Daisy's Christmas Gift Shop

by Hannah Pearl

  ‘I’m a child psychologist. And no, that doesn’t mean that I have all of the answers when it comes to bringing up my own child. It just means I have more insight into where I’ve gone wrong.’ But he smiled as he said it so he can’t have been that worried.

  ‘I’m sure Sophie will be fine with my colleagues,’ I told him. ‘They’re a nice bunch really. They’ll look after her.’

  ‘She’s probably thoroughly enjoying an evening out with some more grown up company. She’s an old soul at heart, probably comes of it just being me and her all these years.’

  We finished our whisky and Elliot lifted the decanter. It tasted pretty good when drunk with company, so I held out my glass for a refill. ‘How big a measure?’ he asked.

  ‘Big,’ I told him. ‘I found my first grey hair this morning.’

  He glanced at the twist of light auburn curls held up with a clip at the back of my head. ‘I can’t see any. Maybe it was just you feeling morbid. I had a headache last week. Took me ages to realise that it was time I got reading glasses and that it wasn’t the first sign of a brain tumour.’

  ‘Nope, it was real. I couldn’t decide whether to pluck it out or keep it as a sign of my increasing age and hopefully wisdom.’

  Elliot leaned over and took the clip from my hair. I shook my curls out until they rested on my shoulders. He took a strand and tucked it behind my ear, letting his finger graze my cheek. ‘It looks perfect to me,’ he said, his blue eyes looking into my hazel ones. ‘No signs of grey here.’

  ‘I never said that it was on my head.’

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