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As Mandy had said, there was an ice-skating rink and a Winter Wonderland with a light trail, plus themed staterooms, a Christmas market, and magical afternoon teas. She was the queen of coordinating, but the thought of organising all that made her chest tighten.
“You should apply.” Mandy nodded at the advert. “I bet it will be fun. You’re more than qualified to be an elf.”
That was true. If Lucie’s drama degree wasn’t enough, the decade she’d spent working with disadvantaged and traumatised women and children had made her good with people. Acting was only a small part of who she was now, and she missed it. What had begun as a straightforward drama teaching role in Namibia had evolved into coordinating drama therapy projects for an organisation supporting vulnerable communities in Botswana. Before long, she was handling outreach, writing funding bids, managing local facilitators, and shaping programmes that changed lives.
Lucie set the newspaper down. “Is Dad okay?”
“He will be,” Mandy said, setting a small, steaming cup down in front of Lucie. “He’s missed you, you know.”
Lucie nodded. “I’ve missed him too.”
“He never stops worrying about you either, and he’s not one for surprises.”
He wasn’t?
She knew it couldn’t have been easy for him, his only daughter and living relative, to be in a different hemisphere.
“And I’ve missed you as well,” Mandy said, giving Lucie’s arm a squeeze.
“Same.”
“You’ll have to pop over one evening, see the new kitchen in person instead of through a screen. We can have a girls’ night like we used to.” She paused, biting her lip. “Sorry, would it bring back too many memories of being in the cottage?”
Lucie gave a small smile. “Good ones and bad ones. It’s been a long time since Gran died; I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She took a sip of the espresso. “Mmm. That tastes good. Better than the Ricoffy that I’ve been drinking for years.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like instant coffee but with chicory fibre and very little coffee.”
Mandy screwed up her face. “Eww.”
“It’s an acquired taste. Nothing beats proper coffee.” Lucie took the last sip of the espresso and hopped off the stool. “I should unpack and see if I have any winter clothes hiding in the wardrobe that still fit.” She looked down at her khaki cargo shorts. “A pair of trousers would be a good start.”
“I’m surprised you even own a coat.”
“It gets a bit chilly in the winter evenings, but I grabbed the hat and scarf at Johannesburg airport.”
“Do you need a hand unpacking?”
“I’ll manage, thanks. Anyway, it’s almost noon; you’ve got a pub to open.” She smirked. “I wouldn’t want you to get on the wrong side of the boss.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Mandy said, waving a hand. “He’s a pussycat.”
Lucie arched an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Mandy narrowed her eyes and smirked. “Go on up. I’ve kept your room dusted. Your dad never thinks of things like that. Everything should be as you left it.”
“Thanks, Mands,” Lucie said, unable to remember how she had left it.
She made her way up the stairs to the flat, a place she could always call home, even if it didn’t feel like it now. Her old bedroom sat directly at the top of the stairs. To the left was her dad’s room. Beside it was the spare room. It had been Gran’s during the time she had lived there, raising Lucie from a small child to a teen when she’d then bought the house next door.
She nosed into the kitchen to the right, finding it completely unchanged, as were the bathroom and the sitting room at the end of the hall. After a moment’s hesitation, she stopped outside her door, drawing in a steadying breath before pushing it open.
The scent hit her as soon as she stepped inside — familiar yet not. A memory from another time. For a moment, it felt like she’d never left, and yet ten years had passed. The three years prior to that she had only stayed in the room the few times she had returned home from university. The four years before that she had lived next door in Croft Cottage, nursing her gran through Alzheimer’s. It was as if time had stopped in the room.
Her eyes immediately drifted to the bedside table to check that the photographs of her mum and Gran were still where she’d left them. Their faces stared back at her in confirmation. It had crossed her mind to take them with her, but she had decided to leave them where she knew they would be safe. Instead, she had taken a photograph of them on her phone before leaving for Namibia.
A pinboard above her desk held photographs of her school prom with the friends she’d lost touch with over the years. Tickets hung next to them from all the West End musicals her gran had taken her to. Amy Winehouse and P!nk posters adorned the walls alongside Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and Cats.
