She’s yours. If you want her.

  But, being with Mary meant so much more than simply being with Mary. It meant family, it meant expectation, it meant pressure.

  Perhaps it would be worth it.

  Some days he really did think he was falling for her. But then, other days, he concluded that she was just a convenient way to satisfy the tension he felt between his legs.

  The buggy bounced over another rock.

  ‘Is Sophie really making crème brûlée?’

  Alexander looked across the buggy at her. ‘I think so,’ he said.

  Mary smiled at him. ‘I can’t wait.’

  As they approached the house, a large white van came into view. It was parked on the gravel driveway next to Alexander’s car. He drove the buggy in between the two vehicles then switched off the engine. Next to them, the van was silent and still. The driveway was flooded orange by the lights that edged the steps to the house. As Alexander stood up and out of the driver’s seat, the passenger door to the van opened.

  ‘Look who we found at the station!’ someone called from inside.

  Bespeckled and straightening his corduroys, Ern clambered out of the van and onto the gravel. He smiled when he saw Mary, who rushed around the farm buggy to greet him. He wrapped his arms around her.

  ‘My love,’ he said, kissing the top of his child’s head. ‘I miss you all the more when you’ve only been gone a short time.’

  Nuzzled against him, Mary had made herself small and looked up at him. ‘We’re together again now, Daddy,’ she soothed, before letting him kiss her again, this time on the cheek.

  Alexander watched before turning to the van. The cab contained three seats and Sophie had shuffled across from the middle to the door. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and it swung from side to side as she moved.

  ‘Help me down, my strawberry.’ She held her hands out in front of her for her son to take. Alexander reached to meet her and guided her, firm yet soft, through the door and down onto the driveway.

  From the other side of the van, Robert appeared. ‘A stroke of good fortune,’ he said as he approached the others. ‘We were on our way out anyway when Ern phoned to say he was taking the train.’

  The other man nodded. ‘Not much point bringing the car when it’s just me. The environmental impact is excessive,’ he said.

  Mary linked arms with her father. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  Ern looked down at her and smiled slowly.

  ‘Of course you came,’ Robert chuckled, leaning to pat his friend on the arm. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas without you.’

  Ern sniffed. ‘Indeed, indeed,’ he said with uncharacteristic impassivity.

  Robert pulled back before looking to his wife and then again to Ern. At her father’s side, Mary nestled closer to him and touched his hand. ‘What’s that, old friend?’ Robert asked. ‘You weren’t going to come?’

  A piece of gravel rolled onto the grass as Ern nudged it with his shoe. ‘Think nothing of it, Rob,’ he said, summoning a smile. ‘Just a touch melancholy as of late.’

  The two men looked at each other. For a fraction of a second, Ern’s gaze slipped. Momentarily, he met Alexander’s eyes, a brief and troubled contact which jolted the latter to drop his eyes to the ground. No one else seemed to notice. Sophie stepped closer to Ern and draped an arm around Mary.

  ‘You’re with family now, dear,’ she said to the man.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, before widening his mouth into a grin, ‘Yes, I am.’ He squeezed Mary, kissing her one final time and then let her go, slapping his hands together as he moved closer to Robert. ‘So, Rob,’ he exclaimed, ‘you caught a fish tonight?’

  The other man laughed, combing his fingers through his dark hair.

  ‘It was not so much a catch, but a lure,’ Sophie said before her husband could speak, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

  Ern’s left eyebrow raised. ‘Oh, really?’

  Robert chuckled and took his wife’s hand. ‘It emasculates me to admit it, but I was little more than a chauffeur on this one, Ern.’

  The three of them moved to the back of the van, Alexander and Mary following close behind. Robert placed his hand over the handle. It clicked as he tugged, the doors opening to reveal the cargo area. Light from the outside trickled into the dark interior. Alexander leant over his father’s shoulder to get a better view. In the far right corner, crumpled on the plywood floor, was a man. His wrists and ankles had been bound with tape. Neck bent, head halfway balanced between the floor and the side panel of the van, he turned upon hearing the door open. His mouth wasn’t covered — there was no need. Here, there was no threat of rescue.

