LITMIR.BIZ

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was whispering in her sister’s ear and Misty was nodding. Smiling as she whispered back. They both looked at their mother and the solemn expression on two small faces told Lizzie that the secret was of the utmost importance.

      She had to swallow hard again. Her two precious daughters who should look identical but were becoming more different every day.

      How ironic that she’d chosen Misty as the name for the twin who was fading away before their eyes.

      What was the secret wish that Santa had to know about as soon as possible?

      That this was going to work? That Misty would be well again?

      Hope might be a vital ingredient in what made something successful. Lizzie took a deep breath. She smiled.

      ‘Come on, then, Tuppence. Let’s go and see Santa.’

      Jack Rousseau had no idea whether he was heading in the right direction.

      Why on earth had he thought he might as well pop into Bennett’s because it was right beside the bank and get finding the only Christmas gifts he needed to purchase out of the way? He should have spent a pleasant Sunday morning in the markets last week, when he had still been in Paris, and found something original enough to make both his housekeepers smile.

      Instead, he was here in London and it was freezing and grey outside and way too crowded and warm inside. And he only had an hour or so until he was due at the ‘meet and greet’ at Westbridge Park, the prestigious hospital where he was due to start his temporary specialist position tomorrow.

      The sensible thing to do would be to give up and come back another time. Preferably when the sale had finished. Late at night, too, so there wouldn’t be so many noisy children and pushchairs to avoid. He should have stayed downstairs and chosen something in the perfume department and ignored the flash of inspiration that had sent him in search of kitchenware. Now he was trapped on an escalator, looking down on a sea of humanity and Christmas decorations.

      Christmas.

      Was anybody quite as unlucky as he was in having the whole world building up expectations to a day that held a memory as unpleasant as the spectacular ending of a marriage? He had avoided the whole business now as far as humanly possible for many years. A bonus in the form of cash had always been suitable for the people he’d needed to find gifts for so why had he chosen this year to break his routine?

      There had to be a thousand trees in this store. Incroyable. There was a whole forest of them when he stepped off at the top. Green trees. Silver and white ones. Even a fluorescent blue thing that looked very wrong. They were all covered with bows and balls and twinkling lights and it was all too much. Jack ducked between two of them and found himself in, of all places, the lingerie department.

      Pausing to catch his breath and find an easy escape route, he found the shapely mannequins, wearing Christmas hats and very little else, quite a pleasant distraction. Jack was rather taken with a red and black striped bustier with built-in suspenders that were holding up some fishnet stockings.

      A perfect Christmas gift for the woman with the right credentials. What a shame Danielle had given him that ultimatum only last week. She knew the rules, he explained silently to the mannequin, so why had she gone and ruined everything by demanding a commitment he would never make again? With a grimace that embraced both the current emptiness of his bed and the fact that he was trying to communicate telepathically with a plastic woman, Jack sighed and turned to scan the crowds once more, looking for a ‘down’ escalator.

      There was a long queue of people making a human barrier halfway across this floor and Jack turned his head to find out what the attraction might be. A fashion parade perhaps? In the lingerie department?

      No such luck. He should have guessed by the fact that everyone in this queue had small people attached to them. There was a Christmas grotto over there by the lifts and a Father Christmas was enthroned on a crimson velvet chair. A photographer was adjusting lights as a mother tried to persuade a toddler to sit still on Santa’s knee to have his picture taken.

      A nearby child was whining. ‘When’s my turn, Mum?’

      Another was crying. The rising level of high-pitched, excited voices was starting to make him feel distinctly uncomfortable, like fingernails on a blackboard.

      The stairs would be faster. Turning on all the charm he could muster, Jack edged rapidly through the press of humanity, excusing himself repeatedly. The vast majority of the people were women and they responded admirably to a bit of authority tempered with a smile. That they continued to stare at him after he’d passed by went unnoticed.

      He almost made it. If it hadn’t been for the little grandma practically fainting in his arms, he would have been half way down the stairs by now.

      Instead, he found himself searching for a chair. ‘Is there somewhere she could sit down?’ he asked the saleswoman who had come rushing to help.

      ‘Here. This way.’ The face over the trim black skirt and frilly white blouse was anxious. The woman, whose name tag said ‘Denise’, was holding aside the curtain that was being used to screen the back of the Christmas grotto.

      The chair was solid and wooden and the elderly woman sank onto it with a relieved groan.

      ‘Keep your head down for a moment,’ Jack said. He supported her with one arm, using his free hand to find her wrist.

      ‘Shall I call for an ambulance?’ Denise asked.

      ‘No!’ The elderly woman shook her purple rinsed hair. ‘Please don’t do that.’

      ‘Give us a minute,’ Jack said. ‘I’m a doctor.’

      ‘Oh-h-h.’ Denise smiled for the first time. ‘That’s lucky.’

      Jack thought of the minutes ticking past and how hard it might be to find a taxi once he made it outside but he wasn’t going to contradict Denise. He could feel a rapid and rather weak pulse in the wrist he was holding and he noted the faint sheen of perspiration on the woman’s pale face.

      ‘What’s your name?’ he enquired.

      ‘Mabel.’

      ‘I’m Jack,’ he told her. ‘Dr Rousseau. Tell me, has anything like this ever happened to you before?’

      ‘No. I’m as healthy as a horse. I don’t want any fuss. I just … came over a bit funny, that’s all.’

      ‘Dizzy?’

      ‘Oh … yes.’

      ‘Sick?’

      ‘Yes. I’m starting to feel a bit better now, though.’

      ‘No pain in your chest?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You’re puffing a bit.’

      ‘I walked up all those stairs. My great-grandson’s here somewhere, with my daughter. He’s waiting to see Father Christmas.’

      This was where the man in the red suit must come when he was allowed a breather, Jack decided. There was a small table beside the chair with a carafe of water and some glasses.

      ‘Do you think I could have a glass of that water, dear?’ Mabel asked.

      Denise did the honours. Jack stayed where he was, thinking through his options. If he could rule out anything serious, like a cardiac event, he could probably leave Mabel and escape downstairs. Or maybe they could take her downstairs. It was rather stuffy in this small, curtained space. He was in a corner and his back was right against one edge. Right beside the red velvet throne, judging by how clearly he could hear voices.

      ‘Hello there, dear. What’s your name?’

      ‘Holly.’

      ‘And how old are you, Holly?’

      ‘I’m six.’

      ‘And what it is you want for Christmas?’

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