Amelia was stacking her packets of Lebkuchen, roasted almond brittle and marzipan sweets on the makeshift counter of her stall. She tried not to check her watch for the umpteenth time. Ella had left for the lot more than an hour before and neither hair nor hide of her had been seen since. She hadn't even been on her phone, according to the "last seen" time stamp. It's not that Amelia was worried. On the contrary, she was excited.
"Did you sneak out to a party last night?" Amelia hid her smile behind her mug of coffee.
"Sorry, what?" Ella was still groggy from sleep and there was a crease embedded across her cheek. "Coffee! Thank goodness." She poured a giant mugful and joined her grandmother at the table. "Oh my... Is that what my hair looks like?"
Jonas carried the last of the logs to the stack beside the hearth. "That should last until New Year's Eve, at the very least."
"Thank you, dear. I'm sure we'll be fine. And my grandsons will be here for Christmas, so I'll enlist them if we need more fuel." She smiled at him. "You're sure you won't stay for a cuppa? Carrying wood is thirsty work."
"I'm OK, thanks, Mrs Evans."
She shook her head. "Well, nobody can accuse me of being a bad host. I've left your money on the table at the front door."
"Much obliged." Jonas tugged his beanie over his ears and went to the entrance. "See you at the Christmas Market?" he shouted down the passage.
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away."
Jonas smiled. He pocketed his earnings and pulled the door shut behind him. He could see his breath ahead of him as he walked to his pick-up. It was just after four in the afternoon, and he could already count the first stars on the horizon.
For
three months, Norah tried to ignore her grandmother, but the elder
lady, having lived through more than Norah could imagine, was persistent
to a fault.
A gap in the curtains beamed a slither of light onto Christine's pillow. She groaned, shifting her face deeper under the blanket. It was unusually bright for winter, everyone said so. She gave up the fight to stay asleep and began her morning routine. There was a lot to do today, and if the transport routes were clear, the delivery she and half the neighbourhood were expecting would arrive.
"That's a lot of money for such a small picture," she said. "And it's not even a work of art, as such. It's just a print on some strips of wood."
Sarah tried to ignore the wind and focus on her sketch. She'd clamped the pages down to prevent them fluttering, but she was having a hard time keeping the book still. The light was just right and she wanted to capture the moment before the clouds saturated the view with grey. The water was calm, save for the wake of small yachts or adrenaline junkies skimming the waves with their kites. Behind her, local dialects and raucous laughter spilled out of the waterside pub and skittered across the street. She hooked her left ankle around the railing, willing the wind to give her respite.
"You might want to move."
She assumed the voice was directed at someone else, and continued shading.
"Excuse me? You might want to move."
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