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Lily could honestly say that she liked her job. Actually – more accurately – she adored it.
Five days a week, she woke at seven, made herself a cup of tea, stretched while the kettle boiled, and crossed her ankles as she sat in her little back garden, face turned to the rising sun. She thumbed through a book as she drained the earl grey, then showered, brushed her teeth, dressed, and walked the six minutes to her place of work. Yes, six minutes. The picturesque little village was nestled in a valley in the midlands, as yet still protected by hordes of TikTok-inspired tourists (though she admitted to being one herself, when it came to travelling), and while it didn’t have all the conveniences of a big city – there was no cinema, no ASOS, no M&S, not even a Poundland – it was home to her favourite place in the world.
That, of course, was the library.
On this particular day, Lily tightened her scarf as her sensible boots plodded over the cobblestones, a little chilly in the winter wind. Tinsel hung from the windows of the cottages that lined the lane, with little nutcrackers grinning through the glass panes. Lily’s auburn hair whipped her face, and she tucked it behind her ears. A hand reached into her pocket and fumbled for the keys. She didn’t bother to check the road before she crossed, knowing that at a quarter to eight in the morning, she was very likely to be the only person poking their head out the door. Hogsmeade was a sleepy little village, hiding beneath the peaks from the encroaching suburban sprawl. The sole other occupant of the street, at this very hour, was Tufty – a fluffy grey cat belonging to her neighbour, Mrs Figg. She smiled and waved at Tufty, who answered her by flouncing away. She rolled her eyes. Typical.
The keys jingled as Lily slipped them into the glass door of the Hogsmeade Library. She stepped inside, turned the sign over – ‘PLEASE COME IN’ – and started to flick on the lights. Warmth glowed in her chest. Maybe it was silly, but she was quite proud of the little library. Her little library. Technically, the Head Librarian was a much-older woman called Irma Pince, who had lived in the village all her life – but after six years of working together, and age introducing wrist cramps whenever she wrote, Madam Pince (as she insisted on being known) had reluctantly entrusted the lion’s share of the library’s operations to Lily. So it was Lily who had erected the sparkling Christmas tree, Lily who had arranged the displays in red-and-green and by theme – holiday romance, historical holidays, cosy Christmas mysteries. Lily beamed with pride as she ducked behind the desk and booted up the ancient computer. It whirred loudly as it loaded. She leaned against the wall as she waited, chewing on her lip, mentally running through the day’s activities.
She needed to check the holds, reshelve the returns, review the orders she’d put in for the new year, water the plants, call Dennis to come round and fix the funny monitor in the little ‘internet-friendly’ section, and print out the activities for the afternoon’s session. Her smile broke into a beam. This part of the week was her absolute favourite. She had trained as a children’s librarian, and when she’d lived in Sheffield, she’d worked at a school and had the time of her life. If not for the monumental break-up, she might have stayed there forever – the job had been perfect, the flat had been perfect, and the kebabs had been perfect too, if she was honest. For all she loved Hogsmeade, it certainly didn’t have a kebab shop. But Severus Snape was not any nicer as an ex-boyfriend than he had been as an actual boyfriend, and so Lily had gone out on a limb and taken the risk she had always contemplated, and moved out to the country. Escaped to the country, even. Her lips twisted. It was a guilty pleasure sort of show.
This afternoon, she would be hosting the children’s event for the week. Story time – seasonally themed, because she couldn’t resist – followed by some games for the kids while the parents could help themselves to some tea and biscuits. And then she’d help them choose a book for the week. She had a core of regulars who came every week, from kids too little for school to those who came straight from the local primary, which was to small to warrant a library of its own. If one wanted to know the gossip in the village, she thought being the librarian was the best job one could ask for – you got to see everyone much more often than if you were a hairdresser, and the kids had a tendency to be terribly loose-lipped. That was another thing that made her chest puff up with pride; the kids and adults alike trusted her. She had been overcome with nerves on her first day, so used to all the stereotypes about country towns, and terrified of forever being an outsider. Maybe it helped that nowadays, she had been in the village much longer than most of the kids she worked with, who couldn’t remember a time when ‘Library Lady Lily’ hadn’t been part of their lives.
The day passed by pleasantly, raining intermittently, and she got everything done much quicker than she had anticipated. She chatted with Mrs Figg, who came three times a week, and fended off Rita Skeeter, a nosy gossip who ran the village community page on Facebook and stalwartly refused to monitor the comments – or correct false information.
“So he hasn’t come in yet?” Rita asked, arching an eyebrow. “Do you think he might be unimpressed with the…” she looked around, “quaintness, say, of the facilities?” That was rich, Lily thought. Rita had grown up in Swindon. Lily would take Hogsmeade any day, slow internet and all.
“He hasn’t come in yet,” Lily confirmed. “He’s probably still settling in.” They were speaking of the newest villager – well, he hadn’t earned that title yet, but he was the newest resident in any case. ‘He’ was yet to have a name. They only knew that he had bought old Mrs Dunlop’s place, a little two-bedroom on Mayberry Close, and that there was supposedly a child there too. Nobody had seen his wife around – maybe he was moving the furniture in, and she would join them later. Lily said as much.
