I still remembered Cecily's face as she handed over the cash. *It's what we do, for family,' she said. The implication was that she was doing it for Carson, not me.

And there was no doubt that she thought I owed her.

Because she told me.

*You owe me, Miss High and Mighty Scarface,' she'd whispered when Carson was out of earshot. *Don't forget it.'

Given the circ.u.mstances, I didn't bother telling my husband about how rotten his mother was to me.

All things considered, I suppose I figured I deserved it.

Carson turned to me. *Listen, are you okay waiting here for the rabid uncle? I have some work to do at school.'

*He's called Uncle Rabbit. And it's a holiday, isn't it? What are you doing going to work?'

*There's always marking, you know how it is?'

No, I didn't.

Carson worked every hour as it was a last week he'd been home at 2 a.m. two nights in a row.

*But this sort of stuff isn't exactly my forte, is it?'

*You think carpentry is mine?'

*Ain't mine, either,' Hammertro offered. *But my uncle, he's a genius with wood.'

Then he laughed at his own crude joke.

Jessie and J crept past.

*And where are you two going?' I said sternly.

*Out of here,' J murmured.

*The cafe next to the park,' Jessie said. A sweet kid; she knows I worry.

*Be careful,' I told them. Over by the bookcase, Carson was gathering his briefcase and some papers. He was still planning to leave me with the door issue a and I decided that I had put up with enough from the Teesons.

Thanksgiving indeed!

When did someone give thanks for the efforts I made?

Carson must be lying about why he was going to work a he could mark papers anywhere, couldn't he.

He could do them at home a and guard our doorless flat at the same time.

*Dad will be here if you need him,' I told the kids, looking for my purse.

Carson sprang to attention. *Scarlet, I just saida*

And grabbing my coat a leaving Carson gobsmacked in my wake a I followed the kids into the chilly autumn morning.

Outside, I saw another inmate of our building, elderly Mrs Carlisle, struggling with an absurdly large parcel.

Telling the kids to be careful and be back before dark, I raced over to ask if the seventy-something, former fellow employee of Flindes, needed help.

*That's would be lovely, dear. How's work?'

*Dan Phillit, the new manager, is vile. Other than that, it's still the same.'

*Oh, what a shame.'

I shrugged as I grabbed the heavy, odd-shaped item. *What are you doing with this, anyway?'

*Oh, I offered to try and sell these for my husband a they've been up in the loft for ages and we could do with a cruise.'

*What it is?'

She pulled the brown paper aside to reveal some gla.s.s eyes and a lot of fluffy white fur. *Sheep. Fibergla.s.s. We have ten of them.'

*Why?'

*My Samuel can't help himself when it comes to a bargain. Bought them at auction a few years ago, hoping he might offload them to an antipodean jumper joint on 6th across town, but after they said no, he dumped them up in my loft instead and that was that. I thought I might get a few dollars for them.'

*Christmas is coming,' I said. *Not much demand for sheep.'

*I thought the church might want a couple, for a manger. But they've got their old wooden animals, haven't they?'

Helping her into her apartment on the first floor, I snuck back down, walking quickly past my own apartment windows in case Carson saw me and tried a getaway of his own.

As I neared the subway, I wondered what to do.

It was a holiday.

I had no money.

I might as well go to Lolly's. She might have time for a cuppa and a chat.

Or she might need some help if the place was busy.

As I walked away, I spied Carson looking forlornly out of the living room window.

Serves him right.

The LollyBliss store was packed with the liberal elite of NYC, indulging in childhood fantasies of hand knitted jumpers and floral prints. It took me a moment to narrow in on Lolly. Finally I spotted her, surrounded by great lengths of semi-opaque tulle near the store windows.

*Lolly, there you are.'

*Scarlet, what are you doing here?'

*Escaping.'

*From what?'

*A carpenter called Uncle Rabbit and my prat of a husband.'

The girl who was helping Lolly fix the tulle to the window display stared as if I had just teleported in from the unexplored depths of the galaxy.

