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“Yeah, it’s my favourite genre, but I’ll read anything.” I drop to my haunches and look at Millie’s book. It’s called The Book That Did Not Want To Be Read. “What do you think of it?” I ask.

“It’s really funny,” she says. “I like the page where it’s all fire and you have to pretend your hands hurt.”

“My class loves it,” I reply. “Especially where the book grows wings and tries to fly away.”

“She’s read it fifty times,” Vix teases. “We have our own copy at home, and she still picks it up when she comes in here. But she’s careful not to crease the pages, aren’t you?”

Millie nods solemnly, and I smile and push up to my feet.

Vix clears her throat and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “So… um… how long are you here for?”

“I thought I’d probably stay a week or so. Until I’ve sorted Grandad out, anyway.”

“Your dad’s not coming over from Australia, then?”

“No. He said he might come over in the New Year, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I suppose MPs are super busy,” she says. “But it’s a lot to put on you.” She looks up at me, her beautiful brown eyes warm and kind.

I hesitate. “Vix…”

“Mitch!”

I stop and turn to see her father, Rudolph, coming in through the door. He gives me a big smile and comes over to shake my hand.

“Hey,” I say, “how are you?”

“Good. It’s great to see you.” Rudolph Winter is a solid rock of a man, both physically and in character. In his mid-fifties, he’s tall and broad-shouldered, and his once-dark hair is now almost completely white, as are his beard and moustache.

“I see the Santa cosplay is coming along,” I joke.

He pats his stomach ruefully. “Unfortunately so.”

“I was referring to your hair,” I inform him wryly, and he grins.

“Sorry about your grandad,” he says. “I’ve been to see him a couple of times. He seems happy enough at Wisteria Villas. He says it’s great not having to do any cooking.”

I chuckle. “Good to know he’s eating well.” My smile fades then. “I’m so sorry about Julia.” I heard on the grapevine that Rudolph’s wife died about five months ago, somewhat suddenly, after a pulmonary embolism following routine surgery.

“Thank you,” he says. “The flowers you sent were gorgeous. She always loved red roses.”

I look at Vix. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come. It was right in the middle of a school inspection. I did ask my principal, but she said she couldn’t spare me.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “I understand.” Her eyes meet mine for a moment, then lower, and I feel a twist of guilt.

It wasn’t a lie; we did have an inspection, and I was working flat out. Annabel, my principal, told me that unless the funeral was for a close family member, my leaving was out of the question. But I should have rung Vix. I should have come the following weekend, when the inspection was done. I should have done something. I feel bad that I didn’t.

“How did the inspection go?” Rudolph asks.

“Not bad. It was a stressful time. My principal is…” I pause, wondering how to put it in a polite way. “Not as calm as you,” I settle for.

After graduating as a primary school teacher, I worked at Rudolph’s school for a year. He was a terrific principal—calm, genial, hardworking, and generous. My current boss sets impossibly high standards, then gets stressed when everyone fails to meet them.

“So, where are you staying?” Rudolph asks.

“Up in the flat. I thought Grandad wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve never been up there,” Vix says curiously. “What’s it like?”