“Odd for her to have her child here without her,” Rita sniffed. Lily pursed her lips. It did no good to provoke her, given her prominence in the community, but Lily wasn’t about to start speaking badly of a woman she’d never met.
“Maybe he likes taking care of his kid,” she suggested. “Who knows? He could be a stay-at-home father.”
“Hmph,” said Rita. Lily didn’t dignify that with a response.
The afternoon rolled around, and at quarter past three, the mothers with their children filed in, chatting animatedly. Lily pushed her hair behind her ears and crouched on her haunches to talk to the kids, offering high-fives and asking how they had spent their day. Not longer after, the older kids came, schoolbags on their backs, shoving pictures they’d drawn under her nose and recounting lunchtime encounters. They dove onto the cushions set out for story time, and Lily laughed, reminding them to tuck their bags away.
She did a headcount and figured that most of those who were going to come already had; it wouldn’t matter if she started a little early. The kids got settled, and Lily stood at the front of them, grinning.
“It’s so good to see you all!” she gushed, adopting the slightly higher pitch she used with them. “How are we?”
“Good!” they chorused back.
“What are we reading?” shouted one boy. Lily laughed.
“Hm,” she said. “Well… See, I had an idea, but I didn’t know if you guys liked Christmas…”
“Christmas?”
“I love Christmas!”
“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” she pressed on, trying very hard to suppress her smile. “With a story about Father Christmas, and his reindeer…”
“Please!”
“I want to read it!”
“Well, if you’re certain…”
The door shut. Lily jumped at the noise, surprised, and turned around.
Oh.
A bespectacled man in a knitted jumper ran his fingers through his curly dark hair as he entered, smiling. He held the hand of a little boy who was his exact miniature, down to the round glasses perched atop his nose and the shine of his face. Lily’s breath caught in her throat. He was maybe the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. Stubble lined his sharp jaw in a rugged way, and his trousers were well-tailored, fitted without being skintight. Their eyes met. His face lit when he saw her.
“You must be Lily Evans,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m James. This is Ollie.”
His voice was as warm and rich and liquid as hot chocolate. Lily swallowed her first impression. Be professional. She took his hand and shook firmly. His grip was strong and trustworthy.
“Yes, Lily,” she squeaked, the words coming out in her for-the-kids voice. Bugger. She swallowed again and crouched. “Hi, Ollie. I’m Lily. Are you having a good day today?” Ollie tilted his head. He was nearly three, at a guess, and he tapped his chin with his finger as he thought.
“Mm-hm,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “It’s rain.”
Lily let her mouth drop open. “Is it really?”
“Yeah.”
“Oooh.” She shuddered. “Is it cold?” Ollie shook his head. Lily raised her eyebrows. “Not even a little bit?”
“No,” he said. “Daddy’s hot.”
Lily couldn’t help but giggle. From the mouth of babes. Her gaze darted up to Ollie’s dad, James, who shrugged with a smile that didn’t even approach modesty.
“Ollie always tells the truth,” James informed her, eyes crinkling. “Especially about that time he saw Rudolph in the chimney.”
“In the chimney?” Lily covered her mouth, stomach hurting with the effort of not laughing. “What on earth was he doing there?”
“He’s silly!” Ollie said.
“I think so,” Lily agreed. “Now, Ollie, would you like to come and take a seat? I was going to read a story about Rudolph, actually…” She raised her voice at the end so the other kids could hear, and they urged her on. Lily got back up to full height and gestured to the cushions. “You can sit anywhere you like.”
Ollie, to her surprise, barrelled confidently into the maze of pillows, shouting gleefully. A quick glance at the other mothers caught them leaning in to whisper to one another. A newcomer always meant whispers.
“Welcome to Hogsmeade,” Lily told James, returning her full attentions to him. Her stomach fluttered. He has a wife, she reminded herself. Knobbly red gloves covered is hands, so she had no way of checking, but surely he did. His little boy had to have a mother. “Thank you for coming. We are just about to have story time.”
“I saw online,” he said. “Sorry for being late. Hope it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all,” Lily said brightly, managing to keep her voice back at adult-level. “I was about to be a little early. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
James nodded. “All right. Thanks. It’s lovely to meet you.” And then he went after Ollie, who was bouncing excitedly. Lily inhaled deeply. All right. Newcomer met. All was well. Just because he was – distractingly gorgeous – that was no matter for her. She had kids to entertain.
“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands and spinning back to the kids. “Who wants to read, ‘Father Christmas and the Chocolate Caper’?”
-{}-
The session went well, and Lily hummed to herself as she locked up for the night. Ollie was fearless in his befriending of the other children, and had enthusiastically pretended to be a reindeer during their games. Lily had watched James, too; out of a concern for his fitting in, she told herself, but also because she simply couldn’t help it. At first the mothers danced around him awkwardly, as he made himself tea; finally, Madeline Mortensen approached him and struck up a conversation. After that, it was open season. Lily thought it was a shame that more dads didn’t come along to the sessions; James seemed like a good role model. Someone who really cared for his kid. It was obvious in the way he interacted with Ollie. He didn’t need Lily’s help to find a book for him – he and Ollie had raced up the aisles, laughing loudly as James rattled off all of Ollie’s favourite books and quizzed his son on the details.
