time with them, and although her dad did all of those things without complaint, she was aware he wasn’t getting any younger, and she guessed that sometimes he found them too lively.

Owen didn’t seem to mind how lively they were, Bobby especially. Sara was more reserved around him, but then she had never been much for rough-housing and had never been as full of beans as her brother. Bobby was a tornado, a whirlwind of irrepressible energy, and he’d found his match in Owen, leaving Harriet and her daughter watching amused from the sidelines as Owen chased Bobby around the kitchen, into the garden and back again, Etta hot on their heels and yapping excitedly.

‘Boys,’ Sara huffed, earning herself a laugh from Harriet.

Sara’s costume had been trickier to make. She wanted to be Wednesday from the Addams family, which had involved creating a black dress out of an old tunic, stitching a white collar and cuffs into it from a shirt with bleach stains that Mrs Moxley had been intending to throw out because it couldn’t be sold in the charity shop, and cutting the arms out of an ancient stripey T-shirt of Harriet’s to use as stockings. The hard part had been making a black wig out of yarn. That had been Owen’s job, and Harriet had been impressed with the way he hadn’t baulked at the idea but had set to with enthusiasm, stitching the yarn onto an old bobble hat.

Sara had to show him how to plait, and Harriet had a lump in her throat as she watched the two heads bent over the impromptu wig: Sara playing the role of teacher, Owen listening intently and following the child’s instructions.

He would make a great dad.

The thought took her by surprise, but now that it was in her head, it was there to stay. As he showed the children (and her) how to make pizza bases and encouraged them to spread the tomato sauce and sprinkle on their own toppings, her feelings for him grew.

The way to a man’s heart might be through his stomach, as the old saying went, but the way to a mother’s heart was through her children. It didn’t hurt that he was also drop-dead gorgeous (and wasn’t aware of it), thoughtful, kind and fun to be with.

All in all, he was the perfect man.

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