Page 132 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“We never thought it would happen.” Nory sniffed. “But it has, and he loves her back.”
“And my front,” added Ameerah.
“Yes. All of her, in fact.”
“Well, that is wonderful.” The bushy-eyebrowed man beamed at them. “Angelina!” he called to his wife in the car behind. “It’s okay. There’s no problem. She’s crazy in love is all!”
Nory turned in her seat to see a round woman climb out of the car and walk toward them.
“Who’s this in love, Eric?” she asked as she reached the car. By now, other people were also getting out of their cars and coming over to see the curious goings-on beside the Mini Countryman.
“I am,” said Ameerah.
“Are you the lucky woman?” Angelina nodded at Nory.
“Oh, no... not me, she’s in love with a man.” Nory beamed back at her.
“And he loves you too?” Angelina confirmed.
“Yes,” Ameerah gushed.
“Front and back,” added Eric.
Angelina clapped her hands together and laughed the kind of laugh that dares you not to feel instantly joyous.
“You just found out you love each other at Christmas! Well, if that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is. Get out here, child, and let me hug you. You too.” She pointed at Nory. “I got love to go around.”
And that was how, in the middle of gridlocked traffic on the Blackfriars Underpass, a small group of people left their cars to congratulate a barrister who had recently fallen in love with a model, and her very happy best friend.
Forty-one
RRRRRRRAAAHHHHHH!”
The noise jolted her from sleep, and the two boys jumping on her, yelling “Aunty Nory! It’s Christmas Eve!” made sure she was very definitely wide-awake. They’d arrived late, due to a mixture of London traffic and heavy snow when they were about forty minutes outside Hartmead. Nory had slept like the dead last night, after her dad’s potent variation on a Moscow mule, and now she had a stonking hangover.
“Hello, my gorgeous boys!” Nory put on her bravest smile and gave it her best children’s presenter delivery, despite the evil elves in her head attacking her brain with an ice pick. “So does Christmas Eve mean one moremonthtill Father Christmas comes?”
“No!” they yelled delightedly.
“One moreweek, then?”
“No, Aunty Nory, not one more week!”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t understand it. How long is it, then, till Father Christmas comes?”
“One more day!” they yelled in unison.
“Oh my goodness! Are you ready for him?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, let’s do a checklist and see. Have you got your stockings ready?”
“Yes!” They were rolling around her bed now, giggling.
“Mine’s got snowflakes and squirrels on,” said Jackson.
“And mine’s got... What has mine got, Jackson?”
