The Christmas Secret

by Karen Swan

  Her heart was clattering, everything coming too fast. She hadn’t come over for this. It was exactly what she’d tried to avoid. ‘The Me, the We, the It, remember?’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,’ he sighed, taking another sip of the wine.

  She took a breath, trying to keep calm, feeling the spool beginning to unravel faster and faster through her fingers, burning her skin. ‘Your relationship with Skye only failed because—’

  ‘Because she cheated on me.’

  ‘No,’ she argued. ‘That was just a symptom of the problems that were already there. You were already in trouble. Your father had just died, you were angry, Lochie, you were pushing her away. We walked through the constellation and—’

  He was watching her. ‘You know, for all your dishing out of advice, I don’t get the impression you take any of it yourself. I don’t think I’m the only one out of touch with the Me-We-It shit.’

  ‘This isn’t about me.’

  ‘On the contrary, I’d say it’s all become about you. What was that thing you said yesterday? One of your beloved quotes – something about the madness of resisting something that already is? Well, this thing between us – whatever it is – it’s already happening. You’re the only one resisting it!’

  She looked away. He didn’t understand why it could never be and she could never tell him. None of this was supposed to have happened – she hadn’t seen it coming – but it was impossible now to loosen the knot that had bound her so tightly in his life. She had wanted to slip away but of course it was never going to be that easy. If she wanted to leave, she would have to cut herself free. ‘Look, I didn’t come over to fight with you.’

  There was a silence. ‘Well, it seems to be what we’re good at,’ he sighed, turning away and topping up his glass. He swigged from it, looking out of the window, the garden still spotlit, the shed door still open, logs scattered in the snow.

  ‘I came to say goodbye. I’m leaving tonight.’ Her words bounced off his still back; he didn’t reply. ‘Everything I wanted to say is in the letter. Please. Just please don’t read it till I’ve gone.’

  He turned and looked at her, looked at the envelope on the island. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s better this way,’ she said quietly.

  It was precisely the wrong thing to have said; ‘Lochie, no!’ But within two strides he was there, the letter in his hands, scraps of paper fluttering like confetti as he ripped it open and read her goodbye on Mrs Peggie’s blue notepaper.

  Her heart felt as though it had leapt to her throat and she turned away in horror, feeling vulnerable, exposed. She should never have come here. Why had she come? It had been a mistake and at some level she must have known it – but she had indulged herself, not quite able to resist the urge to glimpse him one last time.

  ‘Alex.’

  The letter was in his hands but as she saw the look on his face, she knew that they were done with words. There would be no more fighting or arguing; he was right – they were resisting something that already was. He crossed the room and picked her up, setting her down on the oak counter as her ankles crossed behind his back, her mouth already on his. Because she knew perfectly well why she had come here: she had come for a proper goodbye.

  The firelight made their skin glow, a blanket draped lightly over their hips as they lay intertwined on the sofa, the now-empty bottle of Merlot on the floor beside them along with a half-eaten plate of smoked salmon and lemon wedges, and what had been a bowl of strawberries.

  Lochie’s fingers grazed her waist, her head on his chest, as they watched the flames flicker and leap. It had been dark outside for hours now, and the snowflakes were still patting at the windowpanes.

  ‘How much has fallen, do you reckon?’ she murmured, feeling his chest hair tickle her cheek.

  ‘About a foot, I should think. It’s pretty squally out there. The ferries won’t be running in this.’

  ‘. . . A Sea King it is then.’ It was a joke, but a bad one. Neither of them laughed at the prospect of her leaving; he was silent and she heard the thud of his heart against her ear. She turned her head to look up at him. ‘Not that I believe for one minute that you’d be taking me back to the farmhouse tonight, even if they were running.’

  ‘Of course not.’ His eyes flashed down at her – confident, assured.

  She hid her smile by kissing his chest. ‘But the Peggies – they’ll be expecting me.’

  ‘I told Mr P. we had business to discuss and that you could stay in one of the spare rooms if necessary.’

