Christmas Staycation

by Esme Devlin

  He said it was easy money.

  I should have told him to take a run and jump, but instead I agreed.

  I shouldn’t complain, it’s mostly not too bad, but it’s certainly not the easy money he made it out to be.

  I don’t mind the bookings so much when it’s a nice old couple, or even a family — provided their kids are past the drawing on the walls stage — but this one is a group of girls. Probably a hen-party — twenty young girls getting drunk while the bride’s mother does her best to clean up the carnage. I’ve had enough of those to know that nothing good ever comes of hen-parties, and the last thing I want to do come Boxing Day is fish cock-straws out from the back of the sofa.

  Good fucking riddance, is what I’m saying.

  But even with it being empty I still had to do the fifteen-mile trip over to make sure the windows are secure and everything’s in order before the storm hits. A few years ago some roof tiles blew off, and I was mopping the floors upstairs for a week straight.

  Never again.

  I’m on the second floor when Kimber’s ears perk up and her tail starts going.

  “What is it, dafty?”

  She’s whinging at the door which isn’t like her. She only does this at home when company arrives, and by company I mean my cousin and her husband since they’re about the only people who visit.

  I climb down off the window-ledge and follow her as she goes bounding down the stairs. There’s a car out the front — a fucking Renault Clio. How that little thing made it through the woods with the amount of snow on the track is a wonder.

  Whoever it is shouldn’t be here.

  I open the door and Kimber slides past my legs, doing a circle of eight at full speed in the snow. The big wolf loves the snow, so she does. I watch her for a minute — shaking my head — and then my eyes land on the wee lass getting out of the car.

  She’s unsteady on her feet, the snow almost past her knees, huffing and panting like she’s ready for war. I watch her for a minute as she wrestles with the back door. Kimber is on the other side and I don’t even think she’s noticed us.

  I should be the gentleman here. I should offer to help. But honestly, watching her is too much fun.

  The rustle of a plastic bag alerts Kimber and she’s around the car at the girl’s side a moment later. I keep her treats in a plastic bag, and for as much as I call her a dafty the dog doesn’t miss a trick. She thinks she’s about to get fed.

  It’s only with Kimber’s arrival that the girl notices she’s got company. She turns around, her eyes clearly searching for an owner (probably shitting herself thinking my Kim is a wild wolf) and when she clocks sight of me, I almost choke.

  Wavy dark hair, big brown eyes, and pouty lips other folk need to pay for.

  I know that face.

  It’s been years.

  How many years?

  I don’t even know — but I know that face.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 4

  ISLA

  Lewis McCulloch?

  There are a few people I was hoping not to bump into when I came back here. My high school math teacher, (because I might have accidentally called him a dick on our last day — he was), the people who purchased our house (because I never vacuumed my bedroom on moving day, even though I swore to my mum I did) and… Lewis McCulloch.

  I can already feel my emotions starting to run away from me.

  It’s been the day from hell.

  The worst flight.

  The most horrendous drive.

  And now the one person I wanted to see least is standing inside the place I’m supposed to be staying for the next four days.

  I need to chill out. It was nearly ten years ago — he probably doesn’t even remember me. In fact, I’m convinced he won’t remember me. I repeat that in my head like it’s a prayer as I try to lift my suitcase high enough so that it doesn’t drag through the snow.

  “What you doing here, Isla?”

  So… he does remember me. Perfect.

  I glance back up at the front door — I hadn’t even noticed I was looking at the ground. He’s standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown marring his face.

  His face that’s still as handsome as it was when I last saw him.

  Scrap that — it’s probably better.

  Thirties are treating him well indeed.

  “I’m staying here,” I tell him. It came out a bit more stand-offish than I had intended, but the weight of the suitcase is making me huffy.

  He shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

  I stop walking. He’s still holding on to that grudge?

  Boy needs to chill out.

  And who is he to tell me where I’m staying?

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. If Gemma invited him without telling me, I will put sour drops in her Prosecco. That’s against girl-code, cousin or no cousin.

  “I own the place,” he says.

  Oh. So maybe he has a slightly bigger right to tell me where I’m staying than I initially thought.

  But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

  “Well, we booked it. The rest of the girls are driving down and Gemma is coming over later to see us — ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  He scratches his head. “Isla, I cancelled this morning when they announced the warning. It was a Miss Louise Hall who made the booking? Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  He mimics me with his last sentence and I wonder if I’d have enough strength to use the suitcase as a bludgeon.

  With a sigh, I pull out my phone from my purse and see I’ve got two messages from Louise and one missed call from Jess. I try to call back but I have no signal.

  The snow is falling thick and I shove my phone away before the wet gets the better of it.

  “What do you expect me to do? I’ve been traveling for hours.”

  He shakes his head before mumbling something I can’t decipher and then comes over to take my suitcase. I follow him inside because if I’m going to be made homeless I’d rather do it somewhere warm.

