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of it? Even the shoes?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Wow.’
    ‘Yes, wow. It all seemed to be in good working order, so I set it in the window and within two hours it was sold. We’ve made over two hundred pounds. You really should have put it on eBay.’
    ‘That’s okay. But I didn’t think you’d sell the shoes so quickly. They were, um, quite a niche size.’
    Dylan threw back his head and laughed out loud. ‘Niche, did you say? Size nine? Yes, I did notice.’
    ‘Just call me Bigfoot,’ Emily said, and she went bright red.
    Dylan buckled up with laughter. ‘You’ll be enjoying this snowy weather, then?’ he spluttered.
    Emily couldn’t help laughing too. ‘Yes, I’m feeling right at home in these blizzards,’ she wheezed.
    ‘What’s wrong with being a size nine, anyway? You’re really tall, aren’t you? What height are you? Five ten?’
    ‘Yes. Five ten.’
    ‘Well, then. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? You’d look all wrong with tiny feet. And it’s got to be fun leaving your footprints in the snow and keeping the Bigfoot hunters guessing …’
    ‘Very funny, but who bought the shoes? Was it a transvestite?’
    ‘Actually, yes, it was. He said he had lots of Christmas parties to go to, and a posh wedding on Boxing Day.’
    ‘Are you kidding me?’
    ‘No, he took the lot. Five pairs of designer shoes for twenty quid each. He said his guardian angel must have guided him down this street today.’
    ‘But they were all covered in gemstones and, um, very sparkly.’
    ‘Yes, I know. He was almost crying with joy.’
    ‘Well, I’m very happy for him, then. Actually, Dylan, would you mind helping me in with the rest of my clutter? So sorry to ask. Only I’ve nearly done my back in, going up and down the stairs to my flat. My car is right outside the shop.’
    ‘Of course, no problem, just give me one second.’ He opened a narrow door behind the counter. ‘Sylvia, I’m nipping outside for a minute,’ he called.
    A bossy-looking girl with a bleached-blonde pixie cut came bustling into the shop, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea on it and a packet of pink wafer biscuits.
    ‘Hello,’ she said, plonking the tray down on the counter.
    ‘Emily, this is my sister, Sylvia. Sylvia, this is Emily, one of our chief patrons.’
    ‘Hi, Emily,’ Sylvia said kindly. ‘Thanks so much for your very valuable support. Every little helps – and your donations helped a lot. Any sign of that plumber yet, Dylan?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Dylan said.
    ‘He’s an hour late,’ Sylvia declared. ‘Pipe’s dripping all over my fresh paintwork!’
    ‘Look, I just came to drop off some more stuff,’ Emily explained. And then wondered why she’d said something so silly. For why else would she be standing in a charity shop, chatting to a man she didn’t know? ‘I … um … I don’t want to keep you back, but I’ve six more boxes with me.’
    ‘Let me,’ Sylvia said, already halfway to the door. ‘I could do with some fresh air. That storeroom has a whiff of mould in it. Can I have your car keys, Emily?’
    Emily barely had time to say yes, before Sylvia took them and breezed out of the door. Within seconds she was back, carrying not one but three boxes.
    ‘Five years of motherhood,’ she laughed, seeing Emily’s chin drop. ‘I’ve got arms on me like a lumberjack.’ Soon she had the other three boxes stored safely behind the counter. ‘There’s your keys back, thanks. Have my tea,’ she said brightly. ‘By way of thanks. It’s not easy finding good-quality donations at this time of year. And I’m told it doesn’t get much better in January – mostly bath salts and novelty socks.’
    Emily looked longingly at the tea and biscuits, and even more longingly at Dylan’s perfect lips and his lovely broad shoulders, but then decided with great reluctance that she should let him and his sister get on with their work. They’d be closing the shop soon, anyway, and heading for home. Suddenly Emily felt rather