Page 14 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
Fred hovered in the doorway. ‘Best come clean, lad. We’re not your enemies here.’
Something flickered behind Omar’s eyes. ‘No? Then why theinterrogation?’
A crash from outside made them all jump. Jez bounced in, trailing one of Ivy’s wellington boots, the top ragged and thoroughly chewed. He dropped it proudly at Omar’s feet.
‘Another excellent example of your dog training skills,’ Omar said drily. ‘I picked one of these boots out of the compost heap yesterday.’
Fred chuckled, then seemed to catch himself. ‘He’s got a point, Ivy. That puppy needs a firmer hand.’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Ivy said, feeling her cheeks flush. She ignored Jez’s frantic clawing at an unopened bag of compost. ‘If you’re not a refugee then who are you hiding from?’
Omar’s shoulders tensed. ‘Who says I’m hiding?’
‘What other explanation is there for you skulking in my shed?’ She took a step closer and grabbed his hands, turning them palm side up. ‘Your hands are too soft for a handyman’s.’
‘Careful, Ivy,’ Fred warned. ‘Don’t corner him.’
‘I told you my story,’ Omar said, but this time, his voice sounded less confident. ‘I’m a roving handyman.’
‘No, you told meastory.’ She gestured at the meticulously organized shed. ‘This isn’t the work of someone used to drifting between odd jobs. This is ...’ She paused, searching for the word. ‘This is someone who needs to control their environment. Someone used to order.’
Omar’s laugh was harsh. ‘Playing amateur psychologist now, are we?’
‘Just tell us who you really are,’ Fred said, stepping fully into the shed. ‘We can help, but not if you’re lying.’
‘Help?’ Omar’s voice rose slightly. ‘Like that bunch of villagershelpedby hunting for imaginary refugees. Like you arehelpingby insisting I am one of them?’ He turned and she heard him muttering in his own language again. ‘I didn’t catch that, Omar,’ she said.
‘I was quoting from a Persian poet.’
‘And . . . ?’ she prompted.
‘Of the wicked, you can learn only wickedness. A wolf will not take to sewing jackets.’
Ivy flinched. No one had ever called her a wolf before.
‘Rumi in the words of Nicholson again?’
‘No. A different Persian poet – Saadi – and another English translator,Edwin Arnold.’
‘Well, your Persian poet was correct. I agree that what the villagers did was wrong, searching my shed and throwing accusations – I’m trying to make it right.’
‘By interrogating me?’
‘By offering you a safe place to stay,’ she countered. ‘Even if you’re just a homeless immigrant, not a refugee.’
‘Homeless immigrant?’ This time his laugh was bitter. ‘Is that your new theory?’
‘Listen here,’ Fred stepped between them, protective as always. ‘Ivy’s offering you shelter, but it comes with conditions. If you want to stay in the shed, you’ll start being straight with us.’
Omar’s eyes darted between them, calculating. The silence stretched, broken only by Jez eating from the now open bag of compost.
‘The shed needs proper insulation,’ Omar said finally. ‘And that window leaks.’
Ivy felt her muscles relax slightly. He was going to stay. ‘Fred’s good with his hands. He can help.’
Fred nodded.
‘And the condition is what? That I must deliver you a tragic backstory?’
