“Yes!” I said, too eager to impress her.
Azra said, “My little sister is obsessed with your dog crafts page. She’s not going to believe I’ve met you. Might I snap a selfie of us?”
“Sure!” I said.
As she snapped our photo, she said, “I bought her the Lily Dogcrafts raincoat for her birthday. It was at the top of her wish list.”
“The raincoat with the interior lining of pockets for treats and poo bags?” It cost twenty dollars more than the regular raincoat but was a worthwhile investment, in my opinion.
“Indeed,” said Azra. “In pink.”
“That’s the best of all the colors! I personally chose the fabric from a wholesaler that specializes in textiles for rainwear. They customized the pink option to my exact specification. I’m really proud of it.”
“My sister loved it,” said Azra. She turned to Dash, looking at him with what I thought might be a newfound respect. “Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was famous?”
Olivier said, “To be honest, we didn’t really believe Dash had a girlfriend back in New York.”
Mark said, “To be honest, that’s what her family back in New York would also like to believe.”
Finally, Dash laughed, at ease. Being insulted by Mark or my brother probably feels like home to him. But it was more than that. To see Dash in a bookstore is to see Dash in the most content version of himself. Even being playfully insulted.
I wrapped my arms around Dash, both protective and proud of him. “My family adores you,” I assured him.
Dash said, “Your family is so big that even if only ten percent of them like me, that’s more people who like me than in my own family.”
“I’m a family member that’s rather fond of you,” said Gem to Dash.
“That’s why you’re the one that matters,” Dash told her.
“Americans,” said Olivier contemptuously.
“I have no great affection for Dash,” Mark assured Olivier.
Suddenly Moriarty leapt out of Julia’s arms and sprinted toward the bookstore’s front door. Immediately, I sprang into action, practically mowing down several bookstore browsers as I sped after the cat. Dash knows how to handle bookstores and my relatives. I know how to handle animals taking unauthorized expeditions. Just as Moriarty was about to glide out of the open front door, I whooshed down to pick him up.
“I respect you for trying,” I told Moriarty. He tried to wiggle out of my arms, but no such luck. I make a living out of these situations. I kicked the door shut and said to Julia, “Shall we return Moriarty to the safety of the office? Without his leash on? I mean, his lead?” I didn’t want to scold Julia, but I couldn’t help but tell her, “If you’re not walking him on the lead, the lead really should be taken off, so it doesn’t get caught on something that could hurt him.”
“Of course,” Julia said, not interested at all in my wisdom. She took Moriarty from my arms. “I’ll return him to the office now. Team Strand and Team Brasenose—get to work!”
She left with the cat. Gem said to me, “I don’t think she needs pet advice, my dear. If the cat wants to wander, let him!”
Grrrr.
Dash knows how little I like having my pet care advice challenged, so before I could give Gem a piece of my mind—and some badly needed animal education—he diverted the conversation. “Our first clue! Any ideas?” He read the clue aloud.
Near the heath
Where the bathers find their ponds
Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
Mark had said it was too easy so I turned to Mark to decipher the clue, but he shook his head. “I have insider information on this one. I’m going to have to insist that Master Brasenose give it a go. Don’t cheat by using your phone.”
Dash said, “Don’t have to, Master Took-Six-Years-to-Finish-His-Undergraduate-Degree. Here lies one whose name was writ in water. It’s what Keats asked to have carved on his gravestone. As last words go … rather epic.”
“Aren’t you a genius, Dash!” said Gem. A customer passed by her carrying a stack of books toward the cash register. “He goes to Oxford,” she told the disinterested customer. Then she mused aloud. “Keats … Keats … heath … bathers … ponds.” She paused a moment, then: “I’ve got it! The first clue is probably for the Keats House museum, near the Hampstead Heath bathing ponds!”
“You are the genius,” Dash told her.
“And there’s a marvelous Indian restaurant just around the corner from the museum. I’ve been craving a good dosa. You?” said Gem.
“You’re even more of a genius,” Dash said to Gem.
I’d pretty much lost my appetite. I hate Indian food. At least, today I did.
Before we could exit the store, Olivier and Azra breezed past us toward the front door. As Olivier opened the door to leave, he called to Dash. “We’ll wave to you from the winners’ circle, old fellow.”
Dash waved his two middle fingers to Olivier, who laughed and then left.
“Tube or taxi?” Mark asked Team Strand.
“Tube,” Dash said.
“Taxi it is,” said Mark.
We stepped outside. It had started raining but Mark was able to flag down a taxi quickly. My first London taxi! I loved the expanse of the backseat, which sat two rows of passengers facing each other. Mark and I sat next to each other, with Dash and Gem opposite us.
“Where to?” the driver asked. He had a Cockney accent straight out of Mary Poppins. I was so excited.
Mark gave him the address. Then I added, “Pip pip, guvnah,” in my best Mary Poppins imitation accent.
Gem said, “They hate that here, darling Lily. Don’t do an accent.”
I felt my face redden, humiliated. I hadn’t meant to offend.
I hadn’t meant to really not like Gem, but I did. Who was she to scold my tourist enthusiasm?
Mark unzipped his briefcase. “Julia assigned these to the team captains to hand out.” He took out Daunt notebooks and pens. “We’re to write our letters to Father Christmas.”
“To be burned up in the chimney?” Gem asked. “One of my favorite British traditions.”
I’d have liked to burn up all her ideas in a chimney.
There probably wouldn’t be any presents for me under the tree this year. I was a naughty, naughty girl, resentful of her boyfriend’s grandmother. Seriously regretting the airfare I’d spent to come here. I didn’t deserve presents.
“I don’t write letters to Santa,” said Dash.
Mark tossed a notebook to Dash. “Now you do.”
four
December 21st
I threw the notebook right back at Mark’s face and said, “No. I don’t.”
It was an abrupt response, and it caught all of us by surprise, myself included. I hadn’t even thought about it. I’d just done it.
My body was telling me something, and I was listening to at least a part of it.
You don’t have to write anything to Father Christmas, it said.
Fair enough. Throw back the pad.
You don’t want to be here. You have to get out of here right now.