By the looks of her, she was one hundred percent Upper East Side, so perhaps Brooklyn was like coming from outer s.p.a.ce? The hair was brown, glossy and dead straight. As she moved, it swung from side to side in a thick sheet. She was dressed as if aping one of the Brady Bunch girls a a tiny woolen LollyBliss dress showed off her reed thin figure to perfection; and she was tall enough to get away with flat, red, patent Mary Janes.

*Lucinda, this is Scarlet,' Lolly said, handing me a length of the paper-thin fabric. *Here, you two put this up while I go and sort out that crowd at the till.'

I suppose it wasn't surprising that Lolly was busy a Christmas was coming and the store had been featured in one of the inserts of a national newspaper as a *cool place to source nouveau-retro gifts in NYC'.

*I don't even know what nouveau-retro means,' Lolly had said, *but I don't care.'

Looking about now, as Lucinda struggled with a staple gun, I figured it meant money.

*Can you hold it up a little higher?' Lucinda accent was more British than mine. *Are you from the old Country?' I asked.

*New Hamps.h.i.+re, you mean?'

*No, old Hamps.h.i.+re, or elsewhere in the United Kingdom?'

Lucinda appeared baffled. *No, of course not. Horrible weather. People with grim teeth.' She gave a little shake of her head at the horror of it.

I looked pointedly at the rain bucketing down. *Good reason,' I said, sarcastically.

*Obviously,' Lucinda replied, reaching for the furthest corner of the window with the staple gun. The micro-mini was raised to such an extent that it was clear she spent a fortune on salon treatments for hair removal. A group of lads outside began whistling.

*Cretins,' Lucinda mumbled, oblivious of her own contribution to the event.

Lolly reappeared. *Not sure about that tulle now. What do you think?' she asked me.

I stood back. The tulle was see-through and revealed far too much of the wooden backdrop Lolly had recently installed. I could see she was going to put up some sort of clothesline and simply hang clothes onto it.

The effect would be, for want of a kinder description, amateurish at best.

Despite her skill in ama.s.sing trendy retro clothing, my dear friend clearly hadn't grasped window displays.

And everyone knew that in New York City, window displays mattered.

I didn't realize how much they mattered until Lolly began weeping quietly.

*What on earth is wrong? The tulle isn't that bad, is it?'

It was that bad, but still.

*Don't cry, Lol.' I put an arm around her. *It's not the end of the world.'

*It is. NYC Shopping Weekly is coming to do a feature,' Lucinda revealed.

Lolly confirmed it. *How on earth can I impress them with this?' She punched at the tulle.

Honestly, the world was full of problems lately.

*When are they coming?' I asked.

*Tonight. Just before we close.'

I checked my watch. That was in six hours.

*Lolly, didn't you think of this before?'

*I did a drawing with the tulle a see.' There was a tiny sketch of a pink fairy wonderland tacked to the side of the window.

*Can you get more tulle?' I asked, seeing the problem at once. It was clear that she'd need about forty miles of tulle to achieve the effect she'd drawn.

*No,' Lucinda said. *No without waiting weeks.'

*So, you need a new idea.'

*It took me a month to come up with the tulle. We've been so busy and . . .'

Suddenly, I remembered Mrs Carlisle and her sheep.

It might just work, LollyBliss was quirky, wasn't it? If those sheep weren't nouveau-retro, nothing was.

*How about you do Christmas jumpers on suspended sheep? We could bunch the tulle up and make it look thicker by putting white paper b.a.l.l.s behind it. I reckon I could help you make that window look funky in six hours.'

*Is funky good?' Lucinda scrunched up her perfect nose.

*What sort of sheep?' Lolly was puzzled. *I can't really picture it.'

Strangely, I could. I imagined them flying about the small s.p.a.ce, spotlights trained on them, squeezed into Lolly's amazing knitwear.

*Static, fluffy ones. Cute, and odd.'

*Cute and odd, that's you,' Lucinda said to Lolly.

That's no way to speak to your boss.

I waited for Lolly to tell Lucinda to shut up.

*How much will it cost?' Lolly asked me, instead.