He laughed at the echo of his assessment at the scene of the bite. ‘Touché. And you got the tree up okay?’
She shrugged. Dragging the tree off the roof and wrangling it into the lounge room had been no mean feat but those Pilates classes had definitely paid off. ‘It was a little challenging, but I got there.’ What was it about this man that turned her voice from smooth professional to flirtatious schoolgirl? Whatever it was needed to be boxed up and locked away, hidden in a cupboard with a sign reading FORBIDDEN, the key tossed into the middle of the ocean. ‘Is Owen in town with you?’
Cole’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he were looking for a fast exit. ‘No. He wanted to visit one of his mates so I dropped him off and said I’d pick him up in an hour. I guess tree lighting isn’t that exciting for a fifteen-year-old boy.’ His mouth twisted into a knot. ‘I’m trying to give him a little rope, show him I trust him, but it’s tough when I know how easily influenced he can be.’
‘You have sole responsibility for him?’ Even with an incapacitated stepfather, it seemed like a big ask.
‘My mum has enough to deal with looking after my stepfather. He’s in a bad way. Fell off a ladder and broke both his legs. Can’t do a thing for himself. I’ve told her I’ll take care of Owen and I want to make sure I do it right.’
‘That’s very … brotherly of you. You must have a close-knit family.’
He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Well, it was just me and Mum for quite a while. She had me when she was nineteen, then met Bill when I was eleven and he’s been a great father figure to me, so I feel like I owe them. Owen’s a good kid. He just needs to be kept on the straight and narrow. His friend’s parents are home so I figure not much can go wrong.’
Wow. Cole was a sharer. Not only was he sentimental, he was deluded as well. Based on Owen’s case file and his attitude, he wasn’t looking to reform any time soon. But that wasn’t her business. And neither was Cole Harrison’s personal life.
‘Well, the people you meet.’
The animated pitch of Crystal’s voice drew an inhale from deep in Hannah’s diaphragm.
‘And look at you both, impeccably matched.’
‘Matched?’
‘Your outfits.’
Hannah looked at Cole’s shirt and then down at her own emerald shift dress. ‘Oh, right.’
Crystal narrowed her eyes. Opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, a quiet smile curving her lips. ‘I’d best be on my way. Don’t want to miss the first carol with the community choir. We start in five minutes. Always good to have an audience so I’ll see you both there!’ She winked and hurried away, the white pom-pom on her sequinned Santa hat bouncing against her riotous curls.
Cole waved a hand in the same direction. ‘Can I escort you to the festivities?’
Hannah could tell him she didn’t need an escort, or that she didn’t fraternise with a patient’s relatives, but both responses felt ungracious, especially considering how chivalrous he’d been over the leech bite fiasco. There was no harm in walking up the street with him, was there?
She started to move off when a voice called from behind.
‘Ah, miss? The book under your arm … you planning on paying for that?’
Her cheeks burned hot. Oh God, did the stall holder think she was shoplifting? ‘Yes, of course, sorry. I totally forgot.’ She unzipped her cross-body bag and fumbled around for her wallet.
‘My shout.’ Cole whipped a five-dollar note from his pocket and handed it to the sceptical-looking man at the back of the trestle tables.
The bookseller whistled through the gap in his front teeth. ‘Enjoy that.’ He winked. ‘According to my wife, it’s nice and spicy.’
Could the ground please open up right now and swallow her whole? She tucked the book under her arm, out of sight, mumbled a thanks and kept her eyes on her sandshoed feet all the way down the street.
And still the very proximity of the man walking beside her was enough to keep her blood cells crashing around in her veins like out-of-control dodgem cars.
Every man, woman and child in Yarrabee was apparently at the lighting, covering every patch of grass in the park, some seated, some standing, kids running and squealing, adults milling around and chatting. It had the vibe of a vineyard music festival, minus the alcohol. A giant of a tree presided over the gathering, festooned with ropes of gold tinsel, its branches laden with giant red baubles, a glittering star gracing its crown.
Even a Christmas curmudgeon couldn’t help but admire its beauty. ‘Is that one of yours?’
Cole leaned down, hand to his ear, and an earthy scent—cedar and leather and musk—drowned her senses. She exhaled it away and repeated her question.
‘Sure is. Bill chooses a special tree for the town each year and nurtures it like a baby. Donates it for the lighting. It’s become a tradition, for him and the town.’
It had been so long since she’d been part of any kind of Christmas tradition, private or public, being here felt like landing on a planet on the far side of the universe. Local Councillor Kelly Clements, wearing gold sequins and a set of reindeer ears, stepped onto a podium beside the tree and the crowd fell quiet. The woman certainly knew how to command an audience. Despite her toughas-nails reputation, she’d done a brilliant job supporting her foster kids and that role was definitely not one she did for show. People could be so multi-layered, so complex—that had been one of the things that had drawn Hannah to psychology. That, and her own family’s complete inability to deal with grief. Helping others do better had been her driving motivation. It had been too late to salvage anything much for herself but if she could help others manage their emotions, in all sorts of circumstances, her father’s life would not be wasted. Her gut twisted, the acidic taste of bile scorching her throat.
A sudden burst of voices drew her back to the here and now. The choir had launched into a hearty rendition of ‘Joy to the World’. A couple of dozen men and women singing their hearts out, faces beaming with the very thing they were celebrating in the music. People in the crowd joined in, moving in time to the rhythm as if holding steins of lager and listening to an oompah band in a German brauhaus. Crystal stood loud and proud in the middle of the group of choristers, a broad smile lighting her face. This was what it was to be part of a community, to revel in the spirit of the season. Wonderful. And yet the protective shell lining the inside of Hannah’s skin hardened. If she let it crack, let even a sliver of Yuletide cheer seep into her bones, the past could all come flooding back. And that was not a process she wanted to risk.