  His voice croaked when he spoke. ‘What happened?’ He sounded surprisingly young, his high-pitched, squealing intonation belying his impressive physical build.

  Beyond tilting his head, he didn’t move. Clearly, he was groggy. Robert climbed inside the van. The floor creaked as he shuffled just inside the cargo area.

  ‘Clifford,’ he said, lowering himself so that he was closer to the man on the floor. ‘Everything is alright.’

  The young man mumbled and tried to raise his head. Robert lifted a hand.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s better that you don’t do that.’

  The bound man leant back against the side of the van. ‘Where am I?’

  In the darkness, Robert relaxed his hand. ‘Somewhere you’ll be looked after.’ He paused and then said, ‘Looked after properly, Clifford. Like you’ve never been looked after before. I just need you to come with me.’

  Outside, Alexander edged closer to the rear bumper, watching as his father moved towards the back of the van. His mother placed a careful hand on his forearm.

  ‘How do you know me?’ the bound man asked, once again trying to raise his head. His hair was covering his eyes.

  Robert stopped and crouched, rearranging his trousers as he did. ‘Come with me and I shall explain.’

  Despite his drowsiness, the man on the floor laughed. ‘Explain why I’m gagged and bound in the back of your van?’

  ‘We could not have this conversation if you were gagged, Clifford.’

  The man considered and again asked, ‘Where am I?’ He could no longer conceal the fear in his voice.

  Robert sighed and stood up, bending his neck so as not to touch the top of the van. ‘You have a choice, Clifford. You can cooperate with me, or—’ he paused and looked at the man, ‘or you can make this difficult for yourself.’

  Alexander was already inside the van by the time Clifford had pulled himself up from the floor. Arms still tied together at the wrists, he had planned to loop himself around his captor’s neck and drag him to the floor, beat his face, tear at his skin with his teeth if need be. But, before he even got close, Clifford found himself constricted, his legs pinned in place by Alexander’s boot, a strong arm tight against his jugular.

  ‘It is such a shame,’ Robert said, almost too quiet to hear. Clifford gulped, struggling to catch his breath under Alexander’s arm. ‘I always hope for cooperation.’

  He screamed, of course. He shouted, naturally. But nothing could save him. Like constrictors, they glided over him and bound him tighter. As he was, it wasn’t difficult to transport Clifford out of the van. Robert helped to steady the man as Alexander stepped down out the back. Ern and Sophie moved to the side to give the men space. Mary had taken the keys to the farm buggy from Alexander and was repositioning it close to the van’s rear doors.

  It was when Clifford was out of the van, squinting and bathed in the light from the house, that he saw her.

  ‘You,’ he whispered in disbelief.

  Sophie held her position and looked at the young man.

  Clifford shook his head, his brown eyes wide and fearful. ‘No,’ he stuttered, ‘How can it be you?’

  With a sudden burst of strength, the young man reeled away from Robert’s grasp and towards Sophie. Alexander gripped him tighter, shoving his arms underneath Clifford’s armpits and dragging him back. The man screamed and wailed and tried to pull away.

  ‘How can you stand by and watch this happen?’ the man shouted at Sophie. ‘You’re supposed to be a good person!’

  Robert snatched at the man’s face and turned it away from his wife. ‘You need to calm down, Clifford.’

  His cries of resistance only increased as Alexander and Robert pushed him into the farm buggy. ‘Stop them!’ he shouted at Sophie. ‘How can you help all those women and let them do this to me?’

  Standing besides Ern, she said and did nothing.

  ‘Stop them!’ Clifford cried over and over again, even as Robert climbed into the driver’s seat of the buggy and started driving away. ‘Please, help me,’ he appealed to Sophie, his voice becoming more and more desperate.

  ‘Mrs. Wheatleigh, please, don’t let them do this!’

  Twenty-Four

  Nanny told them that a man with a red suit and a big white beard had done it. ‘Came down the chimney,’ she had explained, wafting one of her fat arms at the gold and silver plates that had appeared on the table overnight. Cherub had wanted to ask what a chimney was, but the other girls were already swarming over the food and she didn’t want to miss out.

