Page 27 of Only for Christmas

‘After seven years of medical school? Hardly. I’m thirty-five.’

She unearthed a strange-looking vase from the dresser. ‘You look younger.’

‘Thank you. How old are you?’

‘Same as you.’ She plonked the flowers in the vase. ‘And there you have it. Life’s biggest cruelty. You’re thirty-five and look twenty-five; I’m thirty-five and look forty-five.’

‘You do not look forty-five.’ He nodded to the vase. ‘And what is that thing?’

‘Art deco.’ She headed for the kitchen. ‘And I may not look forty-five, but I feel it.’

He followed her, leaning against the doorframe so he could watch her fill the vase. ‘And why’s that?’

‘Men. They’ve aged me.’

‘Men? Or man, singular?’

She shut off the tap. ‘None of your business.’

‘Fair enough.’ He’d wondered if she’d tell him about her break-up, but she didn’t offer anything further. ‘Why are you so grumpy today?’ He had to move quickly to get out of her way.

‘I’m always grumpy.’

He followed her into the lounge. ‘You weren’t last night. You were almost friendly.’

‘Yeah, well, it wore off.’ She dumped the vase on the glass coffee table, making it rattle.

‘Can I meet Fred?’

She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I suppose there’s no point denying his existence?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Fine. Stay here.’

He used the delay to check out her apartment. Wooden floorboards, bulky period furniture, heavy drapes at the window and a fancy chandelier. The walls were painted deep green, a contrast to the large red rug, and he felt like he was on the set of a murder mystery. The only glimpse of modern life was the flat-screen TV and an iPad lying on the coffee table. There were no photos anywhere, just a painting of a Twenties flapper hanging on the wall.

Sarah returned with a short dog trotting behind her. ‘Fred, this is Lucas.’

‘Hey there, fella.’ Lucas dropped to his knees and the dog scurried over, his soft brown coat as clean as the furnishings. ‘What’s his story?’

Sarah perched on the arm of the couch. ‘I found him on Putney Bridge shivering and hungry. He looked up at me with those pathetic brown eyes and I caved.’ She gave a shrug. ‘Mug, or what?’

He waited until she looked at him. ‘Big brown eyes kind of make me go soppy too.’

She pinned him with a look. ‘I can’t be charmed.’

He laughed. ‘You planning on keeping him?’

‘Not allowed. No pets policy in the tenancy lease. He’s had a check-up with the vet, and he seems healthy enough, but he doesn’t have an identity microchip, so there’s no way to locate his previous owner. I keep threatening to take him to Battersea Dogs Home, but it’s like he knows and starts whimpering and I give in.’ She picked up a cushion and hugged it to her chest. ‘One more day, I say, but the next day it’s the same. Who knows, maybe this week I’ll finally take him.’

Fred rolled onto his back and started whimpering, his legs in the air like he’d been shot. Lucas laughed.

‘See what I mean? He could win an Oscar for that performance.’

Fred righted himself and jumped onto Lucas’s lap. ‘The longer you keep him, the harder it’ll be saying goodbye.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

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