Elliot isn’t listening, though. Instead, he reaches back into the box, carefully moving the contents aside as he picks up something very small that’s lying in one corner.
“Oh, my God,” I breathe, all thoughts of churches and their smell forgotten as he holds the item up to show me.
There, on the palm of his hand, stands a tiny couple, locked in an embrace; her in a bright red coat, him in an Army uniform, with dark hair and glasses. The colors are a little faded from all the years that have passed since they were painted, but they’re still instantly recognizable.
“It’sthem,” I say, my eyes meeting Elliot’s over the tops of the little couple’s heads. “It’s the exact same couple as the one in our globe.”
He nods, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to speak.
“Does that mean Evie made our globe, too?” I ask, hardly able to believe this can be the case. “I mean, seriously; what are the odds?”
“I think she might have,” Elliot replies, putting the little figures carefully back inside the box. “I guess it’s possible she just bought all of this as a kit, and it was mass-produced somewhere, but I don’t think so. Look, there are paintbrushes in here too.”
There are; plus a couple of tubes of paint, which have long-since dried up.
“I think she at least decorated them herself,” he goes on, sifting through the various items. “Which means there’s probably a reason she painted them the way she did.”
“You mean the army uniform?” I say. “The coat?”
I think of the photo of Evie in her swishy-skirted coat. It’s in black and white, so there’s no way of telling what color the coat was, but … I guess it could’ve been red.
“Yup,” says Elliot, grinning so widely that a woman who happens to be walking past our table turns to look at him curiously. “Something must have inspired her to dress them like that, right?”
“Meaning?”I’m pretty sure I know what he’s getting at here, but I want to be totally sure.
“Meaning exactly what you said.” He leans back in his seat, practically rubbing his hands together with glee. “It’sthem, Holly. It’s Evie and Luke. They’re the real couple in the snow globe.”
Or, to put it another way: it’sus.
20
PAST
DECEMBER, 10 YEARS AGO
Isneak out of Elliot’s hotel room before he’s even awake, and head back to the flat for a shower and a change of clothes before I start my shift at the bookstore.
When I come downstairs to the shop, though, I find the lights already on, and Dad sitting behind the counter, with two takeaway coffees in front of him, and a paper bag bearing the name of a bakery in the next town, that everyone secretly agrees is much better than Martin’s parents’ one, next door.
Okay, this is obviously serious. I can tell, not just by the look on Dad’s face, but also by the fact that he never buys takeout coffee. He thinks it’s a waste of money when we have a perfectly good kettle at home.
But, this morning, he’s not only gotten up early, he’s also clearly coaxed our ancient Volvo into action, and driven to the nearest bakery to buy me a treat.
I haven’t even heard what he has to say yet, but I already want to cry.
“I thought we should probably have a chat,” he says, smiling as I pull up a stool to join him. “Here, I got you this. It’s one of those fancy ones you like.”
The coffee he hands me is actually just a regular latte, but that’s what counts as ‘fancy’ to Dad, so, yes, it would appear that he is definitely about to make me cry, one way or another.
“Holly, I think you should go to America for Christmas,” he begins, making me almost fall off my seat in shock — as much at the directness of the statement as at what he’s actually saying. This is a man who can sometimes take a good ten minutes to make a point; but here he is, jumping right into a difficult conversation with both feet.
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been desperately in need of a change lately.
“You do? Really?” I pick up the cake bag and peer inside, wondering what’s brought this on.
“Yes. I do,” Dad says firmly. “Look, I know I didn’t react as well as I could’ve yesterday, when you mentioned it. It was a shock, that’s all. But I’ve been thinking about it all night, and I think you should go with this young man of yours. It’ll be good for you. Put some color into those cheeks of yours.”
I sip my drink thoughtfully. He’s saying much the same thing he did yesterday, but it feels different, somehow. It feels like this time he actually means it.