  It takes me about five seconds of being inside the castle before I realize warmth is not something I’ll find here. My teeth are chittering and all I can think about is retreating to a steaming hot bath.

  Lewis puts my suitcase down in the middle of the entrance hall and turns around to look at me. I notice he’s changed — and not just the fact he’s aged nearly ten years. He’s lost every bit of boyish softness he once had, but there’s more to it than that. He looks harder now… colder.

  I have the urge to ask him how his life has been. Is he married now? Children? Why didn’t he leave this place? But that’s all too forward.

  We’re practically strangers.

  He turns around and strolls to the window, looking out at the thick white drifts. “Listen, if you want to stay I won’t stop you… but I’ve lived in this place through a storm and I can tell you it’s about as fun as getting shrapnel in your eye.”

  I fight the urge to laugh at his negativity. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. This building’s been here hundreds of years, right? If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll walk to Gemma’s house.”

  He turns around and chuckles. “Catch yourself on. It’s fifteen miles to Gemma’s house.”

  I shrug. “I know, I just said that to convince you. The girls will be here tonight, I can’t leave. Even if I could — I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  I really don’t. My family are in Spain. It’s an eight hour drive to London where I live, and even if I survived that I’d still need to find a way of getting the Tonka-car back to Edinburgh airport.

  He looks like he’s about to ask me something, and I wonder if maybe he’s just as curious about my life as I am his. But the moment passes with a shake of his head. “Whatever you want. Suppose I better give you the tour then.”

  He turns around and whistles, and the dog that was outside comes crashing in a few moments later. I’m saying dog, but that’s a mi
ld understatement — it looks more like a wolf than a dog.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  He looks at me funny before replying, “She’s a bitch.”

  Technical.

  Small talk over, I follow him across the hall and through a set of double wooden doors. “This is the living room, lounge, whatever.”

  I take a peek around the door and he’s already scooting past me to leave. The outside of the castle looks a bit worn and tired… I guess it was painted white at some point but the weather has long ruined that. If I’m honest, it looks like the castle that Jack built, a hodge-podge of turrets and towers and wonky windows. I was expecting similar inside, but it’s actually quite nice.

  A navy tartan carpet spans the length of the room and matches nicely with the powder blue walls and the white paneling. The furniture is sparse but not empty-looking, a few off-white sofas and a midnight chaise, a coffee table, the usual. It’s not exactly the standard of the boutique hotels I manage, but it’s charming.

  And that fireplace!

  It dominates the center back wall, and even from here I can make out what look to be original carvings of roses, thistles and ivy in the thick stone.

  “You’ll need to show me how this works?”

  He’s gone but I can hear the dog running around in the hall so I assume he can hear me.

  A moment later he pops his head around the door.

  “The fireplace?” He walks in the room and I nod. “You never paid for firewood.”

  “What do you mean we never paid for firewood?”

  “I mean there is a ticky box where you can pay £30 for a half-bag of it, and it wasn’t ticked.”

  Jesus. “Okay… well, can I pay you now? And in the mean time can we get the heating on before I solidify?”

  He chuckles and waves his arm for me to follow him. “The boiler’s in the kitchen,” he says as he walks through the hall. “Just through here. I keep the wood at my place, fuck knows if I’ll make it back over tonight but I’ll do my best.”

  I thank him as we enter the kitchen. Its farmhouse style and adorable. And freezing. There is ice forming inside the windows. He opens a cupboard door and fiddles about with something for a while. I rub my hands together and blow into them, trying to get the numbness away. The dog sits watching the cupboard with her tail wagging and I think it could be one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.

  “What’s her name?”

  I know… I said no more small talk, can’t help myself.

  “Kimber,” he shouts back.

  I call her over and give her a rub behind the ears.

  “Heating’s fucked,” he says, emerging from the cupboard and wiping his hands on his shirt.

  What does this mean? No fire? No heating?

  He must catch the panic in my face because he holds his hands up. “Christ. Don’t fash yourself, woman, I just need to get a part.”

  I exhale a breath of relief and nod. “Okay. I guess—”

  He’s already walking out the door, so I shut my mouth and follow him. I feel like the bloody dog, chasing his heels.

  “The bedrooms are upstairs, can’t miss them. You get yourself sorted, I’ll be back in an hour.”

  And without a backwards glance he’s out of the front the door, Kimber running after him.

  Well.

  I let out another breath now that I’m alone. Of all the ways I thought this day would go, I did not think this would be it.

  It’s going to be fine, though. The boiler just needs a part, Lewis will fix it (and leave) the girls will get here, and we’ll have a nice cosy Christmas like we planned.

  I drag the suitcase up the creaky stairs and try some doors. How many bedrooms does this place have? They’re all mostly the same, a big four poster bed with jewel colored bedspreads… tapestries… and wood. Lots and lots of dark wood.

