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Hal walked briskly through the streets of the small town, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket. It was raining a little—cold sleet again, and the temperature was icy, the breeze slicing through him whenever he rounded a corner. There would definitely be snow by Christmas Day. If it fell overnight, it was possible the kids would have to stay with him over Christmas. He could just imagine Rebecca’s annoyance if that were to happen.
But it wouldn’t be fair to the kids. They wouldn’t have all their presents from the rest of the family, or the magnificent five-course dinner Rebecca would have organized. Hal was planning to have a frozen ready meal and a microwaveable Christmas pudding. Cooking wasn’t one of his skills.
He’d miss them, but he was glad to be out of the family home. Two years ago, when he’d discovered she was having an affair, he’d moved out the week before Christmas. He’d come to the house for Christmas Day for the kids’ sakes, but he’d left before it got dark, the atmosphere too bitter for him to stay.
The previous Christmas, after Charles had moved into the family home, Rebecca had invited him for Christmas dinner, saying it would be best for the kids to have him there, and they should all be able to act like grownups. He’d hated every minute of it, and had spent most of the two hours glaring at Charles, who’d done his best to touch and kiss Rebecca in front of him every chance he’d had. The day had fallen completely flat, with neither of the kids being convinced by their parents’ faked happiness. This year, Rebecca would be genuinely happy, because Charles pandered to her every whim.
That probably wasn’t fair, but Hal didn’t care much.
The streets of the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, were relatively quiet this Saturday morning. The island was currently cut off from the mainland, and, as it was only nine a.m., there weren’t many visitors. The island had a population of around 160 people, but thousands of tourists came every year to see the ancient priory and castle, to sample the island’s famous mead, and to experience the strange sense of isolation when the tide came in. After one o’clock, when the tide went out, there would be an influx of cars carrying tourists looking for unusual last-minute Christmas presents, although the numbers might thin out if snow started to fall.
The local choir group from the church of St. Mary the Virgin stood outside the Heritage Center, singing carols. Hal slowed as he passed them and threw the change he had in his pockets into the hat one of them had placed on the ground, giving them a wave. They were singing Once in Royal David’s City, the haunting melody sending a shiver down his spine that was nothing to do with the freezing temperatures. When he was a child, Hal had been a choirboy, and he’d sung with the group for several years running, until he was in his late teens and had gone to university. He no longer went to church, but the singing reminded him of those Sunday mornings in the old building, the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows and casting colored light on the flagstones like scattered jewels.
He was in a fanciful mood this morning, he thought. It must have been something to do with the angel he rescued last night. He chuckled to himself and continued walking along Marygate, toward the garage.
As he neared the building, he saw Angel’s car parked on the forecourt with all its doors open and a heater blasting hot air into the interior. Ian came out as he neared, and the two men shook hands. They’d been good friends for a long time, and Ian had gone through a bitter divorce several years ago, so he had a lot of sympathy for Hal’s predicament. Luckily, he’d met another girl and was now happily married. Hal liked Cheryl, who often invited him around when she was cooking Sunday lunch.
“Thanks for rescuing the car last night,” Hal said.
“No worries. I sent Peter,” Ian said with a grin, referring to the young guy who worked for him. He gave Hal an appraising look. “So, you rescued a damsel in distress? What’s she like?”
Hal thought about it. For too long. Ian’s grin spread. “That good, huh?”
“She’s very nice,” Hal said.
Ian nodded and gave a short laugh, obviously realizing there wouldn’t be any more details forthcoming.
Hal walked toward the car. “So, you think it’s a write-off?”
Ian followed him, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, everything can be fixed, given enough time and money. We can dry it out, clean every little piece of the engine—which will take a long time and cost a pretty penny. But I guarantee she’ll drive it for a week and want to get rid of it. It’ll never be the same. She’ll have trouble getting a loss adjuster to come out before the New Year, though.”
“Yeah, I know.” Hal peered inside. A thick layer of sand covered the seats and the footwells. The engine had fared no better. Ian was right—the cost of returning it to working order would be more than the cost of replacing the car.
“I put her cases and coat inside,” Ian said. “I’ll go and get them.” He walked off.
Hal checked the interior of the car again, making sure there was nothing else there she might need. He flipped down the glove compartment. A couple of soaked maps he was sure she wouldn’t be interested in. A pair of sunglasses that he placed in his pocket. A plastic bag containing a small bottle of engine oil and a flyer advertising one of the shops in the service station on the M6. He realized he hadn’t asked her where she lived. She had a southern accent, so he suspected she didn’t come from Liverpool or Manchester. Had she driven all the way from Bristol or the West Country?