She dropped her keys into her pocket and strolled home, yawning her way through the darkness. Christmas lights twinkled, gleaming red-and-green in the nigh, and down the road the pub glowed yellow, chatter spilling out even on a Thursday. She microwaved a ready-made meal for tea and curled up on the sofa, flicking aimlessly through the channels before finding repeats of the Pride and Prejudice miniseries. With a blanket over her and a mug of tea, it ought to have been easy to relax.
Something, however, drove her to pick up her phone. She clicked into Facebook and found herself typing in the name of the community page. She scrolled. The latest post welcomed the newcomer into the group. His profile was linked. Lily pressed his name.
James Potter. His profile picture showed him and Ollie laughing into the camera, maybe six months ago – they were on a beach somewhere, and Ollie was a little smaller, the pair of them windswept. James’s shoulders were bare. Her stomach flipped. He had good privacy settings, but a quick peruse of his account gave his history in a collection of profile pictures – him running a marathon for a charity, him in front of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, him skiing, a (considerably younger – twenty-one at most, maybe) James with his arms around a group of his mates in an Ibizan nightclub, him and a woman who must’ve been his mother, and, finally, a skinny teenager with oversized glasses and knobbly knees in a school button-up and blazer, flashing his tongue at the camera, the same friends from Ibiza laughing with him in a photo clearly taken at the back of a classroom, probably during a lesson. No sign, anywhere, of a wife, or even a girlfriend. No sign of Ollie’s mother. Was she just entirely offline? Lily didn’t much like social media either.
It's none of your business. She set the phone down. It was a small village, in any case. One way or another, she would find out who Ollie’s mother was soon enough.
-{}-
Carols echoed tinnily out of the radio in the corner as Lily shopped, wincing at the recent hike in prices. She agonised over two brands before dropping the smaller can into her basket. Longbottom’s Grocers was old and family-owned, but not very large, when it came down to it. She could hear Alice relaying a tale to old Mrs Sprout about an incident with a particularly rambunctious hedge. The gardening section of the roughly all-purpose shop was almost as large as that which kept the food. Lily went to the tiny selection of pasta sauces, clicking her tongue as she weighed her options. If she got the white…
“Lily!” Her head snapped up at the sound, but she saw nothing. A second later, something crashed into her shins. Her startled gasp revealed Ollie headbutting her legs. He looked up at her, giggling, and tugged at her coat. “Read Rudolph!” he barked, and then hesitated. “Ple-ease!”
Surprise overwhelmed her; then her brain kicked in, and she shifted her basket from one arm to the other and bent down, extricating him from her knees.
“Good morning, Ollie,” she said pleasantly. “I’m afraid I can’t read Rudolph at the moment. He’s back at the library today.” She scanned the aisle quickly. “Where’s your daddy got to?”
“Gone,” Ollie shrugged. “Please read Rudolph.”
“Gone?”
“Ollie!” James’s voice echoed through the shop. “Ollie!” It strained as he shouted. Lily put one gentle hand on Ollie’s shoulder to keep him from running off, and lifted her head.
“James?” she called back. “Down in the sauces!”
James came jogging around the corner, out of breath, cheeks pink and hair rumpled. A new wave of emotion crashed into Lily. His worry did something to her – he was responsible, he was desperate, he was caring, he was –
“Hi!” Ollie said brightly, waving at his father. James shut his eyes, screwed his face up for half a heartbeat in frustration, and then let it melt into relief.
“Ollie,” he said, very measuredly. “I got a bit of a fright, you know. I didn’t know where you were going, running off like that.” He approached slowly, holding out his hand to his son, who gave Lily a questioning look before scampering to join his father. James took his hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t do that again, mate,” he said quietly. “You really did scare me.”
“Sorry,” said Ollie, sticking his lower lip out. “Sorry, Daddy.”
In one swift movement, James hoisted him into the air and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Ollie giggled. James kissed him again, and again, and again, until Lily stood up and even she was laughing.
“Sorry about that,” James said, once Ollie was back to his cheerful self. “I didn’t – he’s just been so curious about everything here – and he’s in that phase – not that it’s an excuse –”
“It’s quite alright,” Lily assured him. If she had a pound for every time a kid barrelled towards her in public, she’d be wealthy enough to buy the big old house on the hill that had once been Mr and Mrs Riddle’s. James scratched his head, fingers twining around a fluffy lock. How did he keep it so soft? Part of Lily longed to ask him about his haircare routine.
“It’s –” and James hesitated again, teeth gritting as he searched for a word. “I – you know, I’m trying to keep an eye on him. I mean, I want him to explore, to engage all his senses and everything, but it’s – I swear,” he added, “I’m not just staring at all the tools over in the corner while he gallivants all over the place. I’m not some bored babysitter, I’m – I’m his dad – it’s –”
Lily understood very suddenly. “Of course,” she said. “No, I mean, at that age – I see it all the time, you know. And I could hear how worried you were.” She flashed him a reassuring smile. “You obviously care about him a lot. He’s pretty lucky to have a dad like you. I mean,” she scratched her neck, checking that the shop was mostly deserted, “I’ve been here six years, and in all that time, I think you’re maybe the third father ever to show up. Ollie’s very fortunate to have that.”
