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And then he moved swiftly from the room, before Noémi had a chance to tell him off for misquoting Shakespeare or wonder why the man who’d suggested he had no time for sitting on his backside with a book would come out with such a line.

‘You look like you need that cup of tea,’ said Judith, from across the room.

Noémi nodded gratefully, vowing to make Judith a cuppa next time.

‘You look like you need a nice cup of Shay,’ said Élisabeth, apparently on a roll with her unhelpful thoughts today.

Noémi rearranged the blanket over her mother’s knees. ‘I think you’re mistaken,’ she said as kindly as she could. She’d learned it was often easier to agree politely with her mum, as her memory confused her enough. But this was a point she couldn’t bring herself to agree on. ‘You managed perfectly after Dad left us and went back to France. Always so strong and independent.’

‘Was I?’

The lost and almost haunted look in her mum’s cloudy blue eyes ripped at Noémi’s heartstrings. Her mother had been contented as a single woman. Hadn’t she? She’d never dated again after Henri had left. Noémi had never seen her mum cry or fall apart, even if she’d sometimes seemed quiet. Élisabeth had busied herself with running the cosy bookshop and being a kind and loving mum. And bookish people were often on the quiet side, weren’t they? Her mother had loved to sit and read in the patchwork chair in the shop’s bay window, just like Noémi did when she wanted to escape. What could be better?

Noémi squeezed her mum’s hands and smiled as best she could. ‘You didn’t need a man, did you?’

‘I didn’t find you in the roses.’ Élisabeth giggled.

Well, perhaps her father had had one use, before his attention had been caught by a woman called Marie-Claude with her fancy château. Noémi had spent a few summers there with her ‘new family’ and stepbrothers when she’d been younger, but it had never gone well. Her dad had always been aloof, her stepmother disinterested, and the older boys had no imagination for childish, book-themed adventures. Perhaps people who didn’t embrace reading were not her kind of people. She barely kept in touch with them these days.

Noémi’s thoughts were brought back to the present by the sound of her mum, still chuckling. If nothing else, a certain man in an elf outfit had brought part of her mum back to life today. Perhaps now was a good time to try and ask her mum about the time when the bookshop had been thriving.

‘My Christmas costume,’ said Élisabeth suddenly. ‘Do you remember?’

Perhaps her mother was one step ahead. Though Noémi wasn’t sure the word costume had been quite what she’d wanted to hear.

One hour and several cups of tea later, Noémi was ready to leave the care home, making her way to the front desk to sign out. The excited chat behind the desk caught her attention.

‘He raised nearly a thousand pounds for us. Isn’t that incredible?’ Judith was saying to Lisa, the receptionist.

Lisa was in her early twenties and with her artful make-up and great nails always looked like she should be working somewhere swankier. When Noémi had once mentioned it, Lisa had shrugged and said, ‘But I really like old people.’

‘Hot in a pair of tights and generous. Shame he’s not sticking around, or I’d give him a go,’ said Lisa.

Hot in a pair of tights? That could only mean one person – not that she wanted to evaluate his hotness.

‘Ooh, did he give you the eye?’ asked Judith.

‘Nope.’ Lisa inspected her nails. ‘I mean, he’s probably ten years older than me. But still. DILF.’

Noémi’s eyes widened.

‘I don’t think he’s anyone’s dad.’ Judith laughed. ‘Arthur has never mentioned any great grandchildren.’

‘Who would have thought a day of zip wiring could raise that much money? Hey, we should get him to install one here.’ Judith giggled again.

Noémi’s unbidden thought about Shay’s generosity was quickly reined in by Judith’s wild suggestion.

‘I assume any dangerous activities would need to be signed off by the resident’s next of kin?’ said Noémi, inserting herself into the conversation. ‘I won’t allow my mother to get roped into any escapades with Shay Cassidy. Has he suggested anything? What are his intentions here?’

Noémi was acutely aware she was sounding not unlike the anti-fun police – but Élisabeth was precious to her. That unruly elf was making enough trouble next door to her shop without also erecting pensioner assault courses on the manicured lawns.

‘Dominoes?’ Lisa shrugged, like what old people got up to in their spare time was none of her concern. ‘Shall I print you off a waiver form for that?’

‘I’m sure dominoes would be fine,’ Noémi conceded – even if she would rather not think about anyone cosying up to play matching pairs with Shay.

‘Are you making those Christmas cookies again this year, by the way?’ Lisa asked, looking up from her nails. ‘You know. The award-winning ones. I’m sure I saw something on Instagram about your cookies recently.’

Urgh. Though hadn’t someone said something yesterday about her cookies popping up online again? Was there something going round that she hadn’t seen?