But the contents of the basket at least seemed to resemble what she’d written down. Onions, potatoes, seasoning, butter, flour, lentils, carrots, a leek and Brussels sprouts all appeared from nowhere. “You’ll just have to take what’s left, Andrew. If you’d phoned earlier I could have put some things past for you.” There it was again. That tut. Was that aimed at her, or Andrew?
“What’s this rubbish?” Mrs. McGregor was looking at the list now, scowling at some of the items.
Andrew leaned over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s for a chocolate-something that Juliette wants to make.”
Mrs McGregor crumpled the precious list in her gnarled hand. “That’s not a Christmas pudding. Why on earth would you want to make something like that?”
Juliette smiled sweetly. No way was this woman getting between her and her chocolate tiffin. “I thought the best Christmas puddings took weeks to make. There’s no point in trying to make one the night before. We’ll just need to have an alternative.”
“Sherry trifle. That’s what you should make.” Mrs McGregor swept behind the counter and banged a bottle of pale sherry in front of her. “That will have to do.”
“Oh no, Andrew hates trifle,” Juliette said quickly and shot him a look that said argue with me and die. She bent down and pulled a packet of digestive biscuits from the shelf. “Look, here’s the first thing already.”
Mrs McGregor was obviously not amused. She bustled past and threw a few things into the basket, muttering under her breath. “Ten pounds,” she said to Andrew, holding out her hand.
Juliette looked at the overflowing basket. “It has to be more than that.”
The words were met with an icy stare that could have sunk the Titanic. Andrew pulled a ten-pound note from his pocket and put it into Mrs McGregor’s hand. He pulled a plastic carrier bag from behind the counter and started packing the food away. With a loud kerching the cash register opened and money was deposited inside.
Andrew bent and dropped a kiss on Mrs McGregor’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mrs McGregor. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“And you, Andrew.” There was the tiniest tremble of emotion in her voice. Juliette wasn’t quite sure where to look.
“Come on, Juliette. Let’s get to the butchers. I imagine Jim will want to shut up shop early today.”
They walked outside together. “What was all that about? There’s no way all that food cost just ten pounds.”
He shook his head. “It’s complicated.” It was clear he didn’t really want to explain.
“I’m an intelligent woman – try me. I’m sure I’ll be able to get my head around it.” She hated the thought that they’d just short-changed the elderly woman.
“Violet McGregor is one of my tenants.”
“At Garnock Hall? Is she in one of the cottages?”
He nodded. “She’s stayed there most of her life.”
“Then, that’s worse. Not only does she pay you rent, but you’ve cheated her out of her livelihood.” Juliette started digging around in her bag for her purse. There was no way she could let this go.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” She was snapping and she knew it. She couldn’t stand the thought of taking advantage. It just wasn’t in her nature – whether the old woman liked her or not.
He sighed. “She doesn’t pay me rent – hardly any of the tenants do. They’ve lived on the land most of their lives. Times are hard around these parts. Most of them are elderly with little income.”
She stopped. “But she works in the shop – even though she should obviously be retired. Surely she should pay rent?”
“It doesn’t work like that around here. I think you can tell she doesn’t really run a profit. She works to keep herself busy. Her husband died a few years ago and,” he said, shrugging, “she likes the company.”
Now, that brought a smile to her face. “She likes the company? Seriously?”
He smiled. “Seriously. Believe me – and that was her on a good day. Now, let’s go to the butchers.”
She hesitated in the doorway. “Go on without me. I’ll be along in a second, okay?”
He frowned. There was hardly anywhere else in the village she could possibly go. “Okay, see you soon.”
She watched him walk into the shop next door before she crossed the road to the hardware shop. A bell clanged as she opened the door and she gave a little smile. It reminded her of a sweet shop she used to visit with her grandmother where the sweets were all in large jars behind the counter.
“Well, a stranger on Christmas Eve. What can I do for you, lovely lady?” The booming voice came from an open door behind the counter. She watched as a man emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a dark blue boiler suit, but it was his hair and beard that made her catch her breath. It was like staring into the face of Santa Claus.
The shop was pure and utter chaos. Thousands of little boxes filled with screws, nails and other nick-nacks. It was nothing like the national warehouse type hardware stores.
How on earth could he find anything in here?
She glanced from side to side. It was pointless, there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how things were placed in the shop. “I’m looking for a set of Christmas lights. Would you have any?”
“Ahh…” He rested his hands on the counter. “And where would they be for?”
His accent was even stronger than Andrew’s, his tone a little sing-songy. It took a few seconds to adjust her ear and work out what he’d said.
“I’m staying with Andrew Campbell at Garnock Hall. He’s going to cut down a Christmas tree.”
His face took on a serious expression, his voice becoming quieter. “There hasn’t been a Christmas tree at Garnock Hall for a long time.”
That was the thing about villages. No secrets. No strangers.
How should she respond? “I realise that. Andrew told me he’s sure he has some decorations somewhere. But I wasn’t sure about lights. If he has any, they probably don’t work anymore. I thought I could buy some to surprise him.”