  Squares of pink and yellow held together with a sweet and sticky orange-coloured jam. A spongy, cream-stuffed brown log, decorated with multi-coloured sprinkles and vanilla swirls. Little men wearing red hats, jelly buttons and chocolate boots. Stars that twinkled with sugar.

  ‘I like these best,’ Filly said as she bit off a chocolate-coated gingerbread leg.

  Cherub nodded. She liked them too. In fact, she liked them all. Her fingers were already sticky and covered in cake.

  ‘Why’d he give us this?’ Cherub eventually asked her friend.

  Filly looked up from the plate she was studying. ‘Who?’ she asked.

  ‘What Nanny said — the man with the beard and the red suit,’ Cherub explained between mouthfuls. ‘Why’d he give us all this stuff?’

  Filly shrugged and toyed with another gingerbread man.

  ‘Remember when we had those little fruits,’ Cherub said. ‘Do you think that was him, too?’

  The other girl shook her head. ‘What little fruits?’

  ‘The multi-coloured ones. Apples and pears and little, bitty oranges.’ Cherub licked her fingers and said, ‘You thought they tasted funny.’

  ‘Oh, I remember.’ Filly wrinkled her nose at the memory. ‘They were yuck!’

  Cherub laughed. She was sitting on the end of her bed, swinging her legs back and forth so that the metal squeaked. Across her lap, tucked in front of her ragdoll Rosie, a plate loaded with sugary delights made her already full tummy grumble for more. Filly moved from her bed to Cherub’s and took a square of cake from her plate.

  ‘So, you think that man really brought them, then?’ the blotchy-skinned girl asked, offering the first bite to her friend. Cherub took it and shook her head.

  ‘Sounds weird.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Filly agreed, also taking a bite. ‘Perhaps Nanny did it.’

  Cherub shook her head again, then leant closer to Filly and whispered, ‘Nanny’d just eat them all herself.’ Filly giggled, clapping her hand over her mouth to stop crumbs of cake from falling out. Cherub shared in her laughter, leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her skinny middle.

  ‘You should eat more,’ Cherub said when they had finished laughing. ‘Here—’ she passed the plate to Filly, ‘eat mine. I have too much chub.’ She poked her own belly and grimaced.

  Filly shook her head and nudged the plate back. ‘No, I like it when we share,’ she said. Cherub pulled a face and so she nudged the plate some more. ‘You shouldn’t listen to the others,’ Filly said, her voice soft.

  ‘They’re right though,’ Cherub responded. ‘I am chubby.’

  Filly turned, her brown eyes full of expression. ‘I’ve said before,’ she said. ‘They’re just jealous.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ her friend huffed.

  Across the room, a girl with two thick plaits was munching on a piece of chocolate cake. She was savouring it, pausing to lick the sprinkles off the top in between bites. Another girl, sitting next to her, wide-eyed and anxious, was waiting for her to finish with the plate. Cherub felt for Rosie on her lap and held her closer to her.

  ‘Make sure you girls share with the little ones,’ a voice said from behind them.

  Filly and Cherub turned to find Nanny standing over them. She was an ancient woman, or at least the girls thought so. White-haired and plump-bossommed, Nanny had been a part of Cherub and Filly’s lives for as long as they could both remember. She nursed their injuries when they fell, helped to wash the parts of themselves they couldn’t reach, and — once upon a time — read them bedtime stories and kissed them goodnight. Now, she was simply tired. Old and tired and fast approaching retirement.

  ‘Some of them haven’t had anything yet,’ the old woman said, nodding to a small, black-haired girl who was clutching the hem of her smock.

  Cherub patted her bed, encouraging her to come sit next to her. The girl was sucking her thumb and looked from Nanny to Cherub and then back to Nanny again in search of confirmation. The white-haired woman nodded and so the girl let go of her smock and clambered up onto Cherub’s bed. Cherub offered her a star biscuit and the child took it without saying anything.

  ‘You should make Jessica share,’ Filly said to the old woman.

  Nanny sighed and shook her head. ‘You girls know better than most that Jessica’s not a very generous soul — even at Christmas.’