James’s brows only creased. “That’s a low bar,” he said. “I had an idea this place would be – well, I mean, my best mate said –”
“Backwards?” Lily’s voice dropped to a whisper. James squinted one eye.
“Don’t hate me.”
Lily exhaled a chuckle and shook her head. “Never,” she said, as though she knew him well enough to make that promise. But she believed it, somehow. Ollie beat out a pattern against his father’s chest, legs swinging, and James didn’t even blink. Lily sometimes thought that kids had the best judgement of anyone.
Her gaze found his. He kept on smiling, faint lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and his pupils were wide, irises hazel and edged with gold. Dimples punctured both cheeks. He was taller than her, with muscled shoulders, and the lump in his throat bobbed. Lily forced herself top break the eye contact, a little dizzy.
“Will I see you next week?” she asked.
“’Course,” said James, ruffling Ollie’s hair. “I don’t think he’d ever forgive me if you didn’t.”
-{}-
True to his word, they came a second time – and this time, they were early. Well early. Lily was still setting out the teabags. Ollie jumped around and Lily gave him the very important job of setting out the cushions for everyone to sit on. Mostly he threw them at random on the ground while James reminded him to be gentle, and occasionally he’d belly flop onto one and give it a cuddle. Lily filled the electric kettle from the sink in the back room and plugged it in.
“So,” Lily asked, as it whistled. “What do you do? We don’t get too many people moving out here.”
James laughed. Today he wore another knitted jumper – blue, this time, and once again well-fitted. It wasn’t so cold today, and she could see the expensive watch clasped around his wrist – as well as ten bare fingers. That doesn’t mean anything. More and more, people weren’t bothering about making it official – her best mate from school, Marlene, certainly hadn’t. And besides, he wouldn’t be the first bloke to lose his ring (though if she was honest, he really didn’t seem the type).
“Well, mostly I work from home,” he said, casting his eyes over Ollie. “It’s ended up pretty well.”
“That is handy,” Lily agreed. “Gives you plenty of time with the sprog.”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’m actually a sports analyst. Freelance.”
“Really?” Lily’s brows furrowed. “I’ve never met anyone in that job.”
“Not too many of us,” he acknowledged. “Well, aside from every bloke in the pub on a Friday night, of course.” She grinned.
“You like the job?”
“Yeah.” He seemed to teeter on the verge of saying something else, but whatever it was, he shook it out of his head. “Do you like yours?”
“Yeah,” Lily echoed. The door opened and shut, letting another family in. Lights sparkled on the Christmas tree she’d set up, and old Mrs Figg slowly scrolled through lagging cat videos on one of the ancient computers. It wasn’t much, she thought, but it was hers. “I wouldn’t want to do anything else,” she continued. “When I moved here, I wasn’t certain… I thought I’d try a year, and see how I managed. But I love it. I don’t even miss sushi.”
James arched his eyebrows. “Really?”
Lily giggled. “Well… maybe that’s not entirely true…”
-{}-
Christmas was only a matter of days away, and most of the children were now on their winter holiday. The fact of the matter was that, in Hogsmeade, there really wasn’t all that much to do if you were a kid – this time of year made it mostly too cold and wet to run around or spend too long at the park, and only the sportiest of the lot were still bothering to toss a ball about. The internet here wasn’t as fast or a reliable as anyone under forty might have liked, which made video games a nightmare more often than not. And that was how the Thursday before Christmas wound up one of the busiest days of the year for Lily.
She had made an effort to prove that a library was more than just a collection of dusty old books – there were always board games and colouring-in sheets, and to celebrate the holidays, she had dug out the old DVD player and set up one of the disused little rooms with a constant stream of movies. The door open and shut half a hundred times as people wandered across to the bakery, returning with tarts and pies and sausage rolls. It was a losing battle, getting people not to eat inside, but she did her best to corral them away from the books and the carpets.
Lily raced out, unstacking plastic chairs as more joined the throng. It seemed to be contagious – once word got out that a bunch of people were congregating here, more hurried over. It was as packed as the local C of E on Christmas Eve, when they did the carols. A glance over her shoulder told her a line was forming at her desk. She set the last chairs down, dusted off her hands, and bustled over.
Mrs Sprout wanted to borrow two new gardening manuals – beep beep, as Lily scanned – little Molly Jackson offered up an edition of the Babysitter’s Club – Lily cheerfully recounted her own fondness of Mary Anne Spier as she checked the book out – and Mr Filch just wanted to complain.
“Look at them,” he grumbled, jabbing a crooked finger at a group of kids playing Monopoly. “Laughing. In a library.” He and old Madam Pince had always been fast friends. Rumour had it they had even dated in secondary, a million years ago when Hogsmeade had still been big enough to support a secondary school.
“Yes,” Lily said. “Isn’t it lovely?”
Mr Filch shook his head. “Some grotty little boy was eating chocolate over by the computer-whatsits. That could break them! Stop them from ever working! Careless little brat. Back in my day…”
“Excuse me, Lily.”