  ‘Do you think he bought that?’

  Lochie chuckled. ‘No.’

  She laughed softly too, her amusement fading as the truth pressed in. ‘I’m going to miss them.’

  His body tensed slightly beneath her. ‘They’ll miss you.’

  ‘I never expected to become attached.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He fell quiet again, his fingers tickling her lightly. ‘Alternatively, you could just . . . not leave.’

  ‘I don’t belong here.’

  ‘You could.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. And you know I love it, but . . . I have my own life. In London. I’ve got my own company to run, clients, my flat. Commitments.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll start small then. At the very least, stay for Christmas.’

  She closed her eyes, pushing her face into his armpit, relishing the smell of him. ‘I wish I could. But I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I told you. Commitments.’

  He looked back at the fire again, his jaw set in that way of his when he was holding back, reining in.

  ‘I don’t want you to go.’

  She pushed her lips together hard, holding back the tears again. She could hear from his tone that it wasn’t the first time he had said these words. Had he said them to his mother? His father?

  ‘I don’t want to either,’ she whispered, her voice thick, choked with emotion. ‘But this isn’t real life, for either of us. It could never work.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because . . .’ A single tear slid down her cheek anyway. ‘Because this is a disaster for me. Us, together, like this. It’s everything that should never have happened. It’s unethical, unprofessional. If it was to get out that I fell for my client—’

  His hand lifted her chin, making her look at him. ‘How many times must I tell you? I’m not your client: I refused to work with you, I didn’t hire you. And you failed dismally – far from making me a better boss you found a way to lose me my job. I’m sorry, but you’ve just been a very beautiful, very annoying woman loitering with intent about my offices for the past three weeks.’

  She chuckled, wiping the tear with the back of her hand. ‘No one else will see it like that.’

  She was right and they both knew it. But his hand found her thigh, lifting it higher on his hip, holding her closer. She felt her pulse quicken, just like that, as he effortlessly pulled her on top of him, framing her face with his hands.

  ‘I thought you were tired,’ she said, a slow smile spreading across her lips. ‘You said you didn’t sleep.’

  He smiled back, his eyes both sad and hungry. ‘Hyde, you keep telling me you’ve got a bloody ferry to catch. There’s no time to sleep.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Islay, Saturday 23 December 2017

  The chapel wasn’t heated; it was no surprise to anyone, of course, but with the snow lying in deep drifts all around, the tiny electric heater and the candles at the end of each pew could only do so much. Alex pulled her red coat tighter around her; being unlined, it was far too thin but it was the only suitable thing she had up here to wear. They had stopped at the farmhouse on their way past, for her to get changed, the road still gritted and clear from Mr Peggie’s foray in the tractor last night, but if Mrs Peggie had wondered at the unusual brightness in her eyes, she didn’t comment, making her daily offer of hot kippers before they set out.

  Alex was sitting alone in th
e back row, her knees pressed together as she shivered in the cold, watching the pews fill up. There were no rose windows or stained glass here, no elaborate plasterwork or bountiful flowers, just plain pitched windows high up in each wall, tangles of ivy and rowan-berries draping down from the sills.

  Alasdair was already at the front, pacing nervously as his best man repeatedly checked for the rings in his jacket pocket. Alex couldn’t take her eyes off the groom – soft-faced, young-looking, with ears that stuck out and a shy smile as he kept tugging on his embroidered waistcoat, nodding happily as his friends came up to slap him on the shoulder and wish him luck. The very sight of him made her feel wretched at what she had tried to do – to him, an unwitting stranger who had never even laid eyes on her, who had done her no harm, whose only fault had been to get in her way—

  ‘Hey.’ Lochie sat down beside her, his thigh instantly pressed against hers as he undid the buttons on his overcoat. ‘Are you warm enough? Do you want this?’

  She shook her head, seeing the energy in his movements. ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ she said, smiling back, wishing she could touch his face again, kiss his mouth. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  He inhaled and looked over at her, eyes gleaming. ‘Talking to Sholto. I’ve told him I want to finalize the terms of my exit as soon as possible.’