The old man nodded slowly then held out his hand towards her. “Bert King, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Finally. A friendly face. She slipped her hand into his. “Juliette Connolly. I work with Andrew.” His handshake was firm and it was obvious there had been a few injuries to his fingers over the years. But whilst his fingers were gnarled and his skin paper thin his build was robust and his grip strong. “Do you have any lights I could buy?”
His eyes glanced from one side of the shop to the other. “We used to have. But I think I might have already sold them. Let me check my till.”
He pressed a few buttons on his cash register. Unlike the relic across the street this one was brand new and state of the art. “Yes, I sold them on the 20th and the 22nd.” He frowned and glanced over his shoulder. “Hold on, I might have something else back there for you.”
He disappeared into the dark recesses of the shop again and Juliette was left wondering if she should follow him or not. She could hear shuffling and the movement of boxes, a minute later he emerged with a bashed green box in his hands. “Here we go, from a few years ago. White twinkling stars. That will do won’t it?”
The box was more than a little bashed, part of it was missing and she could see the green wire strand of lights poking out. “It will be perfect, thanks.” She stuck the box under her arm and pulled around her handbag. “How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, nothing. They’re free.” He walked over to his shop window and pulled down a blind. “I’m busy tonight. So, I need to close the shop a little early today.”
All the little hairs pricked straight up on her neck. She pulled out her purse. Didn’t anyone pay for things around here? “Let me give you something.” She turned over the box but there was no price.
“No charge.” He paused from pulling down the blind on the other window. “It would do some good for a little Christmas spirit in Garnock Hall. Might l
ift the place a little.”
Something crawled down her spine. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Now, best get on. Good day, Juliette. It was nice to meet you.”
He opened the door ushering her back outside into the falling snow. As she turned to thank him he closed the door and pulled down the blind on the door with lightning speed.
It was like being caught inside a crazy Christmas film. Santa was running the hardware store. If it was Mrs Claus in the grocery store they were all in trouble. Who else lived in this crazy village?
She crossed the road to the butcher’s shop. Andrew was chatting happily to a red-nosed stock guy who was wrapping some meat in paper. “Sausage meat, chipolattas, smoked back bacon and the turkey. Anything else?”
He was talking to Andrew but his gaze was fixed firmly on Juliette. She’d often felt that in the hustle and bustle of London, everyone was virtually anonymous. It seemed as if in this village no one could be a stranger.
“Rudy, this is Juliette my work colleague. This is the person I will be attempting to cook a turkey with.”
Rudy? No way. With a red nose like that…
“Pleasure to meet you, Juliette. I’ve sold Andrew plenty of sausages and bacon over the years but good luck actually trying to get him to cook a meal.” He gave her a cheeky wink. “Feel free to train him up and send him back for my finest fillet and sirloin steaks.”
She laughed. “Oh, I think the training will be pretty even. I’m as useless at cooking as he is.”
Rudy finished wrapping the meat and put it in a carrier bag. “Well, if I see black smoke billowing from Garnock Hall around three o’clock tomorrow, I’ll know to put out two extra plate settings.”
Her imagination was running riot. Maybe she’d imagined Kenny telling them they had to work Christmas due to the clause in their contract? She was most likely at home, tucked up in her bed sleeping. Dreaming about a Christmas village dusted with snow and where the residents were secretly Santa Claus, Mrs Claus and Rudolph. Add in a haunted old house and a very handsome, but slightly sad, hero and she could have a Hallmark movie.
And she was buying right into it by purchasing the Christmas tree lights. But the plastic bag she was scrunching between her fingers felt real. The smell of Andrew’s aftershave drifting towards her felt real, and the tingle of her skin where he’d touched it earlier felt very real.
“Merry Christmas, Rudy. Thanks for sorting out the turkey for us.” Andrew nodded towards the door. “Ready, Juliette? Have we got everything we need?”
She nodded and stepped outside onto the street. The light had grown even dimmer. Darkness came quickly in the winter in Scotland. A few flakes of snow landed on her cheeks. This could be every girl’s Christmas fairytale.
They walked back to the ancient Land Rover, which, if possible, looked even more rickety than before. “How on earth does this thing still go?” she asked as she climbed inside.
“Sshh,” he whispered, tapping the roof of the car. “You’ll hurt her feelings.” He climbed into the driving seat next to her.
“Your car is a she?”
He started the engine which spluttered for a few seconds then fell deadly silent.
They looked at each other.
“Does she have a name?”
He turned the key again. “Come on, Harriet. Get us home.”
“Harriet?” She let out a laugh. “How posh is that?”
The car gave a shudder and finally started. His face broke into a smile. “What’s wrong with Harriet? Haven’t you ever known a Harriet?”
She shook her head. “No. They didn’t have any Harriets at the state schools.”
He shot her a sideways glance as they pulled out of the village street and back on to the country road. “What? You think I didn’t attend state school?”
“I don’t know. Where do Scottish Lairds go to school? I’ve never met one before.”
“I went to the village primary, then on to the local secondary.”