About to stuff the flyer back into the glove compartment, he flipped it over and saw it was covered with handwriting. The seal on the plastic bag had been almost perfect—only a few drops of water had gotten through. He smoothed the note out, not meaning to be nosey, but wondering whether it was something she needed to keep.
At the top, she—or at least he assumed it was Angel’s handwriting, big and round and full of loops—had written the words ‘Wish List’, and all over the paper she’d drawn fancy bubbles filled with ideas.
It was oddly intimate, like reading her mind, and Hal knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was a collection of dreams, of things she obviously felt would make her life better. But she wasn’t asking for a million pounds. He felt a catch in his throat at the mundaneness of some of them, which showed how such tiny things could influence someone’s life. A better job. New clothes. A subscription to her favorite history magazine. A Tudor coloring book. There was no mention of love or men.
He recalled the fact that she’d said she’d broken up with her boyfriend last Christmas, and that she’d been unwell. Maybe the guy had broken her heart, and she’d had trouble recovering.
Then his gaze fell on the item at the bottom. ‘Orgasms. Lots of. Perhaps a vibrator might help here.’ She’d finished with a smiley face.
His eyebrows rose.
Slowly, his lips curved up.
“Here you go.” Ian appeared beside him with two cases and a pink coat with a fake-fur trim hood.
Hal folded the plastic bag with the note and put it in his pocket. “Are the cases soaked?”
“One’s fairly wet. The other’s not too bad. A quick wash and dry and they’ll be fine.”
“That’s great, thanks mate.” Hal put the coat through the handles of one of the cases. “I’m guessing you’re closing early today?”
“At twelve, but you know where I am if you need me. I’ll be back on the twenty-seventh if the insurance company wants to visit. I’ve taken plenty of photos anyway.” He adjusted the heater a little. “I’ll keep the dryer going until all the moisture has gone, but I’ll hold off cleaning it up until the insurance company has seen it.”
“Fair enough.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come around for Christmas dinner?” Ian asked. “Cheryl’s bought a turkey big enough to feed all of Northumbria.”
“Nah, I’m good,” Hal said with a smile.
“But you’ll come to the pub on New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, sure. I look forward to it. Catch you later.” Hal walked off, carrying the cases.
Instead of heading for home, though, he walked around to St. Cuthbert’s Square to George’s house. After explaining to the old guy what had happened the night before, he picked up the keys to the cottage, then walked next door and let himself in. He placed Angel’s bags in the hallway, and went into the living room and made up the wood stove. He waited until flames were leaping merrily before placing the safety guard in front, closing the door, and leaving it to develop into a warm glow.
Walking back into the hallway, he took the plastic bag out of his pocket and studied it for a moment. Then he bent, unzipped one of the cases, and slid the plastic bag into it. He’d have to pretend he’d never seen it. She might be angry if she knew he’d read the list.
After locking the front door behind him, he set off back to his house. Despite promising himself he wouldn’t mention her wish list, he couldn’t help but ponder on it. The very fact that she’d taken herself off alone at Christmas told him a lot about how she was feeling right now. Clearly, the list was an attempt to fill her life with things that made her feel good.
He wondered who had broken her heart. The thought made him sad. Why was love so hard? He’d found it similarly difficult, enough so that he’d decided he wasn’t going to make the effort to meet anyone else. He had two children now, so he didn’t have to worry about having a family. He’d already decided he was going to try to find another job, and concentrate on his career. He didn’t need a partner. Being alone didn’t bother him, and in many ways, it was easier. He liked being selfish and not having to worry about pleasing someone else.
If it wasn’t for sex... He sighed and looked up at the gray sky, shivering in the icy wind. It had been a long time since he and Rebecca had slept together—well over two years and more like two-and-a-half. Once or twice, women at work had expressed an interest in hooking up, but he’d been so badly burned he’d not even wanted to light a candle anymore, let alone stoke it into a fire. As Angel had so delicately intimated in her wish list, there were other ways of satisfying oneself, ways that didn’t involve the complications of satisfying another person.
And yet, personal DIY didn’t come close to sharing a bed with someone. To spending hours lovemaking, and teasing each other to fulfilment.
But there was no point thinking about it, because he’d just get himself hot and bothered, and he had other things to worry about.