  I get to the end of the corridor and open it up to see a circular shaped room. This must be the turret, I guess. The bed sits in the center, raised up on a platform and covered with silver drapes and a grey fur throw. I cross the room and open the door to reveal an en-suite, complete with a two person shower and a standalone bath.

  This must be the honeymoon suite, I chuckle to myself.

  It’s stunning.

  And it’s mine.

  You’re not fast, you’re last… that’s how it’s always worked with us girls and for once I’m actually happy about that.

  Chapter 5

  LEWIS

  Isla Strachan.

  Of all the women in the world, it had to be that specific one who shows up at my door in the middle of a shitting snow-storm.

  What was she thinking, driving all the way down here in this weather? Little fool. I guess she never grew out of her recklessness.

  I shift the Discovery Sport into gear and pull away, trying to clear my thoughts and failing miserably. She’s changed a lot since I last seen her. Her face isn’t as round and her hair is longer and darker. She has eyebrows now as well, big thick ones that arch damn near perfectly when she’s not impressed. She didn’t have those when I saw her last.

  She’s changed, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever clocked eyes on. Well, I guess that’s not technically true — she wasn’t the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen back then because she wasn’t a fucking woman.

  She’s a woman now, though.

  I brush that thought away just as easily as it came up. No good will come of thinking those thoughts. Isla Strachan is not for me — she never was.

  Best not to even think about the time I thought she might have been.

  The car handles the freshly fallen snow like a dream. There’s not a chance I’ll get that part before Christmas so I plan to punt home, grab the one from my boiler, and get it back before lunchtime. It means I’ll have no heating or hot water for a few days, but it’s that or a bunch of women nipping my ear, so I’ll choose the cold all day.

  That’s when I notice it up ahead. I stop the car a few meters away and open the door, letting Kim jump out.

  There’s a fucking tree where the road should be.

  And not just a dinky tree either, it’s a big old bastard of an oak tree.

  “Shit,” I tell the dog. She’s over there sniffing around as if she’ll find out whodunnit. “Kim, here.” I give her a whistle and she jumps back in the car.

  We’re screwed.

  Completely screwed.

  There is only one road out of here and that road is no more. It’s a six-mile walk to the nearest B road, and fifteen miles to the town.

  I climb back into the car and get us turned around, picturing Isla and her perfect raised eyebrow when I break the news to her. For a wee second I’m feeling like the grinch who stole Christmas, but then I remember it was her own stupidity that brought her here and if she doesn’t like it, she can suck it.

  I’m back where I started a few minutes later, standing in the hall. “Isla?” I wait a second and then shout again from the bottom of the stairs. “Isla!”

  I hear her footsteps. “Jeezo, that was quick! Do you have a death wish driving like that?”

  I don’t, but since I’m about to tell her she’s stuck here with no heating, I guess maybe I do.

  “There’s a tree fallen on the road, I couldn’t get the car out.”

  She comes into sight and I almost choke holding back laughter.

  “I’m glad you’re finding this situation hilarious,” she shoots, her face all frowny.

  And there’s that eyebrow.

  But it’s not the situation — it’s her. She’s wearing this oversized Rudolph onsie — hood up and antlers and everything.

  “What the fuck have you got on?” I ask her.

  She looks down at herself and her mouth opens in a little ‘o’. “Are you immune to the temperature in this place? This is the warmest thing I have!”

  I’m still laughing at her as I’m walking away. We might not have firewood or a working boiler, or gas for the stove, bu
t I’ve got about a thousand tea light candles and I’m choking on a cup of coffee.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks, following me down the hall to the kitchen.

  “I’m going to make a cup of coffee.”

  She rushes to catch up with me. “That’s not an answer. Can we move the tree?”

  I stop and stare down at her because her suggestion is that ridiculous. “Aye, lets move the hundred-year-old oak tree. I’ll take one end, you take the other and we’ll stick the dog in the middle.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and before she can answer I’m already heading for the kitchen again. I rake around in the cupboard under the sink for a bag of candles and set three up on the work top, then get a cake stand and a wee pot. That’ll heat up quicker than the kettle will.

  “You don’t have an electric kettle?”

  I roll my eyes. She’s full of the best questions. “If I had an electric kettle would I be boiling water with a fuckin’ tea light?”

  She snorts and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Guess not. Put enough water in there for two, will you? I’m parched. And I think my throat is slowly freezing.”

  I glance back at her, chuckling again. She’s resting her chin on her hands and looks deep in thought. “Can we chop the tree up?”

  Turning around, I rest my hands behind me on the worktop while I think. It’s not the worst idea. It’ll probably take all day, but we don’t have much else better to do.

  “It could work.”

  “Exactly. And then we’ll have firewood and a clear road!”

  Her face lights up at the suggestion and I can’t help smiling. If she thinks I’m going to put live green wood on that fireplace then she’ll find out later just how wrong she is.

  “You ever chopped a tree before?”