Page 64 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“Yeah, but if it was his parents’, then maybe he keeps it for its sentimental value rather than its artistic merit.”
“I guess,” Nory agreed halfheartedly.
They came to the bottom of the lane and Noel and Son came into view.
“God, I love this house!” said Ameerah when they’d parked.
She leaned forward over the steering wheel to look at Nory’s childhood home. A compact, sturdy 1930s building, with big bay windows and pebble-dashed walls as protection against the harsh winds. It was a no-frills house, like the family who lived in it.
“Do you think we’ll ever reach the stage where the places weactuallylive in feel like our homes, rather than the places our parents live?” Nory asked. “Why do I always think of this place as ‘coming home’ as opposed to my flat?”
“I don’t think it’s so much the places as the people,” said Ameerah. “Maybe your parents are what signify home for you. It’s different for me. I don’t feel a particularly deep sense of connection to any place really, apart from this one, which isn’t even my home.”
Nory reached over and kissed her cheek.
“It’s as much your home as it is mine,” said Nory. “I think my parents prefer you to me anyway.”
Ameerah sighed. “I think you’re right.”
They laughed as they made the chilly dash to the back door and let themselves in.
The kitchen was warm, with condensation running down the window over the sink, and something wholesome bubbled in the big saucepan on the stove; minestrone soup, possibly. A dozen rolls, freshly removed from the oven and still steaming, rested on a wire rack in the middle of the table, which was set for six. The extra two places must mean that Thomas and Shelley werejoining them for lunch, and Nory groaned inwardly. She had hoped to corner her brother in private. At the moment, she wasn’t sure she could keep a civil tongue in her head.
“You’re here!” her mum trilled, walking in from the living room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She pulled first Nory and then Ameerah into a hug.
“Ameerah, you look gorgeous as always. How’s work? Sit down, sit down. Jake will be in in a minute. Are those for me? Oh, Ameerah, you shouldn’t have, but thank you; I won’t be sharing these.”
Nory’s mum took the proffered box of Prestat chocolates and wisely shut them away in a drawer. It was pointless to buy flowers as a gift for a woman who grows flowers for a living. The house was always full of floral cast-offs dotted about in jugs and vases, but a box of chocolates from Prestat always did the trick, especially since her mum knew Ameerah would buy them from the actual shop in Piccadilly.
“Work’s good, thanks,” said Ameerah, taking a seat at the table.
“Are you seeing anyone special at the moment?” The work question was always her mum’s opener to bring her round to the question that she really wanted to ask.
“You know me, Sasha,” Ameerah said, smiling. “My work is the love of my life.”
Nory’s mum looked somewhere between proud and disappointed. “You can’t live on work alone, love. Honestly, you and Nory, like peas in a pod. No wonder you get on so well. But what about the handsome model you’ve brought down with you?”
Ameerah shot Nory a look, but Nory shrugged. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t tell her.”
“Oh, my goodness, if I waited for Nory to tell me anything,I’d be waiting forever. The village is on fire with gossip about your house party. What with Jenna being a homegrown TV star—she won a national award for most-loved TV vet in the summer, did you know that? And then there’s your model.”
“He’s notmymodel,” Ameerah interjected, but she was instantly overruled by Sasha, who simply continued as though she hadn’t spoken.
“Jilly at the newsagent recognized him first, when she was up at the castle delivering the papers, because of course she gets all the glossy magazines into the shop, you see, so she knew right away. And once she knew, everyone knew! Have you done something different to your hair?”
Ameerah shook her head, nonplussed.
Sasha scrutinized Ameerah’s face and then slapped her hand on her thigh. “I know what it is,” she declared triumphantly. “You’re in love!”
Ameerah burst out a laugh. “I don’t think I am.”
“I know that look. Do you remember what she was like over that boy, Nory, oh what was his name? He spent that summer working at the farm, the year you had your arm in a plaster cast after you came off that ladder.”
Nory was laughing too now. Ameerah squirmed and protested.
“Peter Leech,” said Nory, watching delightedly as Ameerah buried her face in her arms.
