Sealed With a Kiss

by Rachael Lucas

  Finn sat down on the sofa and looked at her with a rueful smile. ‘You’re going to sack me as agony uncle, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well,’ said Kate, ‘you did say give it until Christmas and Roderick would be eating out of my hand.’

  ‘Ah. Well, I didn’t factor in the return of Fiona.’

  ‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ Kate tried to be magnanimous.

  ‘No, she is not. She has a face like a slapped arse and a personality to match.’

  Kate laughed, despite herself. ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘I just did. Admit it, she’s vile. But she’s got her claws into Roddy again, by the looks of it. I don’t know what the attraction is.’

  Kate pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure, either. He doesn’t look like he’s happy to be with her, does he?’

  ‘Maybe she’s a witch, and she’s got a little voodoo doll hidden away somewhere?’

  Kate managed a smile. ‘She’s never tried to ensnare you then?’

  ‘Many a woman has tried and failed. I have no desire to be pinned down.’

  ‘That’s not what I’ve heard,’ laughed Kate, throwing the cushion at him.

  ‘Watch it, you. Now come here and give me a hug. I’m starved of affection.’

  ‘One day some woman will come along and whisk you off your feet, and you won’t know what’s hit you.’ Kate allowed Finn to wrap her in a bear hug, closing her eyes.

  With excruciating timing, Roderick, Fiona, Susan and Tom walked back into the room. Kate sprang out of Finn’s arms, making the situation worse.

  ‘Shall we leave you two lovebirds to it?’ joked Tom.

  ‘We weren’t doing anything!’ said Kate, embarrassed. Finn, infuriatingly, was looking highly amused and was sitting on the arm of the sofa, unabashed. From Ted’s corner of the room came a walrus-like snort.

  ‘Right. Well, I tell you what,’ said Tom archly. ‘We’re away to make some coffee. We’ll leave you to your – er, nothing.’

  Roderick looked across at Kate, his expression unreadable. She felt a dull twist in her stomach. She knew then that what Fiona had whispered to him earlier related to the joke kiss she’d seen in the kitchen, and that being caught in Finn’s arms had confirmed Roderick’s suspicions. There was no way out of this mess, except on the first train back home.

  ‘Finn, will you walk me home?’ The damage was done now. Roderick was in the clutches of Fiona, who’d convinced him that Kate was having a wild fling with Finn.

  ‘Of course I will. Let me get our coats.’

  Hating goodbyes, Kate slipped away, hand tucked into Finn’s solid arm for balance on the slippery ice.

  ‘You see, despite what you’ve heard, I can be a gentleman.’ He opened the door for her, holding it as she ducked under his arm.

  There was a flicker of a moment when she contemplated taking the easy option. He was gorgeous, he made her laugh, he was good company. It would be so easy to . . . No. She batted away the idea. It would be pointless.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Finn,’ said Kate, kissing his cheek.

  ‘You have to give it to my mother, she’s committed to her charities.’

  ‘She should be committed to something. I can’t believe she asked you to come home for Christmas, then forgot to mention she was volunteering at the bloody animal shelter.’ Emma rolled her eyes at Kate and they burst out laughing.

  ‘Ah well, at least it gets me out of Christmas lunch with assorted relatives.’

  Kate had made the long journey home yesterday, and arrived at Cambridge station tired and full of horrible coffee – desperate for a bath, her childhood bed and some mothering. Unfortunately, her mother had other plans. She’d called Kate as the train rumbled through the damp English countryside.

  ‘Darling, I am sorry. There was a mix-up at the shelter and they need overnight cover on Christmas Eve. I’ve arranged for Emma and Sam to pick you up – they can’t wait to see you, and I’ll be with you in time for Christmas dinner.’

  ‘That’s fine, Mum,’ Kate had said, through gritted teeth.

  So rather than being driven the fifteen miles back to the pretty market town of Saffron Walden, she was stuffing her bags into the boot of Emma’s car.

  ‘Girls . . .’ Emma opened the car door and a blast of high-pitched squealing hit the air. ‘Just give Kate a second to get in, before you start.’

  But it was too late.

  ‘Santa’s coming tomorrow and he’s taken our letter, and Katharine isn’t going to get any presents because she cut the hair off my Barbie doll and—’

  ‘I did NOT – you did it yourself, and anyway I’m going to tell Kate you scribbled on the wall with Daddy’s special pen . . .’

  Kate felt a rush of fondness for Emma’s two girls, strapped into the car seats, but straining to escape. ‘Darlings, I’m sure you’ve been so good that Father Christmas will be bringing you lots of presents. Just give me a moment to talk to Emma, and then I promise I’ll hear all about it.’

  Emma, concentrating on the Christmas Eve traffic, shot her a look of relief.

  ‘I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to a cup of tea and a chance to catch up.’

  ‘Never mind the tea,’ Kate patted her shoulder bag. ‘I’ve got a twelve-year-old bottle of Auchenmor’s finest here.’

  ‘Whisky? You really have gone native.’ Emma pulled a face, drawing the car to a halt. ‘I think I’ll stick to a cuppa for now.’

  ‘You’re getting old, Mrs Lewis.’

  Emma’s mouth curved in an almost imperceptible smile. She climbed out of the car before Kate could say another word.

  In the window of the pretty Edwardian house a Christmas tree twinkled. Smoke curled from the chimney. The girls ran ahead up the path, released from the tether of their car seats, the door opening as Sam greeted them all with a wide smile. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kate allowed herself to be embraced by it all.