  ‘You’re looking remarkably upbeat about it today.’

  ‘Am I? Well, perhaps I’m beginning to see that there is life beyond this isle,’ he murmured, his eyes running over her like mice. ‘Christ, you look great in that red. You know, you were wearing that the first time I set eyes on you. Just about floored me.’

  ‘Huh. You did a good job of hiding it,’ she scoffed. ‘I seem to recall you couldn’t get away fast enough.’

  ‘What else could I do? Callum was already trying to make claims on you. It was either punch him or punch the wall.’

  ‘You and walls,’ she tutted, holding up his still-bruised knuckles from last weekend.

  He blinked at her. ‘You’re worth it.’

  They stared at each other, lost, and she longed to touch him, for things to be different.

  ‘Mind if we sit there?’ someone asked, pointing further down the pew.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Lochie said, and they stood to allow them past.

  Outside, the bagpipes started up and everyone turned in their seats to get a look at the bride.

  Alasdair, at the front, looked as though he was going to keel over and the best man shuffled him into position at the front of the aisle as everyone stood to the distinctive strains of ‘Highland Cathedral’ filling the tiny kirk. Alex stood and turned, just in time to see Skye glide in. Her hair was out of its signature ponytail, instead pinned up in soft ringlets at the side, and she was wearing contacts. The dress was slim-fitting with a furry bolero and she carried a posy of white roses, Bruce holding her arm proudly. She looked nervous, but also very beautiful, and her face relaxed as she saw her groom waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

  ‘She looks so beautiful,’ Alex whispered, looking up at Lochie.

  ‘Aye, she does,’ he nodded, his eyes on the bride, before looking back down at her and squeezing her hand. ‘No regrets,’ he mouthed.

  The pipes ended as Bruce placed Skye’s hand in Alasdair’s and everyone took their seats again.

  Lochie’s hand fell to her thigh and she looked around them nervously, worried that people would see. She had agreed to stay on for the duration of the service; as Lochie had so persuasively argued, Skye would be dismayed if she skipped out just hours before her big moment. And anyway, she was looking for excuses to delay her inevitable departure. He wasn’t as easy to leave as she had hoped. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, trying to remove his hand off her leg.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. Let them look.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course it matters. This is a small community. People will talk!’

  ‘Let them. I’ve made a decision.’ He pinned her with bright eyes. ‘I’m leaving Islay, putting all this behind me. You were right – I need to start afresh. Go somewhere new and begin again.’

  He looked at her meaningfully and she felt her own smile begin to play on her lips.

  ‘Oh yes?’ she whispered, feeling the butterflies in her stomach take wing. ‘Got anywhere particular in mind?’

  ‘Skye! Over here!’

  Alex raised her arm and the bride’s eyes widened as she caught sight of her standing at the edge of the crowd. Lochie had disappeared again and everyone was talking in huddled groups – the confetti thrown, the photos taken. They were ready to take the celebration back to the reception. She was ready to take her leave.

  ‘You look so beautiful,’ she gushed, as Skye came over and they hugged.

  ‘Och, I’m going to look a wreck in the photos,’ Skye laughed, dabbing at her eyes.

  ‘Rubbish, you’ve never looked more gorgeous.’

  Skye met her gaze. ‘I’ve never felt happier. I had no idea it would feel like this.’ She bit her lip. ‘I can’t believe I nearly—’

  Alex grabbed her hands. ‘Listen to me, it was my fault. All mine. I was wrong from the start and I dragged you into my mess, confusing you. I’m so sorry. I really am. I made a hash of everything. Can you forgive me?’ Urgency tinged her words.

  ‘Of course I can,’ Skye said, looking at her with concern. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You were only trying to help.’

  ‘No, I was selfish; I nearly ruined everything for you.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’ Skye squeezed her hand. ‘Listen, it’s a recognizable condition and there’s a name for it: cold feet, right?’