The voice that broke in to save her was familiar. Sure enough, James Potter grinned down at her, holding Ollie’s hand. He combed his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry, Mr Filch,” he added. “I didn’t see you there. I was hoping – when you aren’t busy – you could perhaps help Ollie and I choose a book?”
Lily could have hugged him.
“Of course,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I can help you right now! Excuse me, Mr Filch. Have a nice day. Enjoy the library!” Before he could reply, she bolted to the children’s section, grinning. James followed quickly.
“Okay,” she said, once they were safely hidden amongst the shelves. She turned to James, who released Ollie’s hand so he could stick his face up close to the bright picture book covers. “Thank you,” she said earnestly.
“I, ah, had the luck of being introduced to him the other day,” James said, folding his arms across his chest. Lily nodded, tight-lipped.
“I see.”
“‘Where’s that boy’s mother?’” James affected Mr Filch’s cranky croak. “‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’”
Lily snorted. “He’s always on at me. ‘You’re twenty-eight and not married! Aren’t you ever going to have children?’”
“You’re not married?” There was a lilt of surprise. Lily gawped.
“No,” she said pointedly. “God, you’re as bad as he is.”
“No,” James said quickly. “It’s only – well, I can tell you’re from the city. I assumed you might’ve moved for love or something. Taken a chance on it.”
“Oh.” Lily’s chest gave a funny flutter. She hadn’t expected to be talking about love with him. She turned away, feigning interest in straightening the top row of books. “No, er – I was more escaping love. Well, former love. Ex-boyfriend,” she said finally. “Bit intense. Wouldn’t give it up.”
“That’s rough.” Sympathy laced his words.
“Ah, well. It made me follow a dream I wouldn’t’ve otherwise. I was so young, and I thought it was going to be forever – I was probably less than a year from doing the whole settle-down thing. Not that I’m opposed to settling down,” she added, “but it wouldn’t have been right for me at twenty-two. Not there. Not with him. I can’t imagine my life if I hadn’t come here. So it all worked out, I guess.”
“I understand that,” James said, wordlessly retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and leaning down to help Ollie blow his nose. “We came here – well, not so much to ‘escape’, per se. She did that herself. My ex is in Thailand,” he said, running his teeth across his lower lip. “Ah, she met someone else. They have a wellness centre. And three point two million followers.”
“You must be glad of our internet, then,” Lily blurted. To her relief, James laughed, folding up the dirty handkerchief.
“One of the attractions,” he admitted, and was she going mad, or did his eyes flick over her? Her face felt warm. “Er, but, you know. I’m pleased she’s pleased.”
“Daddy,” Ollie interrupted, thrusting a book towards his stomach. “Read Rudolph please!” James’s face changed into one of delight.
“That’s all we’ve read for the last two weeks!”
“Please!”
“Lily,” said James, “what do you think? Should we try something else?”
“No!” Ollie insisted. “Rudolph! I want Rudolph!” The truth was that the book wasn’t about Rudolph at all – it was called The Stag and the Doe, and it was set in the middle of spring. Lily liked to read it just before Easter, around the end of March, when the world was waking up from its winter slumber.
“I think you should read Rudolph,” Lily said mischievously. James’s eyes flashed with mock betrayal, he shook his head.
“As you wish,” he said, and promptly dropped to the floor. On his knees, he stuck his hands up on the sides of his head, flicking out his fingers like prongs. He arched his back and made the strangest sound Lily had ever heard – a sort of wail. After a moment of silence, she burst into laughter.
“What was that?” she said.
“I’m a stag,” he whispered, out of the corner of his mouth. He shuffled around on his knees, making the noise again. Ollie giggled furiously.
“Daddy!”
“There’s no Daddy!” James cried. “I’m a stag!”
Ollie laughed harder, and Lily with him.
“No!” Ollie said. “You’re silly!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Yes!”
Ollie’s face wrinkled in confusion. Lily laughed.
“Alright, Mr Stag, Mr Ollie,” she said. “Let’s get this one checked out for you.”
-{}-
It was an impulsive decision, later that night, when Eastenders had finished. Lily balanced her laptop on her knees and checked the box for express shipping. And, after a sip of tea, clicked ‘Submit Order’.
-{}-
Of course, she went to the Christmas carols.
She wasn’t a regular at the church, which the ancient vicar, who insisted they called him only ‘Dumbledore’, was well aware of, but he welcomed all with open arms on the few occasions a year they piled into the little stone building. Tonight, the children of the village were dressed in bright and often absurd costumes – there was a Joseph with a beard as long as the vicar’s, stretching well past his belly button, five sheep, several wise men, a donkey, an innkeeper who staggered about with a tankard full of apple juice, and – a first, for Lily – a child dressed as a haybale, with a spiky headband of sticking-up straw.
She settled in a pew towards the back, admiring the stained glass windows, and the unorthodox paper-plate reindeer faces flanking the Stations of the Cross. Most of the village piled in – Mr Filch shot the paper plates nasty looks, and Mrs Figg pushed Tibbles the cat along in a frilly pram. Lily’s eyes kept drifting towards the door. And – finally – James and Ollie entered.
