‘She … she might not be,’ said Austin. ‘It’s hard for her to leave the shop.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Darny. ‘Of course she can leave the shop, there’s loads of people there.’

‘It’s not quite that simple,’ said Austin. ‘It’s her business.’

Darny just stared at him. ‘She’s not coming?’

Kelly-Lee came over. ‘Is everything OK over here? And I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing – is it true you’re staying?’

‘Looks like it,’ said Austin.

‘Oh, that’s WUNNERFUL! I’ll be your new friend.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Show you around. And you, sweetie. I’m sure we’re going to be the best of friends.’

Darny looked at her without saying anything and rudely kicked the table. After a while he said quietly, ‘I think it was me. I think it was my fault.’

Austin squinted at him. ‘What?’

‘That Issy’s not coming.’

‘You think you drove Issy away?’

‘I was bad at school, then I was mean to her.’ Darny’s face was terribly distressed. ‘I didn’t mean to, Austin. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

‘Ssh, sssh,’ said Austin, who suddenly found himself wanting to swear. ‘No. Of course not. Of course it wasn’t you. She loves you.’

Darny started to cry.

‘It was me,’ said Austin. ‘Being a selfish idiot. And things moving and changing and me thinking, like an idiot, that it would be great and I should just go along with it, and well, here we are …’

Darny no longer looked like a truculent pre-teen. He looked like an upset, terrified little boy.

‘Please make her come back,’ he said. ‘Please, Austin.’

Austin swallowed hard. He didn’t answer.

Chapter Seventeen

Issy had unpacked all the food and drink down in the basement, along with as many small random gifts as she’d been able to grab charging through Boots in a tearing hurry. Upstairs, Maya was still on her rounds, and Pearl and Caroline were bickering happily about what age children should be told the truth about Santa Claus. Caroline felt that if the parents had worked hard for the money, children should appreciate that and learn the cost of things. Pearl did not agree. It was the Saturday before Christmas, and Louis was making a Santa beard for himself out of a huge roll of cotton wool and cardboard and sticky tape. He also had a Santa hat on that Big Louis had given him, and was smiling benignly at other children coming into the shop.

‘I’m not the real Santa,’ he said helpfully to one little girl. ‘Would you like a beard?’

The little girl nodded, and before long Louis had turned his handiwork into a thriving cottage industry. Eventually a small woman who’d come in by herself and ordered only a green tea, then looked around for a long time and started writing furiously in a small notebook, leant over.

‘Can I have one?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Louis. ‘But don’t pretend to be Santa Claus. You aren’t him.’

‘I don’t think anyone would ever mistake me for Santa Claus.’

‘Or a pleesman. You’re not allowed to dress up as a pleesman.’

The woman looked puzzled and assured Louis she had no intention of masquerading as a policeman.

‘Sorry,’ said Pearl through her thick white beard. ‘His dad let him watch Terminator 2 and it scared him half to death.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said the woman. ‘It scared me half to death and I’m grown up.’

Louis fixed her with his warm brown eyes.

‘It’s not real, lady. It just in a film. Go back to sleep.’

The woman suddenly cracked open a huge grin and shut her notebook with a clunk. She turned towards Pearl.

‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘I give up. I’ve had enough. It’s nearly Christmas and I’m really knackered.’ She stepped up to the counter and held out her hand to shake. ‘Abigail Lester. Super Secret London Guide. Style section.’

Pearl took her hand politely without having the faintest idea why.

‘Um, hello.’

Caroline threw herself across the counter like a skinned cat.

‘A-BIGAIL!’ she screeched, as if they were dearest friends. The woman looked rather nonplussed.

‘Um, is this your establishment?’ she said.

‘No, it belongs to the girl crying downstairs in the basement,’ said Pearl. ‘Hang on. ISSY!’

‘Can I offer you a complimentary cake … cup of hot chocolate? Glass of wine? We don’t serve wine, but we keep some for Friday nights …’ Caroline was babbling, and Pearl still couldn’t figure it out.

‘No, no thanks. I can tell by the happy punters that everything’s just lovely.’

Issy clumped up the stairs feeling red-eyed and dull. It was as if the jet lag she’d brought back from the States had never gone away, but thickened, and deepened, and settled into her skin, as if she wanted to wake up, rouse herself, but couldn’t, because she knew that if she was wide awake, she would see the world as it was: a space where Austin was thousands of miles away and always would be.

‘Congratulations,’ someone was saying. Issy squinted and noticed the slender girl with the blonde hair. ‘We’ll officially announce it in the next issue, but you win our best-decorated independent shop award.’

Issy blinked.

‘It’s the little man that swung it,’ Abigail said, looking at Louis, who knew he’d done something good and was waiting to find out exactly what. ‘Giving free Santa beards away is a level of customer service that just goes above and beyond. Well done, young man.’

‘Thank oo very much,’ said Louis, without prompting.

‘So, we’ll send a photographer round … And there’ll be a cheque for five hundred pounds. Congratulations!’

Abigail obviously expected Issy to say something, but Issy couldn’t do much more than mumble her thanks.

‘Of course, the concept was all mine,’ said Caroline, moving in closer. ‘I can take you through all my suppliers and my many inspirations in the world of interior design.’

‘Well, I would like that,’ said Abigail. ‘Here’s my card. We’ll give you a call next week in the doldrums after Christmas – nice and quiet to take the pics.’