Page 39 of All I Want for Christmas

‘No! That’s terrible.’

‘The owner swore blind it wasn’t theirs [shrug emoji] And we have a dog who keeps swallowing bees and keeps getting stung. Repeat offender. Doesn’t seem to learn.’

‘Poor thing.’

‘Yesterday a cat was brought in with concussion. It ran headlong into a wall, chasing an infrared laser.’

‘No! Was it okay?’

‘Will be. No lasting damage.’

‘I never knew being a vet was so diverting.’

‘Rarely boring, that’s for sure. How was your day?’

‘I ended up having to work too. But it was nowhere near as interesting as yours – sifting through boxes on my own. I did manage to get a run in with my flatmate this morning though, so that was something.’

‘You like running?’

‘Hate it, but she bribes me with food.’

‘How far do you run?’

‘Usually 8–10k. Depends on whether we have hangovers.’

‘Sounds like you get on well.’

‘We’re very close. She was my first proper friend in the city. Do you live with anyone?’

‘My sister. She’s three years younger and training to be a nurse.’

‘Medical family.’

‘Yes. My father’s a doctor too...’

They chatted for a while longer before saying good night and she switched off her phone, staring across her room and out of the window. She never drew her curtains here. It would be dark until her alarm went off in the morning – not that she had set an alarm for tomorrow. Sunday mornings were sacrosanct and with Freja over at Tristan’s, she had the place entirely to herself. She might bake a cake. Or read that book she’d bought at the airport on her way over in the summer and still hadn’t had time to read. Or go to the gym. Or try dry-slope skiing at CopenHill. Or finally see the Vilhelm Hammershøi paintingInterior in Strandgadeat the Kunst...

Or, most likely, sit on the sofa watching Netflix, eating cereal from the box.

What time was it?

Darcy groaned, reaching for the phone, her hand patting around blindly for it on the bedside table. She found it eventually on top of her covers, which meant two things: she hadn’t stirred in her sleep. And she had drifted off to sleep too quickly last night, forgetting to plug it in to charge. She opened one eye and checked the time: 9.48 a.m.

The green WhatsApp icon was still banded across her home screen. Was that what had woken her? She clicked on it, though there was no name attached to the number. Not a contact of hers.

It was a photograph – of three archive boxes. She could see from the codes on their labels that they were the next ones along to the ones she’d worked on yesterday.

There was no hello, no goodbye. Just four words:‘Ready when you are.’

Chapter Nine

‘It’s eleven thirty.’

Darcy looked back at Max leaning against the door, somewhat surprised to hear the fleck of annoyance in his voice. Was he irritated that she was here? Or here late? ‘It’s Sunday.’

‘Sleeping in?’

‘Washing my hair.’

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