After they were married, Roger and Judy Millwood had bought a dilapidated house in Gospel Oak and planned to do it up and fill it with children. The doing-up had happened but the children never came, until fifteen years later when Judy Millwood was shocked to discover that rather than entering the menopause somewhat early, she was actually five months pregnant.
So, it had been just the three of them. ‘We three, we happy free,’ Roger had always said. He was an English teacher with a passion for nonsense verse. Every time that Margot took off her socks and shoes, he’d always quote with great relish from ‘The Jackdaw of Rheims’. ‘The cardinal drew off each plum-coloured shoe, and left his red stockings exposed to the view.’
Judy taught art, and each Christmas they’d hang up their hand-made decorations. The delicate paper chains that draped across the walls, the personalised Christmas tree baubles and the stocking with Margot’s name cross-stitched on it that would hang above the fireplace.
They’d only had seven years as a happy three, but still Margot could remember those Christmases, though she worried that her memories were worn so thin that soon they might crumble to dust.
Yet Will still had his family close to hand and Margot couldn’t help being curious about Blossom’s other life. The people she spent time with when she wasn’t being doted on by Margot but also being given firm and clear boundaries. From what Will had said (‘You have to understand that my mother thinks of Blossom as her third grandchild . . .’) Margot didn’t think there was very much in the way of firm and clear boundaries during Will’s weeks, which explained a hell of a lot, quite frankly.
Will had offered to meet Margot at their usual spot in Highgate Woods and walk with her the rest of the way. It was becoming evident that Margot had misjudged Will when they’d first met. Though to be fair, he had stolen her dog, but she was over that now and very grateful that today she didn’t have to turn up on her own at the Bloom family home like an unwanted Christmas parcel.
Despite her misgivings, Margot was cheered at her first sight of Blossom and Will. Blossom had a pair of flashing antlers perched precariously on her head and as she saw Margot approach, her tail started wagging and she pulled so hard on the lead, that Will staggered to keep his balance.
‘Happy Christmas,’ Margot said, leaning in to give Will a kiss on the cheek because it felt like the appropriate thing to do. But Will was still trying to stop Blossom from jumping up at Margot so the moment was made about five times more awkward that it already was.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he replied, and his skin was cold against hers and, as ever, his scent reminded Margot of sea salt and fresh air, like a long, invigorating walk on a windy day. Margot was so used to doing two kisses that she tilted her face for the second, but Will had already stepped away. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s quite hard to know the correct etiquette, isn’t it, when you share a dog with someone?’ Margot wondered aloud.
‘Someone should write a book,’ Will said vaguely as he cast his eyes over Margot.
She’d put in some extra effort and tonged her hair, so her curls weren’t as wild and untamed as usual. She’d even done her full half-hour make-up routine, which involved primers, highlighters and blending eye shadows and though it was hidden by her blue-and-red check coat, she was wearing her fanciest daytime dress; a fitted green midi dress sprigged with tiny red roses from Rixo.
Margot hoped that Will’s family didn’t spend Christmas Day in their pyjamas, considering Will was now frowning at her.
‘What?’ she asked defensively. ‘What’s wrong?’
He tapped the huge cake box she was holding. ‘What happened to just bringing yourself?’
‘There is no way I’m rocking up empty-handed to have dinner at someone’s house.’ They started walking. ‘Not across the field, please. I have my nice boots on, not my dog-walking boots.’
It was Margot’s favourite kind of winter day. There were blue skies and enough sun to create dappled shadows through the trees, but the air was sharp and crisp. It was sunglasses weather and hat, scarf and gloves weather – a boon to anyone who loved accessorising as much as she did.
Everyone they met was in good spirits and even Will managed to say ‘Happy Christmas’ to complete strangers with minimal unease. They even ran into Eric, a singular-looking Pugalier with a ferocious underbite and soulful brown eyes, the only dog in North London that Blossom didn’t currently have beef with.
All too soon they were leaving the woods to walk along the last section of the Parkland Walk – a disused railway line turned nature reserve – pausing halfway to look out over a viaduct at London laid out in all her glory.
‘Better view than the one at Ally Pally,’ Will said, pointing out Parliament Hill, then further to the Shard and St Paul’s and beyond. ‘I think those distant hills might be Kent but don’t quote me.’
They came out at the top of Muswell Hill. Will steered Margot and cake box to the right, then they took a left. Margot had a fizzing in her stomach as the nerves set in.
‘You look as if you’re walking towards your execution, rather than Christmas dinner with all the trimmings,’ Will noted. ‘Believe me, my mother is far more nervous about meeting you than you could ever be about meeting her. She’s actually doing Brussels sprouts two ways just in case you judge her harshly for only doing one kind.’
Margot hated Brussels sprouts but now probably wasn’t the time to mention it. She felt her palms go clammy in her woollen gloves as Will unlatched the gate of one of the grand Edwardian houses that Muswell Hill did so well. The garden path had tessellated black and white tiles, which led to a smart red brick house with glossy white window trim and decorative fretwork above the front door. Wisteria branches crawled along the outside of the house. In summer, it must have been a glorious sight.
Her heart was thundering as Will fumbled in his pocket for his keys before the door was flung open, revealing a pretty girl in her late teens with hair dyed the colour of wisteria in full bloom. ‘You took your time,’ she complained. ‘You were only meant to be half an hour.’
‘This is Sage, my little sister. She seems to have forgotten all her manners,’ Will said, moving aside so that Margot could step in first. Blossom, however, had decided that she should have order of precedence and headbutted Margot’s legs in her rush to get to Sage, who obligingly tweaked her ears. ‘This is Margot.’
‘Blossom’s other human,’ Sage said. She was much better at kissing someone hello than her older brother,, doing both cheeks too. ‘I wish I could say that I feel that I know you, but I hardly know anything because Will never spills the good stuff.’
‘There really isn’t much to spill.’ Margot hadn’t taken two more steps, before a woman about her own age came down the rather grand staircase.
‘Hello, hello,’ she said, arms spread in greeting. ‘I’m Rowan, Will’s other sister.’ Two small boys pushed past her, followed by a man with a laid-back cheery countenance and dark hair almost as curly as Margot’s. ‘These horrors are mine. Sam and Harry. Don’t worry, I can’t tell them apart either. And the tall one at the back is Alex, my husband. Say hello, darling.’