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“Sad?” Mabel blinked, feeling more vulnerable than she had in a while. She wished Izzy had taken the child with her. “No, I’m not sad.”

“You look sad. But maybe that’s because you don’t have a Christmassy house. I can help you with that,” Elsie said kindly. “And if you don’t have decorations, don’t worry. We can make them. All we need is paper and pens. It will be fun. I made stars at school in a big chain. And Poppy likes colouring.”

Decorations.

Mabel thought about the attic and its contents. She hadn’t been up there in over a decade. She’d have to hack a path through the dust before she found anything. And did she want to? Did she want to surround herself with memories of the past when she was working hard to accept the present?

“Making them sounds like a good idea.”

“Let’s start with cookies.” Elsie peered up at the shelves. “We need flour. And sugar. And do you have any cinnamon?”

“I think so. Somewhere.” Why did Elsie have to be eight? She could have been six, or twelve, or—well, any age other than eight. It felt as if the universe was punishing her yet again for her bad decisions.

Or maybe the universe was testing her. Seeing if she could make this one little girl happy.

She swallowed.

Why not?

Was it really going to be that difficult to bake a batch of Christmas cookies if it made Elsie smile?

Mabel lifted down the flour and sugar and handed them to the child.

“This is fun,” Elsie said. “We should probably weigh everything or it will be like Tripalot and the Cake Catastrophe. You probably don’t know that book, but Tripalot the witch is making a cake and the cat jumps on the table and—well, it’s funny. Although Izzy is right that the Thanksgiving turkey story is funny, too.” Arms loaded with ingredients, Elsie carried everything carefully to the table.

Mabel was beginning to wish she hadn’t allowed real life to inspire so many of her stories. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t opened one of her books for so long. It was like looking at old photos or reading a diary.

“You seem to enjoy reading.”

“I love books.” Elsie washed her hands carefully and dried them. “I could read when I was four. Mummy taught me. Poppy loves books, too, but mostly she loves whatever I love. Do you have any butter?”

Mabel dutifully found butter and a large bowl, and together they measured and mixed before finally cutting their cookie dough into shapes.

They’d set a timer and put the kettle on when Brooke appeared.

“Elsie! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” She paused. “What is that delicious smell?”

“Cinnamon cookies,” Elsie said. “We’ve been baking. I taught Mabel. They’ll be ready in twelve minutes.”

Brooke looked at Mabel. “I hope she hasn’t disturbed you—”

“We’ve had fun.” Mabel gave the answer she was expected to give and then realised that in fact, she had had fun. She’d thought that shutting out the past was the best way to protect herself, but maybe she’d been wrong about that. “Elsie is a good cook.”

“I cook with my dad. He likes it. Do you have any chicken?” Elsie wiped floury hands on her dress. “We could make chicken pot-pies for supper. They’re Poppy’s favourite.”

“Elsie!” Brooke intervened. “We’re guests in Mabel’s house, honey. Mabel might not want to do all this cooking. It’s a lot. We’re a lot.”

It was a lot, but they had to eat something. Why not a chicken pot-pie?

“I have chicken. And mushrooms. I’m sure we can do this together.” She glanced at Elsie. “Perhaps you’d better check that Izzy and Jason like chicken pot-pie before we get to work.”

Elsie slid off the chair and disappeared from the kitchen.

“You’re so kind to her.” Brooke let out a sigh. “Thank you. You’re very good with children. Do you have children yourself?”

Mabel was working out how best to answer that question when Matt walked into the room.

“Brooke! I’ve been looking for you. We have a phone signal—don’t ask me how or why. But you can call your mother and tell her you’re safe. Better do it quickly in case we lose signal again.”