Without Guests

Adela had written Christmas Eve in her diary six weeks earlier, and still felt surprised when it arrived without anyone else in it.

No collection to squeeze in before lunch. No supper guests. No last-minute trip to find a pudding somebody remembered too late. She closed the workshop at two, came home and stood in her kitchen listening to the silence she had arranged.

Oswin was due at six. There were things she could make complicated before then. She considered three of them, including a sauce requiring ingredients she did not own, and decided to have a bath instead.

At six he rang the bell carrying a bag and wearing the jumper with the hole his workmate had mentioned at the harbour rooms.

“You look very festive,” she said.

He looked down. “It’s the only one that wasn’t drying.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You look like yourself.”

“That can be…