Page 12 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Not necessarily, he could be separated,’ she suggests.

‘Like the guy you went out with?’ I raise an eyebrow.

‘Point taken, but not everyone is like him.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘And why wouldn’t that guy be looking at you, you’re gorgeous,’ she says kindly. ‘He was definitely eyeing you up,’ she whispers as another customer approaches the counter.

The afternoon passes in a flash, as discounted knitwear, gift sets and perfumes fly off the shelves as people pop in for last-minute gifts. Gemma is still eyeing the bag stall, hoping the bag she has her eye on won’t sell and might go into the January sale.

I think about the cute little girl with pigtails, wearing the white quilted coat, and how she counted out twenty pounds, that included a five-pound note and fifteen pounds’ worth of coins, to purchase a pair of pyjamas in a box tied with a gift bow. Some of the assistants pull a face when children produce cash and wonder why their carers can’t pay by card. I like to remind them that Christmas is for everyone and not just those who can press a card against a reader. The joy on the face of a child who has saved up their money and bought someone a gift is absolutely priceless.

‘Any plans for this evening?’ I ask Gemma as we step outside into the frosty air, when the store finally closes.

‘No, I’m shattered. It’s a Netflix series and a hot chocolate for me,’ she says, already yawning.

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘How about you?’

‘Something pretty similar, I’m pooped today.’

We go our separate ways, Gemma’s place is in a modern block of apartments a short walk away, my house a five-minute drive away. I make my way to Boots before heading off, to see if Audrey might be on shift. If she isn’t maybe a staff member can advise me when she will be.

Pushing through the door, I have a quick look at the special offers, and end up heading for the checkout with a designer beauty bag filled with goodies that has a fifty per cent price reduction. It’s the kind of bag you might take to a hotel on a weekend away, and it occurs to me that I can’t remember the last time I did anything like that. My ex did splash out on an overnight stay at a luxury hotel once that cost as nearly as much as a week away in the UK, or at least a long weekend abroad, which kind of spoilt it a little, if I’m honest. I’m all for a bit of luxury occasionally, but sheer overindulgence leaves me cold. I might ask Gemma if she fancies booking something after Christmas to rejuvenate us a little after the Christmas rush.

As I approach the checkouts, I notice Audrey on the till closest to the door, chatting to the lady on the next till.

‘Hi.’ I place my basket down, that contains the weekender bag and a bottle of conditioner. I’m a bit obsessive over good quality conditioner, but it does keep my long dark hair shiny and in tip-top condition.

‘Hi.’ She smiles. I don’t think she recognises me as she wordlessly scans my items, although to be fair the last time we met I was muffled up with a heavy coat, a scarf pulled up to my chin and a hat. Plus it was dark.

‘We met last night on the moonlight walk,’ I remind her as I pay for my items.

She scrutinises me for a moment.

‘Oh gosh, yes, hi, it’s Lauren, isn’t it?’ she asks, her skin colouring a little.

‘It is. You’re Audrey, right?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry about my little outburst last night,’ she says in a low voice. ‘I made a right show of myself.’

‘You didn’t at all,’ I tell her. ‘We all have our moments, we are only human.’

‘Thanks,’ she says, placing my items into a bag.

‘Listen. Do you fancy grabbing a coffee?’ I ask. ‘You’re closing soon, aren’t you?’

‘In eight minutes,’ she says, glancing at her watch. ‘And, yes, I’d like that.’ She smiles.

We arrange to meet at the Blue Teapot in the village square.

SEVEN

‘I hope I didn’t spoil the evening for everyone,’ Audrey says as she sips a gingerbread latte topped with cream and sprinkles of gingerbread cake.

We are sitting in the Blue Teapot on the square, the independent café that serves the most delicious coffees and cakes, and no doubt led to the demise of the café at Bentham’s, which isn’t surprising really as for a high-end store the café sold bought-in cakes and unimaginative sandwiches.

We’ve managed to get a window table though with a view of the street outside and as I glance out over the square at the streetlights and Christmas decorations, I feel all warm and toasty.

‘Not at all.’ I smile. ‘And with hindsight, perhaps it would have been better in the autumn,’ I tell her. ‘I imagined this soothing moonlit experience gazing at the stars, and connecting with nature but it was freezing and muddy.’ I pull a face.

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