Page 9

Claire nodded, unable to make a choice right then as she stifled a yawn and followed the women down the hallway. A few photos lined the walls, but with the only light coming from the kitchen, it was too dim for her to make out any of the pictures.

The apartment was modestly decorated with very few embellishments, but it was clean and tidy with dark, hardwood floors, red, oversized couches, and white curtains that opened at the sides of a large bay window. The only hint of Christmas was a string of twine holding up holiday cards near the fireplace and a potted poinsettia placed on the table. Still, the home was simply charming, just like Tasha. In her mid-fifties, the woman was full of life and warmth, like a brunette Molly Weasley.

“I haven’t had much time to decorate for Christmas yet,” she said, turning on the kettle and gathering a few mismatched mugs—one with a cottage covered in snow, one with holly berries, and the last with an English bulldog wearing a Christmas sweater.

“Has work been crazy, Aunt Tasha?” Melody asked, motioning for Claire to join her at the small table situated just to the side of the counter.

“No more than usual.” The kettle behind Tasha peeped. “But I don’t mind it. It keeps my mind occupied.”

She smiled, but Claire didn’t miss the hint of sorrow behind the woman’s dark brown eyes. How she bore the weight of her husband’s loss was beyond Claire’s ability to comprehend.

In a few minutes, the three of them sat together with their hot drinks, Tasha describing her work as an HR rep for an insurance company as Claire struggled to keep her eyes open.

Finally, Tasha smiled with amusement. “I think we’d better go to bed before Claire falls asleep on the kitchen floor.”

Claire nodded in a half-daze, eying the white tile with longing. It looked more appealing than going all the way upstairs to bed, but she heaved herself up from the chair anyway and followed Tasha and Melody to the rooms.

“Feel free to make yourself at home,” Tasha said as they climbed the steep steps. “I’ve stocked the fridge with food, so help yourself to anything you’d like. There’s shampoo and conditioner in the shower already. The washer’s downstairs. Melody can show you how it works. If I’ve forgotten something or you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” Claire said, more grateful than ever for the woman’s generosity.

“I ought to be thanking the both of you,” Tasha responded. “It would have been a lonely Christmas again this year without you here.” She cleared her throat and stopped at the first door. “Melody is sleeping here, and Claire…” She crossed the hallway and motioned to the door on the left. “You can sleep here. My room is down there, so if you need anything, just give a shout.”

Claire rolled her suitcases into the spare room, taking a quick note of the cleanliness of the space. A large, panoramic shot of a wintry sea graced the back wall above the bed, and a small lamp cast a warm glow across the large, green duvet.

“Right,” Tasha said. “We’ll leave you to it, then.”

After another round of hugs and gratitude, Melody and Tasha left Claire to herself as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She stumbled into her favorite pajamas, then took a moment to peer outside of the window, if only to remind herself that she really was in England.

Peeking beyond the heavy curtains and the glass of the diamond-leaded windows, the world outside still turned. Black taxis drove by with their headlamps blazing out on the wet road, and a couple only just visible beyond thick oak trees walked through the small park across the street, a red umbrella shared between them as they meandered through the sopping grass.

It was just like a picture.

With slow movements, she clicked the window open just a crack. The sounds of wet tires rushing against the road and rain clicking against the rooftop with its crisp smell was already lulling her to sleep by the time she slipped beneath the thick duvet and rested her head against the featherdown pillow.

She was more than ready to sleep until morning.

* * *

Liam wasn’t surprised to find his mum’s house quiet by the time he finished work at quarter past eleven. He usually worked this late, but it was nice to not have to travel the extra hour back to his own flat.

He’d texted Mum when he’d left work a half hour before, but she’d never responded. In hindsight, he should’ve messaged her long before now, but he’d really been hoping to surprise her with his arrival without a text. Now he could only hope he didn’t give her too much of a scare when she discovered him there the next morning.

After leaving a quick note on the table, he quietly crept through the house, noting the bathroom light glowing behind the half-open door at the top of the stairs. Mum had always left the light on, just as Dad had always complained about it. Liam had heard Mum telling his father once that she’d done it ever since Liam was a young boy when he was afraid of the dark. After that, Dad had kept the light on, too.

Liam reached the top step, ignoring the ache in his heart that never really went away when he thought of how greatly he missed his father. Three years had passed since he’d died, and still, the ache returned, that same debilitating, numbing pain.

He slipped down the hallway toward his bedroom—or rather, the one Mum always kept vacant for him—stepping quietly past the spare room. He was fairly certain his cousin had already arrived to stay there, but he couldn’t recall the exact dates he’d been told.

He winced. He hadn’t paid close attention to his mother in months. Yes, he’d had a lot on his plate, but that was hardly an excuse. He could only hope now that he could make up for all of this by giving her the Christmas she wished for, the Christmas she deserved.

Slowly, he turned the handle to his room, slinking inside before soundlessly closing the door behind him. Once he was sure he wouldn’t disturb his mum or cousin, he flipped on the switch and took a step toward the bed.

A lump beneath the covers stirred. He flinched in surprise, his heart racing. Who in the…Wait, was that Melody?

He cringed, backing away slowly to avoid being discovered. Before he had the chance to turn, though, a head of tousled, blonde hair in a loose bun popped up from beneath the duvet.

Blonde? Melody hadn’t been blonde since she was three.