Without thinking, she raised a hand in greeting, and James’s face lit. He ducked through the crowd and joined her, pulling Ollie along into the row. Lily stood to say hello, though she hadn’t thought what to say. She almost held her hand out for a shake, and then she and James awkwardly ducked to one side, then the other, and she laughed nervously, and James rubbed his chin with two hands, grinning.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Hello!” Ollie waved with two hands. “What is this place?”
James coughed. “We, ah – well, we usually spent our Christmas Eves a bit differently, to be honest.”
“Why is he naked?” Ollie pointed a finger at one of the windows.
“He’s got pants on, mate,” James assured him.
“Is he cold?”
“Nah, he’s all right.”
“Why?”
“Ah, magic.” James winced, looking around. “I’m not going to catch alight, am I?”
“You’re fine,” Lily laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m a bit the same.”
“Good to know.”
Lily sat down, and gestured that they could do the same. They did. Well, James did – Ollie bleated loudly as one of the sheep-children passed him by.
“Is there anything I have to mind?” James asked, leaning closer. The proximity made Lily’s heart beat a little quicker. Stop it, she told herself, but a silly voice replied, he is single, you know… It sounded infuriatingly like Lily’s best friend Marlene, who had said much the same on a recent Facetime call.
“Not really,” Lily said. “Er, just don’t have too high expectations of the performance.” He beamed. “And the vicar is a little… erm… odd?”
“Odd?”
“Fonder of sherbet lemons than old Doctor Who was of jelly babies.”
James guffawed. “‘Doctor Who’? It’s just the Doctor, you know.”
“I never really got into it,” Lily admitted, shrugging. James shook his head.
“Wow. Wow. Blasphemy, Lily.”
“Careful invoking that now.” Her eyes darted upwards to the church rafters. James rubbed the back of his neck.
“Whoops.”
The church was warm and candlelit, glowing in the darkness of midwinter. It was nice, Lily had to admit, seeing everyone packed together, singing out of tune and awkwardly laughing through all the bits they didn’t know. James’s presence burned against her side, her skin never letting her forget that he was sitting beside her. She heard his every whisper to Ollie, his every shift in his seat, and the words he made up in the songs. One particularly dirty substitute made her choke mid-line, and she grinned apologetically when Mrs Mortensen whipped her head around with a finger raised to her lips. Dotty old Dumbledore rambled on about the spirit of community, and finding light even in the darkest of times, and then it was time for the play. Little Mary’s football-stomach rolled out from her dress and barrelled down the aisle, and James scooped Ollie up as the boy kicked his feet.
“I want a go!” Ollie protested, squirming.
“Come on, now. We’re using our listening ears at the minute. Look, is that a lamb?”
“Stag!” Ollie corrected, though it was an incorrect correction, and he planted his hands atop James’s head and ordered, “do the thing.” He wiggled his fingers. James glanced around and began imitating the stag horns, making that funny noise again. Lily giggled.
“That is not how a stag sounds,” she told him.
James shot her a look. “You try, then.” Lily open and shut her mouth. “Go on.”
“Well –” she started, and flushed. “I just know they don’t sound like that.”
“Oh, sure.”
Afterwards, they stood out the front, in a slab of coloured light falling from the church. The sky was dark and cloudy, and Ollie was racing around James’s feet, pretending to be a haybale – which they all agreed had stolen the show. James drummed his fingers on his thighs, forehead creased, and Lily frowned.
“All right?” she asked. He blinked, startled.
“Yeah? Yeah. No, sorry. Yes, I’m all right.” He shook himself. “Ah, what are you doing, for Christmas? Any family to visit?”
Lily swallowed. In years past, she’d gone to visit Marlene, but Marlene was currently in Lapland with her boyfriend. She supposed she could have reached out to her sister Petunia, but getting a Christmas card in the post had been just about as much as Lily could take of seeing her and her smug, insufferable husband.
“Just me,” Lily said, after a long moment. “I’ll make a pie – or try to, anyway – and put on a film, maybe?”
“Ah,” James nodded, his face wrinkling more, and then: “Well, it’ll be just Ollie and I tomorrow. Up at dawn, knowing him.” He cracked a smile. “But, er – I don’t know – I’ll be putting a bit of dinner on in the evening. If you weren’t…? If you wanted…?” He rubbed his face. Lily’s heart soared. Really? An invitation? “I’m not usually this nervous,” he said. “Trust me, normally my mates would kill for me to shut up and tone it down a bit. Deflate my head. Do you want to come round for dinner?”
“I’d love to,” Lily said at once. “Yes. Thank you.”
James looked as though his Christmas present had arrived now. “Great. Awesome. Brilliant. Great.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
“Daddy,” said Ollie, “I wanna be hay. Please.”
-{}-
The morning was decidedly uneventful, though Lily was more grateful for her impulse purchase than she ever had been before. She tried to cook and let the specials run through on the television, and rang Marlene and one of her cousins and texted Petunia ‘Happy Christmas’. Her cooking wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either. It would do. She went for a walk, jumping over the puddles, and then had a bit of a nap. It wasn’t the Christmas she had dreamed of when she’d been little, but it was nice, in its own, quiet way.