  Cherub watched the black-haired girl take a second bite of the biscuit. Granules of sugar stuck to the corners of her mouth. When she realised the older girl was watching, she suddenly dropped the biscuit and scurried off the bed and back to Nanny, timid, hiding in the skirt of her smock like a mouse.

  ‘What’s Christmas, Nanny?’ Cherub asked after the girl had left the bed.

  The old woman touched Cherub on the head. She took a moment to consider, then said, ‘It’s a time to be grateful for what we have, sweet child.’

  ‘Like for the cakes,’ Cherub replied.

  ‘Yes,’ the old woman looked at the depleted plate on the bed, ‘like for the cakes.’ From behind her, the black-haired girl peered out. ‘And,’ Nanny continued, encouraging the small girl back towards the bed, ‘Christmas is also a time for generosity — for sharing.’

  Cherub held out the half-eaten biscuit to the girl. Careful and quiet, she took it. It looked huge in her small hands. Filly shifted closer to the other two girls and watched as the younger one ate. After a moment, she turned and looked at Nanny.

  ‘So, is that why the man brought us the cakes?’ Filly asked.

  Nanny laughed. It was a louder sound than the girls were used to hearing from her and it caught them off guard. Filly glanced at Cherub and, nose-twitching, the black-haired girl stopped chewing. When the old woman regained her composure, she touched each of the children on the head in turn.

  ‘No, inquisitive child,’ she said to Filly, ‘it wasn’t generosity that brought you your sweet treats.’ Her voice was peculiar and dark, and betrayed a sombreness that contrasted the usual convivial atmosphere of their shared home. Confused, Filly went to ask another question, but Nanny stopped her. ‘Enjoy your cakes, girls,’ she said. ‘Be grateful for what you have. The man can take as easily as he can give.’

  Twenty-Five

  Morning had barely arrived when the note was pushed under her door. Hours later, she found it on the carpet, corners folded where it had rubbed against the brass threshold that separated her room from the hallway outside, and carried it to her dressing table. There, still in her pyjamas, she lifted the red seal with a nail file. ‘Red box under the tree.’ The cursive was elegant and carefully written. Pulling on a pair of thick socks, she tightened the cord of her dressing gown, slid out her bedroom door and snuck down the stairs to the sitting room.

  Everyone was still in bed, but he was on the sofa, asleep, glasses crooked and half-falling off his face. In the far corner of the room, beside the fireplace, a blue tinged spruce tree sparkled with lights. Tucking the note into the pocket of her gown, she sat on the pouffe next to the sofa and placed her hand on his face. He stirred as she thumbed his cheek. Caught somewhere between slumber and wakefulness, he smiled.

  ‘Tell me you haven’t been here all night,’ she whispered.

  He pulled himself upright and straightened his glasses. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he whispered back, then, with a sleepy grin, said, ‘Too excited.’

  Her eyes lit up and she laughed softly. ‘Happy Christmas, Daddy.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, my love.’

  The box was where he had left it — under the tree, placed just in front of a ceramic reindeer. It was small and covered with red velvet. He watched as she opened it, balancing it on her knee as she untied the gold ribbon which kept the lid closed.

  ‘It was your mother’s,’ Ern said as Mary inspected her gift.

  It was a ring — a rectangular faceted emerald encircled by a halo of champagne-coloured seed pearls. The central stone caught the light as she tilted it between her finger and thumb. The gold of the band was old, dulled, but not tarnished: well-loved and hinting at a history that new things simply didn’t have.

  ‘It was my grandmother’s before,’ Ern continued from the sofa. ‘I gave it to your mother when I proposed to her.’

  A love story, a symbol of hope and shared dreams, of a lineage that was meant to continue.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ the young woman said, looking from the ring to her father. ‘But why are you giving it to me?’ she asked.

  A slight smile. ‘It was yours a long time ago. I just had to find the strength to let go of it.’ Ern moved forward in his seat. ‘And, to let go of you.’

  Mary again looked at the ring before slipping it onto one of her fingers. It was a perfect fit.

  ‘Thank you, Daddy.’ She reached out her hand and he took it gladly. Raising it to his lips, Ern kissed the finger now decorated with the ring.