  ‘Well, I can certainly identify with that,’ Alex grinned, tucking one leg behind the other, flamingo-style. She had lost feeling in her toes a good twenty minutes earlier, long before they’d taken to standing in the snow, and her suede heels were ruined, but she didn’t care. She’d had to do this before she left.

  Skye gazed over at her new husband, her eyes soft. ‘You know, we have a saying up here: “The little fire that warms is better than the big fire that burns.”’ She looked back at Alex. ‘Besides, Lochie and I did talk finally. After you went the other night, we cleared the air and said all those things we’d been sweeping under the carpet for the past year and a half.’ She sighed heavily. ‘He was angry, I was panicking and I think we’d both had enough to drink to actually just stop playing games and tell it how it is finally. Things are going to be a lot better between us from now on. I honestly think we can be friends again. I’m so pleased.’

  ‘Who’s pleasing my bride?’ a voice asked and they turned to see Alasdair standing beside them.

  ‘Oh, Al, this is Alex who I was telling you about.’

  ‘Alex,’ he said, shaking her hand with a friendly smile. ‘Finally we meet. I’ve heard more about you than the wedding arrangements for the past three weeks. You must be a force for good.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure about that,’ she laughed as she and Skye exchanged knowing smiles.

  He looked at Skye, holding out an arm for her. ‘Our carriage awaits. Are you ready, my queen?’

  ‘Lead on, sweet prince,’ Skye laughed, having to wipe her cheeks dry again.

  ‘Uh, listen, I’m not going to be able to be there,’ Alex said apologetically. ‘I’m booked on the two o’clock ferry. I only stayed as late as this in order to see you. I’m sorry.’

  Skye looked at her for a moment – then burst into a fit of laughter, squeezing more tears from her eyes again. ‘Oh, good one, Alex! You almost had me there!’

  Alex wouldn’t have believed a warehouse could be made to look so fitting for a wedding, but she stood corrected now. The tiers of whisky barrels had each been draped with looping silk ribbons, the struts of the warehouse roof garlanded with ivy, and long refectory tables were set up in the aisles with a mini Christmas tree at the end of each one. At the loading area at the front, a dance floor had been erected, and a harp
ist was plucking love songs on a small stage to the side, to be replaced by the disco later.

  Lochie was caught in conversation with some of the lads who were unwittingly flogging a dead horse in trying to recruit him to their seven-a-side local-league football team, the news of his resignation still confidential until the termination contracts were signed. Alex mingled, working her way through the crowd and chatting easily with the staff and some of Skye’s family who had come down – fittingly – from the Isle of Skye. She couldn’t believe she was still here. Why was she still here? Her mission had been accomplished, it was time to go. And yet . . .

  She had warmed up at least; in spite of the deep drifts of snow outside the warehouse walls, the space, although beautifully decorated, was not large and she was even beginning to think about removing her coat. Making her excuses from a group conversation about the marine renewable-energy project in the Sound, she wove through the crowd towards the exit, wanting to touch up her make-up before they sat for the wedding breakfast.

  ‘Oh. Sorry—’ Someone bumped into her, standing on her toes in his heavy brogues, and she winced, just as Callum turned around.

  There was a momentary pause as he digested the sight of her, back in red, back to the scene of their first meeting. ‘. . . Excuse me,’ he said tersely before moving to head off.

  ‘Callum, wait,’ she said, catching him by the arm.

  He looked down at her, so handsome, so hurt, his guarded expression almost identical to his cousin’s.

  ‘Please. I owe you an apology. I messed you about and—’

  ‘Made false accusations about me.’

  ‘Yes, I made false accusations about you and—’

  ‘You used me.’

  ‘I used you, yes. I’m sorry.’

  He let the apology hang like a chandelier – heavy and bright between them – before relinquishing a smile. ‘Ach, don’t be. It was worth it.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Well, you were never going to kiss me otherwise. As it was, I got an evening of snogging you out of it, whilst you and my cousin played cat and mouse.’