At least until two. Lily woke to her alarm and, yawning, ducked into the shower and washed her hair thoroughly. She chose an outfit, pulled it on, and read several articles on the amount of makeup one ought to wear to a festive dinner. Her insides did backflips. It’s only James, she told herself. But the truth was that it had been a while – a long while – since she had been attracted to someone like this. It was slim pickings, in Hogsmeade, especially at twenty-eight – in a small village like this, the weddings tended to happen younger rather than older.
But this wasn’t a date. It was Christmas dinner. She was overthinking it. He’d felt bad for her because she’d be alone on Christmas, and that was all. Just because he was stunningly gorgeous, kind, funny, and gentle with his son – Lily inhaled sharply. All right, fine. If she was forced to admit it – she did like him. Just a little bit.
A little bit a lot.
-{}-
Lily walked the length of Mayberry Close twice in her anxiety. What time was tea? She didn’t want to be too early and intrude, or too late and keep them waiting. Especially with a little one – she didn’t want to risk disrupting his routine. Just go and knock. She wasn’t going to discover anything new by osmosis. And it was cold out.
The garden gate was unlocked. It squeaked as she pushed it aside and made her way up the path. The cottage was small, the garden well-kept, and the sky filling with the smoke drifting from the chimney. She sidestepped an overturned tricycle and took a deep breath. She could do this. She just needed to –
“Lily!” The door flung open, and there stood James, beaming. He wore a knobbly green jumper with a reindeer on it. His hair was a mess, red crayon decorated his cheek, and he held a toy lorry in his left hand. He had never looked better.
“Hi,” she gushed, unable to contain the smile that split her face in two. “Happy Christmas!”
“Happy Christmas!” He held the door open with his hip and opened his arms. Balancing her tray carefully in one hand, she moved forward. They fell into a quick, friendly hug. It warmed her to her very bones. He was soft at the edges but firm underneath, and the fleeting weight of his body against hers made her feel safe, protected – wanted. Her head swam as she moved back. For a few moments they just stood there in the rain, smiling at each other, and Lily’s heart for one was pounding.
“Ah – come in,” James said, nudging the door further open. “Happy Christmas!”
“Thank you so much,” Lily beamed. She stepped into the house and James followed, the door closing behind him. The living/dining was only a modest size, but it was richly furnished, with a lush rug and a crackling fireplace, an intricately carved table stubbed with babyproofing. Little cars littered the floorboards, along with pieces of a train track, a dinosaur, a tiny guitar, and a toddler-sized black Jeep Wrangler, which Ollie was attempting to drive. Mostly it lurched forward a foot before he stomped on the brakes and squealed.
“Sorry about the mess,” James said, as Lily shrugged off her coat and hung it up.
“Not at all,” she said. “Looks like a pretty fun day. Good job on the car.”
“Uncle Siri gotted it for me,” Ollie informed her, letting go of the wheel to wave with both hands. James jogged over and caught the back of it before it flattened the guitar.
“Really?” said Lily, grinning.
“Mm-hm,” Ollie nodded. “He saw Santa.”
James laughed. “He’s in Lapland with his girlfriend,” he explained. “Doing the Christmas thing up there.”
“Huh,” Lily said, “my friend’s doing that too.”
“That’s a mad coincidence,” James said, shaking his head. “Hang on, let me help you.” He scooped the tray from Lily’s arms and whisked it into the kitchen.
“That’s alright, I can take it!” she protested, but he set it down in the middle of the bench. The kitchen was just as charming as the rest of the house, though it was packed with expensive appliances and Bluey cutlery.
“All done,” James grinned. “You didn’t have to make anything, you know. I’ve got food in, cooking.” He nodded towards the oven. “Oh, are you vegetarian? Allergic to anything? I forgot to ask. I’ve made up this salad in case –”
“I’ll eat anything,” Lily said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “What have you made?”
“It’s a bit unorthodox, for Christmas – I didn’t do a turkey,” James admitted. “Er – how do you feel about chicken tikka masala? I can make something else?”
“I love tikka masala.”
-{}-
Lily’s eyelids were heavy. Her stomach was full. Ollie slept on the long grey chaise, drooling on his new book – Lily’s gift for him. He had torn open the red wrapping paper to discover The Stag and the Doe within – a brand new copy, which she’d written a little dedication in the front of. James had helped him read it.
“‘To Ollie,’” he read, “‘this is so that you can always have your favourite book at home, and you and your daddy can borrow other ones from the library. Happy Christmas. Love Lily the Librarian.’” Ollie had promptly jumped on the sofa and started screaming. When James calmed him, he ran up and threw his arms around Lily, burying his face in her shoulder.
“You’re the best libibibririman ever!” he informed her. Lily grinned at James over his head.
“Thank you,” Lily said sweetly. “I’ve always dreamed of being the best libibibririman.”
After the same episode of Bluey repeated four times, and James and Lily had both taken a turn reading to him, Ollie had fallen asleep. That had come after tea. James was an excellent cook, she discovered, and she had all but gorged herself. His mother had always loved being in the kitchen, he explained.
