Page 3 of One Last Gift

“Money’s not all that matters,” Cassie said, a little primly, mainly because she thought that was something she ought to say.

“No, but it helps,” Sam said, and though he was clearly trying for jokey, Cassie heard the subtle edge to his voice. She bit her lip. She knew, didn’t she, how hard Sam’s mum had to work, how Sam had spent more hours at work than at school during his A-level year—and still got the grades to get into Manchester. She opened her mouth to say something, to take it back, somehow, but caught sight of Linda practically jogging over to their table, tea towel bouncing in time with her bob.

Cassie frowned. “Is everything—?”

“The fairy lights have gone out,” Linda said, a little breathlessly. “Outside.” Cassie glanced at the window behind her, saw that the lights decorating the windows had indeed stopped shining. “And I know it’s not that big a deal, but I—”

Cassie held up her hand as she got to her feet. “I’ll sort it.” She got it. No matter what Linda said about shop-bought mince pies, this pub was Linda’s baby, and the Christmas event was one of the highlights of the year.

“Thanks, Cassie love.”

“I’ll help,” Hazel declared, setting down her drink on the table and coming alongside Cassie as Linda scurried back to the bar.

“So,” Hazel said as she linked an arm through Cassie’s. “What’s going on with Sam, hey?”

“Nothing,” Cassie said. “What do you mean?” Her attempt at breezy might have worked better if her voice hadn’t sounded ever so slightly too high-pitched.

But she was saved from further interrogation by Hazel’s mum, Mel, who grabbed Hazel as they were walking past. Mel pouted, in a way that suggested that might be her second glass of red wine in front of her.

“You haven’t talked to me properly yet,” Mel said to Hazel. “Come on, your dad’s gone to the loo. Keep me company for five minutes—it’s Christmas!” Hazel rolled her eyes at Cassie, then sighed, as if to say that she might as well get it over with now, and Cassie nodded—she could fix the fairy lights alone. In all honesty, Hazel wouldn’t have been much help anyway—Cassie had stayed over at Hazel’s once when Hazel hadn’t bothered to replace the dead lightbulb in the overhead light or the bedside lamp and was using her phone light to get around her room in the dark instead.

“Where’s Claire, Cassie?” Mel asked.

Cassie shrugged. “Probably in bed by now. She’s not really into Christmas.” Not really into socializing in general—Claire tended to stay locked away during any of the village social events if she could help it. Mel gave a disapproving “hmmm” in response.

Cassie left Hazel with her mum, laughing as Hazel grimaced over Mel’s shoulder. She couldn’t help feeling a little pang as she waved and headed for the exit though. At least Hazel had parents to come here with. Mostly, she thought she had a handle on it—the fact that she was, technically, an orphan—but there were times when the loss of it flared up, and Christmas was one of those.

She watched her breath mist out in front of her as she stepped outside. It was cloudless tonight, the stars out in force. The chatter from inside was muted through the walls and Cassie allowed herself a moment to look up, to breathe in the cold night air. To imagine that her parents were up there, watching. She didn’t often give in to that—the idea that they were “out there” somewhere—but tonight, on Christmas Eve, with the stars twinkling above her, felt like a night to allow herself the fantasy of it.

That moment didn’t last long, though, because it was bloody freezing. She wrapped her arms around herself as she assessed the fairy lights. It looked like it was only a section of the string of lights that wasn’t working—the section that draped over the second window of the pub. So maybe it was just a faulty bulb, then.

The door to the pub opened and Cassie glanced over to see Sam coming out, clutching her leather jacket. Not the warmest, but “warm” hadn’t been the look she was going for. He held it out to her. “Thought you might need this.”

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, and slipped it on.

“And I saw Hazel get commandeered by her mum, so just wanted to check if you needed a hand, while Tom gets another round in.” He stuck his hands into his pockets, rocked back a little on his heels, standing, Cassie thought, a careful distance away from her.

She turned her attention back to the lights and tried to ignore the fact that it was just the two of them out here. “I think it’s just a bulb.” She walked closer, frowning as she inspected them. “They’re old lights,” she admitted. “Someone tried to chuck them out and I said we’d use them here.”

“Feeling sad for inanimate objects again?”

She glanced over her shoulder to see him grinning at her. “I just don’t like to see the waste,” she said, a little defensively. And yes, fine, she also didn’t like to see old things thrown away or stuffed out of sight, just because they weren’t new and shiny anymore. With a bit of work, old things could shine again.

She worked a few of the bulbs, smiling to herself at the fact that Sam was content to let her do it, not step in and insist he’d fix it, as Tom most likely would have. She found the problem—a loose bulb—and pressed it firmly into its socket. The lights lit up, a gorgeous white. “Et voilà!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands as she stepped back—right into Sam. She lost her balance, felt his arms come up to her shoulders to steady her.

She turned, slowly, tilted her chin up to see his face, eyes softly illuminated by the fairy lights and the stars above. His hands stayed where they were and as she hitched in a breath, she felt them tighten their hold, just for a moment, before they dropped to his sides. She made herself take a step away from him, though the smell of his subtle aftershave stayed with her.

She cleared her throat. “Shall we…?” She gestured inside.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She tried to ignore the lurch of disappointment in her gut. What, exactly, had she expected? No, Cassie, I want to stand outside with you and make out? She almost snorted to herself as she headed toward the pub entrance.

“But first…” She turned back to him to see him flush a little. “I, err, got you a present.” He reached into his coat pocket, drew something out. She took a step toward him, staring at the tiny cardboard box in his hand. Plain, not wrapped. No ribbons. Rustic, she decided.

She bit her lip as she took another step. She hadn’t gotten him anything. Sometimes they did jokey presents—and the four of them had done Secret Santa for a few years, but they’d said nothing about it this year, and she hadn’t thought to get him something. OK, fine, that wasn’t entirely true—she had thought about getting him something, but she’d worried it would look weird or he’d be awkward or something, and then she hadn’t been able to think of what to get him that wouldn’t look as though she’d gone overboard but wasn’t, like, socks or a pen or something.

He thrust the box into her hands, not quite making eye contact. “Come on,” he said, a bit gruffly. “Open it.”