“You didn’t.Miss Pettigrew did,” Jillian explained, making more snips with her scissors.“She said the cheap stuff was just as good, but that’s only because she doesn’t drink it.She only drinks tea.Loads of it.”
Cat checked her smile and made another note.Quality cocoa.“Anything else?”
“Marshmallows,” Olivia said.
“Large ones,” Jillian corrected.They both glanced at each other, then giggled.
Cat pretended to sigh.“Fine.Marshmallows.”
A moment later, Olivia held up her finished snowflake—lopsided, enthusiastic, charming.
“Look!Mine’s a star.”
Cat took it carefully, smiling.“It’s lovely.We’ll tape it to the window.”
Jillian snipped the last piece of her much more intricate design and unfolded it with a little gasp of satisfaction.“This one’s better,” she said quietly, but there was no malice in it—just her usual need for precision.
Cat admired it.“It’s beautiful, Jilly.”And it was.
Detailed.Surprising.A little unexpected just like her.
While Jillian and Olivia taped their first snowflakes to the kitchen window, Cat addedeggs, milk, bread, to her list, thenoranges and applesbecause the fruit bowl was already almost empty.
The kettle clicked off behind Cat, filling the room with warmth and steam.
“Cat, what day is it?”Olivia suddenly asked.
“Monday, December fifteenth,” Cat answered, making herself a cup of tea, thinking how much everything had improved since she arrived Wednesday.
Olivia clapped her hands.“That means ten days until Christmas!Ten days until Father Christmas arrives.”
“We have a lot to do in that case,” Cat said.“And maybe when we’re done with snowflakes, we should see if we want any more decorations?I don’t know if you’ve ever made them, but oranges studded with cloves smell wonderful and we could make a bowl of them for the table or add some little loops and hang small ones on the tree.”
“What would we need to buy?”Olivia asked.
“Oranges and a packet of whole cloves, and maybe a bit of ribbon while we’re in town.”
“I love making all of our decorations,” Olivia said with a contented sigh as she started on another snowflake.
“Don’t you make decorations at home?”Cat asked.
Jillian shook her head.“Mummy doesn’t love homemade things very much.She likes things to look polished.Like a designer did it.In fact, a designer decorates her house at Christmas.We don’t.”
Cat’s lips parted but she closed her mouth before any words escaped.What the girls needed now wasn’t her opinion—the rustle of paper, the snip of scissors, the shake of glitter.Being creative together.It was happiness in itself.
*
That evening, Catmade spaghetti, the way her grandmother had always made it, and fortunately everyone ate it up without complaint.Rhys helped himself to a second bowl of pasta and another slice of garlic bread.He’d opened a bottle of red wine and Cat had agreed to a small glass, with the emphasis on small.
Olivia noticed.“You don’t like wine, Cat?”
“Oh, I do, but I don’t drink very much.This is lovely wine, though.”
“Mum drinks wine,” Olivia said.“But she likes the fizzy kind best.”
“Prosecco,” Jillian clarified.
“Prosecco is quite nice,” Cat agreed, not knowing what else to say and wondering if Rhys would speak up, or shift the topic away from the girls’ mother, but so far, he said nothing.“I like a glass of bubbly when out with friends.”
