Page 20 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Shimmering white is like snow,’ Lucy said, ‘so that’s the best one. Then gold.’
‘Let’s do shimmering white first, then. I’ll show you how to spray it safely. Birdie had these goggles and masks in her shed, though don’t ask me why, but you should use them, and that way you’ll be extra safe.’
‘I’ll look like a scientist,’ Lucy said gleefully.
Imogen exchanged a smile with Fiona. She wondered if she could steal some of the girl’s enthusiasm and bottle it for later use.
May and Sophie were the next to turn up, carrying rolls of metallic ribbon in red and green, gold and violet.
‘It’s such a great idea,’ Sophie said, once they’d exchanged greetings and Lucy had got hugs from the two women. ‘Giving the mistletoe to the village, using it as decorations throughout Mistingham. Harry was so relieved when he told me about it.’ She looked at Imogen. ‘But he didn’t try and take credit for it. He said it was all you.’
Imogen shrugged. ‘If you’ve got something and you don’t want it, you just have to figure out who else might. And we’re all here, doing this together, which proves that Mistingham is a close-knit community.’
‘Nobody would leave one person to do this by themselves.’ May got a vicious-looking pair of scissors out of her bag and started scything off strips of ribbon.
Imogen thought of all the late nights she’d spent at Rowsell & Patterson Law, photocopying, collating and binding hundreds of copies of reports, chunky bundles of contracts, while the lawyers, paralegals and other secretaries looked her in the eye, said goodnight and left her to it; her dad patting her on the shoulder, telling her she was an angel, before heading off to a fancy dinner somewhere. ‘I suppose making decorations is a lot more fun than report collation.’
May and Sophie glanced at each other, but before they could say anything, the door burst open and Harry came in, followed by a young woman with purple streaks in her jet-black hair. ‘We brought wreath bases,’ the woman said. ‘And holly and pine cones.’
‘It was Jazz’s idea.’ Harry dumped his armfuls of foliage and twine onto the mat. ‘Jazz, this is Imogen.’
‘Hey.’ When her hands were empty, Jazz walked over and gave Imogen an unexpected hug.
‘Hello,’ Imogen stuttered.
‘I heard you’ve had a rough time of it.’
‘I created my rough time, really.’ It felt like the hundredth time she’d said it. ‘But I’m glad I’ve got some breathing space, staying with Gran and doing this.’ She waggled her mistletoe, the glittering white leaves twinkling in the light. ‘Thank you all for welcoming me.’
‘What were we going to do?’ Fiona asked. ‘Banish you from the village for bad behaviour? Mistingham’s not like that.’
‘Thankyoufor helping us with our mistletoe forest,’ Harry said, as he twisted holly around a twine wreath. ‘We might have got here in the end, but I’m humble enough to admit I was on the verge of panicking when I met you.’
‘He thought Sophie was going to put him on the naughty step,’ May said with a laugh.
Sophie tilted her head at Harry. The adoration in her expression was unmistakable. ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe a couple of nights sleeping with Felix would have done the trick, but I’m not sure Felix has done anything to deserve it.’
‘Felix has always donesomething,’ Fiona said with feeling. ‘And despite that, he’s the most spoilt creature in the whole of north Norfolk.’
‘I think I’d prefer the naughty step, wherever that is,’ Harry said.
‘Enough steps in your place to be spoilt for choice,’ Jazz pointed out. ‘I bet it’s got a dungeon.’
‘Mistingham Manor does not have a dungeon,’ Harry scoffed. ‘A cellar, but not a dungeon.’
‘There you go. Can I use it for my story sessions sometime?’
Harry looked incredulously at Jazz. ‘You want to take your hordes of young, impressionable children and stick them in our spidery cellar?’
‘It would add atmosphere for the creepy books. They’re all obsessed with the Goosebumps series, even the adults.’
‘That’s because books are safe,’ Sophie said. ‘You can be scared by a book and be happy about it. Not so much in a musty old cellar with spiders the size of mince pies.’
‘Mince pies?’ Lucy’s eyes were wide like saucers.
‘What are your story sessions?’ Imogen asked. She’d volunteered for a few reading sessions for toddlers at the library near her flat, before it had been closed down due to lack of funding. It wasn’t as impressive as Nikki’s TV advertisements, but it hit the spot for her in terms of performing after she’d been encouraged to give up her amateur dramatics, and children were always a responsive audience.
‘They’re community sessions I run in here,’ Jazz explained. ‘Something I started at the beginning of the year. I initially did them for children, but the older residents were interested too. This hall doesn’t get used as much as it could, so I just thought …’
