Meet Me Under the Mistletoe by Abby Clements

they reached the top floor. ‘Could you be any more embarrassing?’
    Rachel peeked over the banister to check that Jay was out of earshot.
    ‘Well,’ Rachel said, nudging Milly, ‘he is quite handsome, isn’t he? Not many men like that in Skipley. Your dad aside, of course.’
    ‘Bit old,’ Milly said. ‘But not bad, no.’
    Rachel looked at her daughter for a moment – a flush in her smooth teenage cheeks. It definitely wasn’t all about horses any more, that was for sure.
    ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Zak said, tugging at Rachel’s wool coat. ‘Can you hurry up and open the door? I need a wee. Really bad. Which one is it?’
    Directly in front of them were two doors: on the left side, a green door with a tarnished bronze letterbox and two panels of what looked like original stained glass. To the right, a bright white one, with a single frosted glass panel and chrome door fittings. ‘That one,’ she said instinctively, pointing to the white door, then saw a stylish chrome 8 at the top that confirmed it. Rachel put the key in the lock and turned it.
    Zak bombed past her into the flat. Rachel spotted the white carpets everywhere and thought of the mucky state of Zak’s trainers. ‘Zak! Come back and take your shoes off,’ she called out, removing her own sheepskin-lined brown boots.
    Zak came back and Rachel put her bag down to help him with his shoelaces. She quickly located the bathroom and directed her sock-clad son into it.
    Rachel and Milly wandered through into the living room. A large bay window with slatted blinds faced out towards the road, the carpets were white and the contemporary furniture was in shades of grey, the largest piece a charcoal, L-shaped sofa in the corner. A large, thin TV screen was wall-mounted and block-colour Rothko prints hung on the wall. Above the old mantelpiece, one of the only original features, was a wide, chrome-framed mirror. Rachel made her way to the sofa and sat down. This must be the one Laurie had told her about which folded down into a bed. Rachel took the cushions off, lifted the base down and tried it out for size. She attempted a bounce, but the base was firm. Not the comfiest, but Zak would be fine on it.
    ‘Wow, Mum, look at this,’ Milly called out from another room. Rachel got up and headed towards her daughter’s voice, glancing around as she walked, peeking into the bathroom – immaculate, with carefully folded, bright white towels and flannels. Aside from the expensive hair products and the rows and racks of shoes in the hallway, it was as if no one lived here at all.
    In the spare bedroom at the back of the house, Milly had her arm slung around a dressmaker’s dummy. ‘This is Matilda,’ Milly said, with a smile. They were about the same height; Matilda’s torso covered in dark green linen, and Milly, wearing cut-off jean shorts and black leggings, Converse boots and a heart-printed cardigan, her dark-red sweeping fringe hovering just above her eyelashes.
    ‘Ah, I know Matilda well, as it happens,’ Rachel said, smiling as the memory flooded back. ‘Laurie bought her when she was just a bit older than you. Saved up when she was doing her textiles A-Level.’
    ‘Laurie said I could use this stuff if I wanted,’ Milly said, pointing to the corner of the room. A desk near the small window held a sewing machine, with a rack of fabric to the left of it.
    ‘Oh, did she?’ Rachel said, remembering that Milly and Laurie occasionally emailed each other and sent cards. ‘Well, that was kind of her.’ She glanced around the rest of the room – there was a single bed there, and a window that looked over the neighbouring gardens. This would be a nice little room for Milly. ‘Do you want to get settled?’ she said.
    ‘Mum, what’s this?’ Zak yelled from the kitchen. When Rachel got to the kitchen he was already hauling down a Breville sandwich maker from the counter. ‘No, Zak. Hang on.’ She took the machine off him and put it