Page 38 of The Cosy Travelling Christmas Shop

‘Did it go OK?’ He looked worried and she hastened to reassure him as she locked Dippy.

‘It went well, and I sold loads.’ She tried not to pull another face at the thought of all the reconciliation and paperwork she had to do to ensure her suppliers were correctly paid. She’d kept meticulous records throughout the day, but there was always room for error. ‘It was good fun,’ she added, ‘But it didn’t half take it out of me, and I’ve got to go into work tomorrow.’ She dreaded the thought.

Yawning hugely, Seren hoisted the bag with the day’s takings in it and followed her dad inside.

A wall of welcome warmth hit her, and once she’d divested herself of her coat, fleece, scarf, gloves, boots and one of the two pairs of socks she’d been wearing, she dropped down into the squashy sofa with a groan.

‘Can I make you a cuppa?’ her dad asked, and she nodded gratefully, then glared at his retreating back when he pressed the button on her cuddly Father Christmas as he walked past, sparking the toy into jerking life as his mouth moved mechanically to the tinny sounds of ‘Jingle Bells’.

As if on cue, the moment the Father Christmas had ground to a halt, the Christmas clock above the fireplace briefly played ‘We Three Kings Of Orient Are’, announcing it was nine o’clock.

No wonder Seren was tired. She and Nicole had been on the go since six-thirty this morning, and not only was she tired, she ached like the devil, her face hurt from smiling so much, and she was starting to lose her voice from all the talking she’d done. She also hadn’t had anything to eat since twelve-thirty when Nicole had bought them a slice of game pie from the deli stall opposite, to go with their sandwiches.

After drinking her tea and telling her dad all about the market (she may have mentioned Daniel once or twice), Seren had a hot bath to warm up, then wrapped herself in a soft throw – a special Christmas one with a happy snowman on it – and kissed her dad goodnight. She made herself a mug of hot chocolate (although it was nowhere near as yummy as the one she’d drunk earlier today) and settled down to do some sums.

An hour later she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. She’d counted the money, prepared a float for the next fayre, written out the takings, less her commission, for every supplier, and had made a note of what had sold well, what stock was left and what she needed more of. She was now bone-grindingly weary and was falling asleep in the chair.

Oddly, though, when she retired to bed and nestled into her pillow, she found she was unable to sleep. Daniel’s face kept intruding into her mind, and she couldn’t help hoping she’d bump into him again soon – preferably not literally next time, as she still had a sore spot on her head from today’s encounter.

Crossly, and in desperate need of rest, she told herself that even if she did see him again, he wasn’t interested in her; he’d made that abundantly clear. So why was she unable to get him out of her mind…?

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