LITMIR.BIZ

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they didn’t. That was all she needed – to bury the postman in biscuits and sequins in her kitchen. ‘Is this what’s in all the parcels, then? Craft stuff?’

      ‘Mostly,’ Holly admitted. ‘I like, well, making things. And keeping busy. Christmas is sort of the season for homemade stuff, don’t you think?’

      ‘I’d never really thought about it.’ Jack tilted his head slightly as he looked at her, and Holly got the uncomfortable feeling that he was taking this new information and adding it to what he already knew about her. She just wished she knew what conclusions he was drawing. Talented amateur crafts-person or crazy Pinterest addict? Was it too much to want to know which? ‘So, what was today’s order? Fabric? Sequins? At least I know it wasn’t more of that incredibly heavy stuff you had last week.’

      ‘Air drying clay. Sorry.’ Holly felt her cheeks warm up and knew she was blushing. ‘Actually, today’s wasn’t craft stuff. I suspect it’s Perdita’s Christmas jumper.’

      ‘Perdita?’ Jack’s eyebrows were raised so high they’d almost disappeared under the short, dark hair just starting to curl over his forehead.

      ‘My cat.’ Great. With two words she’d crystallised his opinion of her as a crazy cat lady. So much for trying to appear normal. Too late now, though. Holly opened the package and held up the fluffy red outfit, with brown pompoms sewn on to look like Christmas puddings.

      ‘Ah.’ Jack stared at the jumper for a moment then averted his gaze, apparently horrified. ‘And does she, uh, like dressing up?’

      ‘Not particularly.’ Holly looked down at Claude, who was wolfing his way through Perdita’s cat food. She wondered if he might like a Christmas sweater. ‘But I feed and house her, so she has to go along with my whims.’

      ‘Fair enough,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t suppose Perdita is a big dog fan?’

      ‘Not at all, I’m afraid.’ They both stared at Claude who, apparently sensing the attention, sat back from the now empty bowl and stared back. ‘I don’t think she’d much like coming home to find Claude here. It might be a bit Goldilocks for her. You know, “Who’s that eating my cat food?’’’

      Jack sighed. ‘In that case, it looks like you’re coming with me, boy.’ He reached down and scooped Claude up. The dog looked even smaller, his ears even more absurd, in Jack’s strong arms. At least, Holly assumed they were strong. They looked strong. And they’d managed the air drying clay no problem.

      She might be obsessing about his arms a little bit.

      ‘I can ask around the neighbourhood while I’m doing my rounds, see if anyone has a number for the McCawleys,’ Jack went on. ‘I just wish I had a lead for him. Maybe I could borrow some ribbon?’

      Holly stopped staring at Jack’s arms and lurched towards Perdita’s cupboard instead. ‘Even better. You can borrow Perdita’s lead. It just clips onto the collar.’ She turned to hand it to him to find Jack staring at her, for a change.

      ‘You have a lead for your … cat?’

      Blood hit her cheeks again. Dammit, she’d blushed more this afternoon than in the past five years. ‘Yes. When we moved here, she was a bit skittish. And Sebastian said … anyway, it doesn’t matter. Here you go.’ No need to explain that Sebastian had said that if she couldn’t control the damn animal, she’d have to get rid of it. Holly had chosen the lead as a way to try and keep Perdita comfortable and close until she settled in.

      She proffered the lead again, and this time Jack took it.

      ‘Sebastian?’ he asked, as he clipped it onto Claude’s collar.

      ‘My ex,’ Holly said shortly.

      ‘Ah. Right.’ Was that pity in his eyes now? Or … maybe, just maybe, was it something else?

      Holly really hoped so. She was sick of pity. And perhaps it was past time for something else.

      ‘Good luck,’ she said, as Jack headed for the door. ‘I mean, with Claude.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Jack flashed her a smile. ‘I’ll drop by later, if you like? Let you know how I get on? And return the lead, of course.’

      ‘Of course.’ Holly returned the grin. ‘That would be … nice.’

      ‘Nice,’ Jack echoed.

      And then they were doing the staring competition thing again, and that wasn’t getting either of them anywhere.

      ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ Holly said, her hand on the door. She couldn’t stand around here flirting all day. She had a dozen mince pies to bake, a gingerbread house to assemble and decorate, and another lot of bunting to make.

      As Jack led Claude away up the street, he turned and waved, and Holly felt that warm rush fill her again. He was coming back.

      She wondered if Jack liked eggnog.

      

      There is a certain indignity to being led around on a cat lead, even if no one except you and the person holding the lead knows it is one. Still, Jack the Postman didn’t seem to mind the ridiculousness, so I decided I could probably bear it too.

      It had to be better than wearing the hideous outfit that Holly had apparently bought for Perdita. I gave a satisfied huff. Nice to know that my nemesis cat would be facing some punishment after all.

      Actually, meeting Holly had made me think that perhaps Perdita didn’t have it quite as free and easy as she suggested. The evil fluffy cat liked to lord it over me because she could go anywhere, do anything, and was answerable to no one. But it seemed to me like Holly was rather invested in her cat – and if Perdita put up with things like Christmas jumpers, and being taken out on a lead, then maybe she was more committed to her person than she liked to admit.

      It didn’t make me like Perdita any more, but I was starting to believe that we were more alike than she’d been letting on.

      Plus I got to eat her cat food. It wasn’t as good as mine, of course, but abandoned dogs had to take what they could get.

      Abandoned.

      What a horrible word. I knew what happened to abandoned dogs. Other dogs didn’t like to talk about it much but, sometimes, in the park or out for a walk, you’d hear whispers. A new dog would appear on the scene, looking haunted and nervous, for instance. And someone would overhear a human muttering about owners who didn’t deserve pets. Owners who beat their dogs, or starved them, or just left them somewhere, alone and scared. How this one had been lucky to find a new home. But they didn’t look lucky, not straight off. To start with, they just looked terrified that it would happen again.

      Over time, if they were really one of the lucky ones, they’d start to lose that haunted, hunted look. But sometimes they’d just disappear, and we’d never know their experiences.

      And sometimes, those dogs who lasted, would talk about what happened to them.

      I didn’t like to listen to those stories.

      And I really didn’t like to think that it might be happening to me, right now.

      No. I shook my head, my ears catching the wind as I trotted along Maple Drive beside Jack. I wasn’t an abandoned dog. Daisy and Oliver hadn’t meant to leave me behind, I was sure of that.

      I just didn’t understand why they

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