The heating hadn’t started in the car and her breath was still coming out in little plumes around them. “That must have been hard.”
He frowned and took his eyes from the road for a second. “Why?”
“When your brother died. Everyone knew you. Everyone knew him. It must have been hard.”
She heard him suck in a breath. There was a tiny change in the timbre of his voice. An almost indistinguishable tremble. “It actually made it better. It’s amazing how resilient children are. It’s also amazing how accepting. Douglas was eight when he died. The other kids in his class knew he was sick – some of them visited him at our house – then, when he died. I can remember being in the school playground the day after the funeral and one of the kids came over and said, ‘Douglas died? Sorry. Want to play football?’ and that was it.”
She leaned back into her seat. “Wow.”
Andrew kept driving, his eyes fixed on the darkening road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Life just moves on for kids. They accept things in a way that adults don’t. Depending on their age, even the most hideous of things become matter-of-fact.” He gave the slightest shake of his head. “But what people don’t talk about, what they don’t say, is that for adults, it actually gets worse instead of better.”
She was almost scared to ask. “What do you mean?”
“Well for adults every milestone in that child’s life becomes a milestone missed. The time they would have started secondary school. Every 16th birthday, every 18th, every 21st. When they would have attended university, when they would have got their driving licence. Their first girlfriend, their first job, first home.” He shrugged. “First child, then first grandchild. I saw it on my mother’s and father’s faces every year. It got harder. I’m sure that’s why my dad’s heart finally gave out. Every year brought another memory of what they missed. And by then, the rest of the world has forgotten. Not because they mean to. But just because their life has moved on. Time has passed.”
“I’d never thought about it like that.” Guilt was sweeping over her. “I’ve never really had reason to think about it. When you say it like that, it just seems like something that you’ll never get over.”
He turned down the driveway towards Garnock Hall, which now had a few warm lights glimmering in the distance. “The sad fact of life is, that parents just shouldn’t outlive their kids. No other way to put it. When people lose a child, if they have other kids, they go into automatic pilot, try and make life ‘normal’ for their other kids. When the truth is, everyone knows it will never be normal again. As for parents who don’t have other kids?” He gave a little shudder. “I have no idea how they do it. No idea at all.”
A wave of emotions was crashing over her. This was Andrew. A guy she’d worked with for the last two years. She had no idea he’d experienced any of this. None at all. And from these few simple sentences she could tell what the impact of losing his brother had had on him. She reached over and covered his hand with hers.
And left it there.
Neither of them said anything. He only slid his hand out from under hers as they slowed on the approach to the house. He turned the engine off and gave her a tight smile. “I guess it’s time to cut down a tree.” He gestured towards the forest which only lay twenty feet from one of the sides of the house.
“Do you need some help?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done it before. It won’t take long and I’ll take a wheelbarrow with me to drag it back. Why don’t you unpack what we’ve got?”
She nodded and climbed out the car. “Oh, Andrew? You said there might be Christmas decorations somewhere in the house – where should I look?”
He hesitated, his eyes glancing towards the dark windows upstairs. “Further along, on that side,” he said, pointing with his finger. “I think they’re in one of the rooms near the end. If you want to wait, I’ll get them. There are only a couple of boxes. Mainly old Christmas tree decorations. I’ve no idea what state they will be in.�
��
She collected the bags from the back of the car. The turkey was much heavier than she’d thought. “No worries. I’ll see what I can find.”
He gave a little nod and unlocked the front door for her, flicking on lights as she walked towards the kitchen.
Christmas Eve in Garnock Hall. Who knew what that could bring?
*
He changed quickly into the oldest clothes he had hanging in the cupboard, pulling an old fleece on top and grabbing the gardening gloves from the garage, along with the axe, power saw and wheelbarrow.
He hadn’t been in these woods for years. Occasionally, he’d cut up a tree that had fallen and was leaning on others. But, for the longest time, he’d really had no purpose for going in the woods. The Nordman firs, Fraser firs and Norway spruces all grew in lines. Perfect for Christmas trees. He’d probably make a fortune if he ever tried to sell them. But that wasn’t in his nature. The trees here had always been for family use, or tenant use only. That was the way he liked it.
It didn’t take long to find the perfect tree. The Norway Spruce was wider than other real Christmas trees, perfect for one of the main windows in the house and around thirteen feet tall.
He lifted the power saw and paused. The job would be over in thirty seconds. Would get him out the cold and back into that house with Juliette.
Juliette. The girl who asked questions he hadn’t been asked in years. The person he would share the next few days with in Garnock Hall, where a whole host of unexpected emotions had been whipped up inside him.
It wasn’t just the loss of his brother. It was everything else.
It was the loss of the family – and the family home. He hadn’t really wanted to spend much time at Garnock Hall after Douglas had died. As a teenager he’d rushed to get into Edinburgh University and had happily stayed at the other side of the country for three years. Then, he’d looked for a job anywhere but near to home.
He’d been neglectful of his mother’s early-onset condition. He’d been neglectful of Garnock Hall and the hours and hours of maintenance that the traditional house needed.
Christmas With the Laird Page 6