The credits of the Doctor Who special rolled, and Lily stretched out, raising her arms above her head. It wasn’t very late – not quite seven – but she was so comfortable she could have fallen asleep right there. James was next to her, and they weren’t touching, but she was close enough that she could listen to the rise and fall of his chest, and his little muttered comments to himself. She considered if it was worth feigning sleep, just to stay a little longer. Everything smelt like James. Cosy and reassuring, a little earthy. She groaned slightly at the prospect of getting up, and stifled a yawn.
“Was it that bad?” James teased. Lily opened her eyes one at a time.
“No,” she said. “I’m just –” she yawned again – “you know. I liked the bit with the goblins.”
“Are you all right to get home?” he asked. “We’ve got a mattress I can set up.”
“I’ll be all right,” Lily assured him.
“I can drive you home?”
“It’s only Hogsmeade,” she said. “It’s not far.” It was time for her to go, though – Ollie usually went to bed about this time, and before he’d fallen asleep, they had sort of come to an unspoken agreement that she would leave them to follow their usual routine. It was a shame. Bleary-eyed, the briefest thought drifted across her mind – what if this was my life?
Lily cleared her throat and stood, trying to suppress a third yawn. James stood too, clasping his hands.
“There isn’t any rush,” he said.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Lily answered. “And besides, if I stay any longer, you might end up with me passed out on your sofa.”
“I can think of worse things,” James said.
All the same, they picked through the maze of toys and James helped her gather up the empty trays and containers she’d brought over. He held them while she pulled her coat back on and braced her for the weather outside – if the constant pitter-patter on the roof was any indication, it would be freezing and wet. She went to the door.
“Thank you so much for having me,” Lily said, taking the trays from him. Their fingers brushed in the transfer, and she reddened. He did too, but it might have been a result of the winds howling beyond. “I had a really great time,” she continued. “Best Christmas in ages. Ollie’s lucky to have a dad who can cook like you can.”
“I’m lucky to have a kid as awesome as he is,” James said, and she could tell from his smile that he meant it, every word – he wasn’t the type to say something unless he really felt it, right down to his bones. “Sometimes I feel like I love him so much my heart might explode.” He chuckled. “That must sound mad.”
“No,” Lily said. “I mean – isn’t that the best sort of love? Unconditional? That’s what a kid needs. Someone who’s always going to be there to catch them.”
“I was more of a batter in school than a wicketkeeper,” James grinned.
“I reckon you’re doing a good job adjusting.” Without the food, Lily could tuck the trays easily into her tote bag, keeping her hands free. “But – thank you again. I really mean it. I had the best time.”
“I’m really glad you came,” James said. “The book was a brilliant idea. And it’s nice to have someone else for him to draw on.” Lily laughed. Indeed, James had been horrified at first when Lily had held her hands out for Ollie to ‘paint’ her nails with his crayons, but she had assured him it was all right. Now the tip of every finger was a different scribbled colour.
“Well,” she said, heart sinking as she realised the evening was really coming to a close. She would go home to an empty, silent house, and climb into her empty, silent bed. It had never bothered her before. “I should be going.”
“One thing,” James said quickly, as she stepped over the threshold. He held the door open. She turned to him, curious. “Ollie and I – we were going to go into Leeds not long after the new year. Maybe get some sushi. If you weren’t working – well, Ollie loves you. And I know a place that does really good sushi.”
Lily’s heart raced right back up into her mouth, beating erratically, and her insides did a little jig.
“Yes,” she said at once. James’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, I’d love to. For the sushi,” she said.
“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. “For the sushi.” They both nodded like Mr Bean bobbleheads in the tacky tourist shops, and Lily laughed. Her smile probably looked ridiculous. She covered her mouth.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, stepping down the path.
“I’ll see you – wait,” said James. Lily stopped. He rushed out the door, letting it close gently behind him, and made for her. Lily’s breath shortened as he drew closer and closer, jogging, and stopped right before her. His hair was a mess. He smelled like fire and cinnamon. He wore bright red pyjama bottoms.
“James,” she said, trying to stay calm. He was mesmerising. The mole on his cheek stood prominently and the gold in his eyes shimmered like tinsel. Fat droplets of water hit her shoulders. Ran through his hair. Who cared? Not Lily.
“Lily,” he said, panting a little. He carded his fingers through his hair and then dropped his hands by his side. They were only inches from her. She could feel the jump of his pulse. She wanted desperately to lace her fingers through his. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Can I kiss you?”
Lily didn’t bother with a verbal reply. She sucked in her breath and stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck. His eyes shut. His hands held her hips. Lily pressed her lips against James’s. He tasted of gingerbread. His lips were as soft as his hair. She let her daring, coloured-in fingers touch his locks, finally, and they were just as she had imagined. Better, even. One of his arms snaked around her back. He kissed her gently, lips barely parted, but thrumming with life. Rain ran down their faces. Lily was kissing James. Kissing him.
All too soon, they broke apart, and she sunk back onto her heels. Their breaths mingled, chests pressed against one another. He laughed giddily, and their foreheads met, pressing against each other as they pulled in oxygen. His arms stayed around her. She hoped they never let go.
Oh God, she thought, maybe I do like him. Maybe I completely and utterly adore him.