Yours For The Season

Yours For The Season

Chapter One

Two weeks to Christmas

The moment she steps out of the tube station, Mel has her phone to her ear. Amanda answers in two rings—­before Mel remembers that it’s gone 6 p.m., and she really shouldn’t be calling her assistant at this sort of time.

“Sorry,” she says by way of greeting, “I thought it might be easier to call rather than send a million emails, but shall we catch up in the morning?”

“It’s fine,” Amanda says brightly. “I was just finishing up a few things anyway.” And that is why Amanda is a godsend.

Mel walks along the pavement toward Clapham Common under a line of trees, which are looking a bit sorry for themselves in the depths of winter, and past Christmas decorations in shop windows. She passes a pub she doesn’t think she’s ever been to but which is always busy—people milling out the front, huddling under heaters while clutching their pints.

“So,” Mel says, “Lillian Hart.” The current bane of her life. The UK actress taking the world by storm, whose face is plastered over the London buses, advertising the next film she’s in. The actress who, after months and months of wooing, has finally consented to meet with Mel to discuss being the face of her jewelry brand.

“Right. Her agent wants to move the call from tomorrow to the twenty-­third. Which I know is right before Christmas, and if you’re taking any time off then—­”

“I’m not. It’s fine. What Lillian Hart wants Lillian Hart gets, right?” Though why she wants to have meetings the week of Christmas, she has no idea. Maybe she’s a workaholic. Maybe she, too, has no work-­life balance. Maybe that’s something they can bond over. “You are taking some time off that week, though, right?”

“Yes,” Amanda says, a little hesitantly, “but if you need me to—­”

“I don’t—­you do enough. Just put it in my calendar, will you? And email the agent to confirm? Presumably she’ll send over a link.”

“Yes, yes, and yes—­and she’ll be on the call too.”

“Perfect.” Mel slows outside her favorite bagel shop—­which she loves in part because it’s opposite her flat, and also because it happens to be open both when she leaves for her office in central London, and when she returns. Despite the very long day she’s had, she feels a tiny fizz of excitement—­the way she used to feel when she finished a pair of earrings that she loved, the way she felt when the very first influencer posted about her earrings on Instagram and her hobby was turned into a career overnight. This might really happen. Lillian Hart might actually start wearing her jewelry. Well, her designs, at least. Her company’s designs. But still.

“Okay, so the agent also said they want us to send through the suggested designs that we envisage Lillian ‘supporting.’ ”

“Of course she did.” Mel peers into the bagel shop as Amanda speaks, where Andy, the owner, is wiping down the counter.

“And she said that they would want it in the contract that Lillian can ask for any changes she sees fit, so that they ensure her brand is unaffected . . .”

Mel sighs. “Right. Well, one step at a time. Why don’t you send her the Christmas catalogue and go from there. If she wants to see others, then I can send through some more, but do stress that we would create unique designs specifically for her should she want to partner with us.” It’s one of the reasons she wants Lillian to come on board—­because it gives her a reason to be more involved in the design process. Not that she’ll have time to actually make the jewelry, like she used to—­she’s too busy trying to run the damn business itself.

She walks past the bagel shop, then stops, turns back. Why the hell not? It’s Christmas. She can have a bloody bagel if she wants one.

“Done,” Amanda says. “And, while I have you, can I check that there’s no one else you want to invite back for a second interview in January?” The interview for another jewelry maker—­because part of Mel’s brand is that everything is made by hand. Just not her hands. Before Mel can answer, Amanda continues, listing the people Mel had liked, what their background is, and when their interview is booked, before listing the “maybes.”

Andy smiles at Mel when she pushes open the door, an old-­fashioned bell announcing her arrival. The shop is tiny, only one high table and chairs alongside the window for seating, but he’s managed to squeeze a small Christmas tree in here, complete with a felt angel on top. The blackboard menu is framed with chalk holly, and silver tinsel hangs from the counter in loops. Andy told her that his daughter had been involved in the decorating, and Mel can believe it.

Andy makes a Christmas-­tree shape with his hands as Mel presses her phone between her shoulder and ear to fumble in her bag for her purse, and Mel nods. The Christmas-­special bagel in here is unreal.

Amanda keeps talking as Andy hands over her bagel with a smile, and Mel taps her card on the machine. She waves to Andy, rolls her eyes, and gestures at the phone. Then stops as she turns, seeing a sign in the door.

“Amanda? I’ll call you back.”

“Okay, but we need to—­”

Mel hangs up. Hopefully Amanda will stop working, and actually enjoy some of her evening. Mel spins around to look at Andy, clutching her wrapped bagel in one hand. “You’re closing?” She doesn’t mean it to come out quite as interrogatory as it does.

He smiles and holds up both hands, palms up. “Afraid so.”

“But . . . why?”

He gives a little shrug, runs a hand over his bald head. “Just time to move on. We’ve loved being here, but it’s a tough city to keep your head above water in. High rent, long hours.” He gestures to her phone. “Though I suppose you’d know a thing or two about that. We’re going to try our luck in Cornwall—­figured it was time for a change, see if we can get away from working six-­day weeks. Got to try new things while you can, don’t you?” He glances around the shop, and she thinks she sees a tinge of sadness in his gaze.

Mel nods slowly. She feels, irrationally, devastated. She loves this place—­loves that it’s opposite her flat, that they know what she likes, that they don’t mind if she is working while she’s in here, even on the limited seating. But she can’t exactly beg him not to close, can she?

Instead, she says, “I’m going to miss you.”

He winks. “Going to miss my bagels, you mean.”

When she steps back out into the cold, she texts Priya.

The bagel shop is closing down.

Oh no! Disaster! What are you going to do?

She leaves that one open. She doesn’t know what is going on with this pit in her stomach—­it’s only bagels, for God’s sake.

How’s life down under? she types instead.

It’s amazing! Getting ready for Christmas on the beach. She follows that up with a photo of a beautiful beach, golden sands, and a sparkling blue sea, with what are definitely Priya’s toes in the photo.

Mel tries to ignore the surge of envy. When was the last time she had a holiday? Went to a beach? Looks brilliant! She types Sooo jealous, but then deletes it. She wants Priya to be enjoying this, without worrying about her. It’s an amazing thing to have done—­quitting her job at a secondary school in London and heading out to teach in Australia for a year—­especially given Priya had always convinced herself that that kind of adventure wasn’t “her.” Priya had needed a change, and she’d gone for it.

Mel has insisted, time and time again, how amazing it is, how brave Priya is, how she’ll definitely try to find time to come out and visit. But she misses her best friend. They haven’t shared a house in a couple of years, but they’ve always been in the same city, and things feel a little wrong, knowing Priya isn’t here anymore. Not that they’d seen each other more than once every couple of weeks, but at least they were in the same time zone. Without her, things feel off-kilter. It means that her business has become even more important—­because, without work, Mel knows she’d find loneliness creeping in on her—­something she’d rather not look at directly if she can help it.