Page 25 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
Ivy watched Helen reorganize the ribbon box efficiently into shades of colour.‘Oh. Well then, have you met Helen somewhere before?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.
‘No.’ His next words fell between them, jagged as splintered stone. ‘And I don’t wish to.’
Mabel walked past their table, clutching her half-finished wreath protectively to her chest, as if Omar might steal it. Ivy spotted Omar’s eyes dart brieflytowards Mabel, saw the tiny flinch he tried to hide and the way he averted his eyes.
She traced her fingers along a pine branch, the prickly sensation grounding her. She used to lead these wreath-making sessions, and it felt strange being demoted to just a helper in the background. ‘Do you know why we make wreaths?’ she said to Omar. ‘It’s because the circle represents God’s endless love. The promise of everlasting life through Jesus Christ, whose birth we are about to celebrate.’
‘And the evergreen represents hope and renewal,’ Omar addedwithout looking up, his fingers still working steadily. ‘It signifies that believers have life everlasting, even in winter’s darkness.’
Ivy blinked. ‘How did you know that?’
But Omar had already turned away, his attention caught by Victor’s increasingly frantic attempts to attach a red ribbon to his wreath. The young Vicar had somehow managed to tangle himself in the fabric. His glasses sat lopsided, and pine needles stuck out from his dark hair, making his head look like a peculiar green hedgehog.
‘Here,’ Omar said, his voice gentler than Ivy had heard before. He moved to Victor’s side, carefully unknotting the ribbon. ‘You’re thinking too much. Let the material guide you.’ His hands moved confidently, demonstrating the technique. ‘Like this. See?’
Victor’s face lit up as the ribbon finally cooperated. ‘That’s brilliant! Where did you learn to do that?’
The shutters came down behind Omar’s eyes again. ‘Nowhere important.’
A burst of laughter from Helen’s end of the table made Omar jump, the ribbon slipping from his fingers. He scurried to the other end of the workspace, his movements stiff and controlled.
‘Whatever’s eating that man,’ Trish murmured, appearing at Ivy’s elbow, leaning heavily on a stick, ‘you’ll get it out of him. You always do.’ She patted Ivy’s arm. ‘You’re good at knowing when to push and when to hold back. You always used to tell me that people open up when they’re ready.’
Ivy tried to smile, though she feared that the person who had once dispensed that wise advice was a lifetime away.
Through the hall’s windows streetlamps flickered into life in the gathering dusk, spilling light across the darkening streets. Omar was finishing another wreath, adding small, dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks. His fingers moved with the sure confidence of someone who’d done this many times before. Thefinished piece looked almost professional, the kind you’d see in an upmarket shop window.
‘Beautiful,’ Ivy said. Don’t you think, Mabel?’
Mabel gave a grudging nod. ‘Reckon that one will sell quickly next Saturday,’ she said.
Omar looked up, startled. For a moment, pride flashed, and Ivy saw a brief glimpse of another person entirely – someone who took joy in creating beautiful things.
‘It’s only branches and string,’ he muttered, but he placed the wreath down with careful hands, adjusting it until it lay perfectly centred on the table.
Outside, a breeze tossed a pile of fallen leaves, scattering them in restless swirls that caught the light from a nearby streetlamp before fading into the darkness. Ivy noticed Omar watching the dance, saw something like longing cross his face as Helen’s laugh rang out behind them.What are you running from?she wondered and, almost before she could stop herself, the question turned inward.
How long had she been running from her own doubts? How long had she let the persistent erosion of confidence pull her away from the woman she used to be?
For Ivy, the following week passed in a flash, and finally she started to believe she was getting the hang of things at the café. She arrived especially early on Friday morning to unpack a box of antique books Trish had purchased at an auction, hoping to tempt Christmas shoppers. With the scent of old paper curling into the air like a forgotten story, Ivy unpacked the books one by one. The worn leather spines felt supple under her fingers as she lifted each volume, pages whispering when she opened them to check their condition. She admired each cracked spine and gilded title before sliding them into place on already packed shelves with a satisfying soft thump. Spotting a beautiful 1889edition of Amy Levy’s poems,A London Plane-Tree, and Other Verseshe took a moment to leaf through, her eyes skimming the lines. She ran her fingers over the leather binding. It was gorgeous, but at over £100 it was far too expensive for Ivy.
By nine o’clock the café was chaos. Steam hissed from the coffee machine while voices and clattering crockery filled the room. Trish, still hampered by crutches, was stuck behind the counter, sawing one-handedly through a crusty loaf while the till beeped insistently. A customer waved a fiver with sharp snaps and Jez was making troubling scraping noises beneath a table. The smell of strong coffee couldn’t quite mask something burning and Ivy’s palms were damp with sweat from the frantic pace as she balanced yet another precariously wobbling tray.
At least she could put her feet up tonight – Fred had invited her around for dinner. ‘Jez, if that’s chewing, Iswear—’
A pause. A guilty gulp came from under the table where she had seen Trish stash a crate of freshly baked scones earlier.
She didn’t have time to investigate. The queue was lengthening. Trish looked close to murder.
Then Omar spoke. ‘I will help.’
Trish looked startled. ‘Oh ... er.’
Ivy hadn’t even noticed Omar come in.
‘You don’t have to—’ said Trish.
‘I can,’ he said simply, rolling up his sleeves. And suddenly, he was moving through the café with an effortless calm. He gathered plates, took orders and balanced trays with fluid confidence. He dealt with the fiver-waving customer, and – perhaps most miraculously of all – Trish softened her expression.
