Maggie pushed herself up and made her way to the front of the shop, her sisters following behind.
She pulled the blind up and was greeted by Verity’s cross little face scowling in at her. Maggie laughed and opened the door.
“Hello, my angry cherub, what brings you here?”
Behind her, Joe shrugged his shoulders. “She made me do it,” he said apologetically. “She is really assertive.”
“That she is,” Maggie said proudly, and then turning back to her daughter’s upturned face, she asked, “Okay, what’s up?”
“You promised we would put the Christmas decorations up, Mama.” Verity harrumphed and folded her arms, no easy feat in a duffle coat.
“And we will. But first I needed to take care of some things with Aunty Simone and Aunty Star.”
Verity’s fierce face was so sweet Simone could hardly bear it. She was much like Maggie in looks, thick auburn ringlets that stuck out at all angles and fell around her heart-shaped face. And those brilliant green eyes were all North family. Her heart squeezed. Would she ever get to be somebody’s mama? Her body’s treachery had caused her to hanker after all the things that most parents grumbled about: She wanted to be nagged by a tired child, to have her sleeve pulled constantly and her name called a hundred times a day. She wanted toddler snot wiped up her jacket and baby vomit down her top and she would never take it for granted. Was that so very much to ask?
Verity, meanwhile, was not to be appeased.
“Are you done with the aunts now?” Hands switched to hips like a mini Monica Geller.
Maggie raised a warning eyebrow, and some of Verity’s bluster deflated.
“I just want to feel Christmassy,” she said quietly.
Maggie pulled her into a hug. “And you will. Come on, then, let’s go home.” She looked around at her sisters. “Sorry, I did promise. I’ll try and get over tomorrow to do some more sorting.”
Verity pulled away from her and turned on her biggest puppy eyes. “Can the aunties come too? Please, Mama?” She peered around Maggie to Star and Simone. “Would you like to help us put up the Christmas decorations? It’s so fun. Mama makes hot chocolate with sprinkles and freezer biscuits, and she always saves the biggest tree from the shop for us. Can they come, Mama?”
“Of course they can.” Maggie smiled. “If they’re not busy.” She turned and smiled apologetically at her sisters. “There’s no pressure. But you are very welcome.”
Part of Simone wanted to run back to the Dalgleish cottage and hide under the bedclothes until morning. But a bigger part of her needed the comfort of being surrounded by her family. Pull up your big-girl pants and make some memories with your niece, she told herself.
“We’d love to!” she said, and was rewarded with Verity’s beaming smile. “But I have a question: What are freezer biscuits?”
“I always keep a batch of uncooked biscuits in the freezer for fresh hot biscuit emergencies,” Maggie answered.
“I can confirm they are excellent,” added Joe. “Maggie’s freezer biscuits are one of the reasons I stay in Rowan Thorp.”
Star leaned over Maggie’s shoulder and stage-whispered, “I bet I know what the other reasons are.”
Maggie tried not to grin and shoved her sister off.
“And Duncan!” Verity piped up. “He needs to come too.”
“Oh, darling, I’m not sure Duncan will want to help decorate our tree.”
“Course he will.” Star’s face lit up. “Duncan!” she called to the back of the shop. “Grab your coat, we’re going to Maggie’s.”
There was the scratching sound of a chair being moved and then Duncan appeared.
“That’s very kind of you, but I’ve just found a rather interesting amulet that I think might be medieval . . .”
“Well, if it’s been around for that long, it can wait until Monday,” Star goaded. “And anyway, you’ve been working since half past eight this morning. Even Sotheby’s appraisers are allowed to clock off at a reasonable hour on a Saturday.”
Duncan looked a little awkward. “I mean, if you don’t mind . . .” He glanced shyly at Maggie.
“Not at all.” She smiled reassuringly. “You are very welcome. Come join us for some freezer biscuits.”
“Right, that’s settled, then. What are we waiting for?” Simone turned to Star. “Are you ready for some decorating?”
“I was born ready,” said Star.
“Woo-hoo!” cried Verity, taking Joe’s hands and dancing a jig on the spot. “Come on! We have to do it before bedtime.”
Star locked the curios shop door, and they all headed across the street to Maggie’s house.
“Remind me how old Verity is?” Simone asked quietly.
Maggie laughed. “She’s ten with a stroppy age of fourteen.”
“She’s going to be a handful in her teens,” said Star knowingly.
“She’s a handful now!” Maggie countered.
“Maybe she needs a couple of aunties to help keep her on the straight and narrow,” said Simone.
“Know where I can find any?” Maggie asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Simone, are you suggesting that I’d be a good influence on our niece?” Star was incredulous.
“A girl needs all the strong women she can get standing behind her.” She winked at her.
“Amen to that,” Maggie agreed.
The winter sun was setting, and within a very few minutes darkness would drop over the land like theater drapes. A freezing wind whistled along the high street, making the Christmas trees sway and the fairy lights dance in the gloaming. They picked up their pace and for the first time in years, Simone felt as though she might have her sisters back.
23
Back at the flat, Maggie crawled into the roof space and—ignoring the bags of Christmas presents she had yet to find time to wrap—began passing the boxes of decorations back to her sisters. They in turn handed them to Verity, who was waiting impatiently in the sitting room, scissors poised to slice open the tape and reveal the festive treasures within.
Joe, Duncan, and Patrick extracted an enormous Norwegian spruce from the bucket of water in the garden and wrestled it up the stairs. Maggie heard them laughing (comradery born from trying to negotiate a seven-foot tree up the narrow staircase) and hoped that maybe the Christmas spirit would soften Patrick’s prickliness toward Joe. She knew it came from a place of love, but surely anyone could see that Joe was a wonderful human . . .
While she busied herself, pulling out bags of frozen biscuits and laying them out on baking trays, Duncan came out to join her.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, you’re all right. Have a little relax; you’re always working.”
“So are you,” Duncan replied, and Maggie smiled at him.
“I guess we have that in common,” she said.
“What’s this?” he asked, leaning over the kitchen table, where several oddly shaped pieces of paper lay scattered over a considerable amount of crushed velour fabric in a striking shade of peach. He picked up a reel of hoop wire and studied it.