Page 29 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Want to be the Ghost of Christmas Past next week?’
‘Definitely. Do you want me to wear a fruit basket?’
Jazz laughed. ‘Are you misremembering the Muppet film?’
‘Probably. I just get this impression of a whole lot of fruit.’
‘Maybe we should do a rewatch before next time, to prepare.’
‘Maybe we should.’
Jazz gave her a hug, then Imogen put on Birdie’s green coat and, after saying goodbye to everyone who was left, went out into the cold, drizzly night. Even like this, Mistingham seemed magical, with its glowing streetlights and the shops all hunkered down, quaint and quiet on Perpendicular Street. She walked back to Birdie’s with a spring in her step, satisfied and cosy in her blissful hot-chocolate bubble.
Chapter Twelve
Imogen wanted to hold onto the feelings the Story Time session had given her – the sense of belonging – for as long as possible, and on Friday morning she sprang out of bed the moment Birdie called up the stairs.
She didn’t want to stay in her pyjamas, and she didn’t want to stay inside: she was desperate for more of what Mistingham had to offer. She had arranged to help Sophie with the notebooks on Saturday evening, but today stretched ahead of her, empty. She didn’t even want to go to the bakery this morning, because she had started to enjoy seeing Dexter a littletoomuch, and things were complicated enough inside her head as it was.
‘Where are you off to?’ Birdie asked, when Imogen headed for the front door rather than stopping for coffee or toast.
‘I need to go and …’ She searched for a good reason why she was running out of the house like a scalded cat. ‘You don’t want to do our usual meditation? Have arosehip tea?’ Birdie held up her earthenware mug, eyeing Imogen over the top.
‘I need fresh-air therapy today, I think.’ She waited for the disappointed sigh, but it didn’t come. Birdie was not like Stella Rowsell.
‘It’s good that you’re starting to know what you want.’
‘It’s just one day.’
‘One day, one step. They all lead to more.’
‘Thanks, Gran.’ Imogen gave her a tight hug. ‘See you later.’ She flung open the front door and ran down the steps. Then she almost turned around and bolted back inside because it was drizzling, the rain more like iced fuzz against her skin than actual drops. But she couldn’t let a bit of fuzzy rain defeat her.
‘Hello,’ said a voice, and Imogen jumped, her hand pressed to her chest. ‘Your coat is very green.’
‘Lucy!’ The girl had Artichoke on a bright red lead at her feet. ‘It is green, isn’t it? How are you?’
‘I have to go to school,’ Lucy said with a sigh. ‘Every day except the weekends. Artichoke goes with Dad, but he always gets stressed because he can’t have her at the bakery, and he usually leaves her with Fiona and Ermin, except they’re in London today because they’re seeing a musical, and he’ll need to keep going home to check on her, and Fridays are always busy, and Artichoke is small and Darkness and Terror are big and so …’
Her words trailed off, and Imogen waited for the punchline.
Lucy thrust the lead towards her. ‘Would you like to look after Artichoke? She likes you, and she rescued you when you were in your wedding dress.’
Imogen fought to hide her smile at Lucy’s honed emotional blackmail skills. ‘I’m so glad she likes me. What do I need to do with her?’
‘Keep her company. Make sure she stays out of trouble, that’s what Dad always says.’
‘I don’t have the best record for staying out of trouble.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘As long as you don’t run away with her, it should be fine. And you can take her to Dad at lunchtime, and he’ll feed her.’
‘Right.’ Imogen would rather not do that because of her self-imposed Dexter ban, but Lucy’s explanation about how the puppy was an extra complication in his already complicated life, but he’d still let his daughter have her, made her realize that this was the very least she could do. ‘I can look after Artichoke. I’ll take her for a walk, then she can come back here and read with me.’
‘Yay!’ Lucy did a little dance on the spot, then ran up the road, presumably back to Dexter and then school.
‘Right.’ The puppy was already bedraggled, and Imogen wondered how kind it was to take her on a walk in the drizzle, but then Artichoke strained at her lead, interested in something further up the road, and she sighed. Wrapping the lead around her wrist for added security, she followed the dog away from Birdie’s house and in the direction of Perpendicular Street.
Imogen couldn’t help noticing all the mistletoe adorning the buildings. It was on shop fronts, door knockers, and hanging from the tops of door jambs, waiting for unsuspecting people to walk beneath it. It wouldn’t last untilChristmas, but this was to celebrate Sophie and Harry’s wedding, and that was only a week away.