He headed back to his house, let himself in, and walked through to the kitchen. There he stopped and leaned against the doorjamb.
Angel, Jamie, and Brenna were sitting at the kitchen table, coloring, talking, and laughing. “I can’t believe you did that,” Jamie was saying as he put glue stick around his decoration.
“Can’t believe you did what?” Hal asked.
They all turned to look at him, surprised—they obviously hadn’t heard him come in. Brenna had glitter all over her hands. Angel’s nose was sparkling, too.
“I was telling them about the time I walked the entire length of the town high street with my skirt tucked in my knickers,” she said.
Hal lips twitched. “How on earth did that come up in the conversation?”
“I told Angel that I tripped up the steps during assembly,” Jamie said. “I was really embarrassed, but she said she’d done things like that, too.”
“All the time,” Angel said. “But the most impressive thing was that he was going up onto the stage to accept a spelling award. I mean, holy moly. That’s pretty amazing, don’t you think? I can’t spell for toffee.”
Hal met her gaze. He knew it wasn’t fair, but it was difficult not to compare her to Rebecca. His ex-wife was a good mother and loved her kids to bits, but there was no way she’d have been sitting at the table covered in glitter, and she would never have admitted doing something as embarrassing as exposing her underwear in public.
Angel blinked a few times as he continued to study her, then blushed. “I know. I’m such an idiot.”
“Angel thinks you’re yummy,” Brenna announced.
“Oh jeez.” She put her face in her hands.
That made Hal laugh out loud, even as a warm glow spread through him. She liked him? “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been to check out your car.”
She lowered her hands, rising to empty her cup in the sink, although it was probably done to hide her blush, he thought.
“Oh?” she said. “And?”
“It’s pretty bad. I think it might be best if you look to get it written off. How long are you here for?”
“Until January second.”
“You might be lucky and get someone come out to check it before then. Either way, you’re going to need some other form of transport back home. Um... where do you live?”
“Chepstow,” she said. “Just over the Welsh border.”
His eyes widened. “You drove all the way up from Chepstow? How long did that take you?”
“Nearly seven hours. Google said six, but there was a lot of heavy traffic, which was why I missed the crossing.”
His heart sank. It was much too far away to visit on a frequent basis.
His disappointment surprised him. Had he really thought something might develop from this relationship? Hadn’t he just been thinking how happy he was to be alone?
He liked her—that was all. She seemed smart, despite nearly drowning herself, and she was funny and warm-hearted. His kids liked her. And she was... well, gorgeous, for want of a better word.
But he’d known her a sum total of about fourteen hours. He knew practically nothing about her, apart from the fact that she liked orgasms, and what woman didn’t?
She turned around and leaned on the worktop, and he met her gaze again. The glitter on her nose sparkled in the light.
He mustn’t think about orgasms and Angel in the same sentence. In fact, it would probably be best if he delivered her to her cottage and then didn’t go out again for the next ten days.
They’d been looking at each other for too long. His daughter had just revealed that Angel liked him—was she looking for some reciprocation? For a sign her interest was returned? He couldn’t do it. She’d come here to get away, and the last thing he needed was to bring another woman into his life. Rebecca was more than enough for any man to cope with.
“I got the key to your cottage from George and dropped your cases off there,” he told her, feeling a tad flat. “I hope that was okay.”
“That was very thoughtful, thank you.”
“Shall we head off there now?”
She nodded and looked away. “I’ll change into my clothes.”
“If you want to keep the sweatshirt,” he said, “you’re welcome to. You don’t have a coat, and it’s bitter outside.”
“Thank you.” Not meeting his gaze again, she slipped from the room.
He hesitated, wishing he hadn’t been quite so abrupt. But it was done now. Best to get it over with.
“Okay, you two,” he said to his kids. “Coats and shoes on. And then we’re going to take Angel to her cottage.”
“Can’t she stay here?” Brenna said. “I like her.”
“Nope.” He began to clear up the bits of paper. “Chop, chop. When we get back, we’ll make the pizza dough for tonight, shall we?”
“Yes!” the kids cheered, and rushed out to get their coats on.
He dumped the scrap paper in the rubbish bin and sighed. Something deep inside him told him he’d just missed an opportunity, like lifting a hand to catch a snowflake that gets whipped away by the breeze.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Snowflakes were beautiful, but as soon as the sun came out they vanished, just like dreams.
