The Apprentice Girl // Book 3 in the Rosie Grey series

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Ealing's stayed in the shop until closing, with James working on the beading and Robert amusing both me and the twins with a game of Cat's Cradle. I had no idea how he did it and spent far too much time trying to figure it out before eventually giving up. The entire thing seemed far too complicated to understand and I couldn't figure out how it worked, nor was I sure I wanted to. The twins found it fun, though and managed to pick it up faster than I could.

We returned to the house that evening and upon Christopher's arrival home decided it was time to decorate the Christmas tree. The light outside was fading fast and I could hear the sound of the ladders as the lamplighters got to work illuminating the street. James lit the candles in the house and produced bowls of dried fruit and popcorn that we could thread onto some string and place around the tree. That had become his designated job since he had always been better with a needle than Christopher and me.

"Whatever happened to your angel?" Christopher asked, pulling a small hanging ornament from a crate.

"I hid it. There is no way it's going on the tree this year," I said.

"Do we have anything else for the top of the tree? I thought that was it."

"We have a glass angel, Mother bought it the year she-" James trailed off. Mother still remained a touchy subject even after seven years.

"That one was never used, I don't think it even came out of its wrapping."

"Now's a good a time as any, right? I mean, we're all together," I suggested.

"I agree. I think Mother would have wanted us to use it. If I remember rightly, we never got it down from the attic."

Christopher winked at me and handed the ornament he had been holding. I took it and watched as he walked from the room and the sound of his footsteps retreating up the stairs echoed through the house. James turned his attention back to the threading the popcorn whilst I started to hang the small ornaments on the tree and waited for Christopher to return with the angel. I didn't even remember we had the angel. It had been so long since I celebrated Christmas it was almost as if I pushed every thought about past Christmases away, all except the memories of Mother at the piano.

Mother had died a week before Christmas, a week before my seventh birthday. That year had been first that my birthday hadn't been celebrated and we all pretended Christmas didn't exist. James had said that he had gradually returned to celebrating Christmas, but he remembered Mother every year and made sure to acknowledge her, and me, on the day itself. Although this would be my first Christmas in seven years, and although I felt excited about celebrating, it felt odd knowing we were having the party that Mother had wanted to host that year, but never got the chance.

We had resolved to make the party the best since Mother had hosted it, a toast to her memory as Christopher kept saying. It had been one of the reasons why Aunt Molly had been invited in the first place. Regardless of how we felt towards her – and how she felt towards us – Mother had invited her every year and it didn't feel like a Greyson party without one of us being insulted by her at least once.

There were some traditions that were worth the humiliation, especially if we know Mother would approve of us putting our dislike aside.

Christopher returned a little while later with a collection of brown paper, the angel tucked inside. He unfolded the paper and placed them on the sofa beside James. After removing several sheets, the glass angel appeared. It had wings that almost stretched the size of its body, a small halo above its head and its hands were pressed together in prayer.

"There we go. What do you think?"

"It's perfect," James said.

"We'll put it on when we're finished."