  ‘So here we are,’ said Emma, the following morning. It was Christmas Eve, and she was preparing vegetables while Kate sat at the kitchen table and regaled her with tales from the island. ‘Instead of a relaxing Christmas, chez Mum, you’re stuck with us. The girls will be in tears by midday, Sam will be force-feeding you his famous brandy-soaked mince pies from breakfast time onwards, and I’ll be throwing up every five minutes.’

  Behind the kitchen counter Emma slid her hand over her aproned stomach with a tiny, secret smile.

  ‘Are you ill? You should have said.’ Kate leapt up from the table to help Emma with the gigantic pile of Brussels sprouts she was peeling.

  ‘I’m not ill.’ Emma beamed from ear to ear. ‘I’ve never been better.’

  ‘But I thought you said you were throwing up every five minutes?’

  Emma put down the knife, and stood in front of her friend. Speaking very slowly and clearly, she began, ‘I’m not sick. I’m being sick. I’m being sick all the time.’

  Kate’s mouth dropped open. She looked at her best friend, not sure whether to hug her or burst into tears. She decided to do both.

  ‘Ohmygodyou’repregnant!’

  ‘Give the girl a coconut. I tell you what, for someone who got a first at university, you’re bloody thick sometimes – d’you know that?’

  Katharine and Jennifer ran into the room ahead of their father. Their hair was sparkling with rain, their muddy feet leaving footprints all over the wooden floor.

  ‘Girls, just because the wanderer has returned doesn’t mean the rules of the house have changed.’

  Sam cornered first Katharine and then Jennifer, removing wellington boots and unzipping them from their raincoats. With only one day left until Christmas, they were reaching new highs of excitement, and Sam maintained that the only way to manage them was to take them out for regular walks, like dogs.

  Kate thought of her little Willow, who was spending her first Christmas on the island with Jean and Hector. The prospect of travelling by train with a slightly unpredictable puppy, prone to escaping, chewing every
thing in sight and weeing in corners, had been too much for Kate to bear. Jean, who had a soft spot for Willow, had leapt at the chance to dogsit for the week Kate was in Cambridge.

  Having dealt with the girls, Sam squeezed Kate’s shoulder in passing and ducked behind the breakfast bar to fill the kettle. He caught Emma from behind, causing her to drop her knife and shriek with surprise. Kate felt a huge pang of sadness twist within her. Despite the warmth and familiarity of her friends’ house, she felt lonely and out of place.

  ‘Would you mind if I popped out?’ She stood up. Emma and Sam looked at her, concerned.

  ‘Last-minute shopping?’ asked Sam, ‘You don’t want a cup of tea before you go?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine. I’ve just remembered something I wanted to get for the girls.’

  Pulling on her coat and grabbing an umbrella, she set off into the rainy Cambridge street. She didn’t quite know where she was going; on autopilot, she marched towards the centre of town, which only a few months ago would have brought immediate comfort in the shape of a friendly Starbucks and a bit of retail therapy. After a few minutes’ walk she found herself in the Grafton Centre. It was thronged with last-minute shoppers, songs blaring through the loudspeakers. Shop workers were busy dismantling the displays and Sellotaping huge ‘Sale’ signs across the windows.

  Christmas here seemed tawdry, chaotic and commercial, compared to back on Auchenmor. She looked at her watch. At this time two days ago she’d been sitting on the beach, watching the seals, chatting on the mobile to Mark about Flora, the seal pup. He’d been excited to tell her that Flora had managed to eat her first herring, and that she was swimming happily in the bigger pool. Kate had promised to go back after New Year and visit.

  Apologizing for tripping on the wheels of yet another pushchair, she veered left, escaping through a side door and up to Midsummer Common. It was empty in the rain, the willows whipping against the River Cam in the wind. She sat down on a bench, looking down the river at a solitary mallard. Strange to think that she’d sat on this same river bank so many times with Ian, wondering if life was meant to be quite as dull as it was.

  The last few months had been anything but dull, she thought, picking at a piece of lichen on the stone end of the bench. Somehow she’d still managed to screw everything up. Roderick was convinced that she was with Finn, thanks to the vile Fiona catching them in a perfectly innocent, if silly, embrace. And now, like the lichen that clung to the stone bench, Fiona was gluing herself to Roderick, and he seemed to be okay with that. Perhaps coming home would be the best thing to do. But – ugh, the prospect of bumping into Ian and his new girlfriend, Jenny the accountant, was gruesome. Emma had told her last night that Jenny had already moved into their old house. They’d spent ages sniggering childishly at the idea of the two of them making spreadsheets for every household activity.

  Cambridge no longer felt like home, but life on the island with Roderick back in Fiona’s clutches was a depressing prospect. She contemplated the possibility of living in the cottage with Finn as an occasional nighttime visitor and a partner for any social events, but, laughing to herself, dismissed it. There had to be some kind of middle ground.

  ‘Are you lost, love?’ An elderly man, flat cap pulled down against the wind and rain, bent down to look at her.

  ‘A little bit,’ she admitted, confusing him when she said she didn’t need directions.

  The rain had soaked through her coat by the time she got back to the house. The girls were sitting at the table making elaborate Christmas dinners from Play-Doh.

  ‘Bloody hell, Kate, you’re soaking. Where did you walk to – Ely?’ Emma looked at Sam, who stood up from the table and disappeared upstairs. ‘Hang up your coat, for goodness’ sake. You’re not on this planet at all, are you? It’s all very Wuthering Heights, this marching around in the pouring rain, but if your mother arrives tomorrow and you’ve come down with the flu, I’ll be the one getting it in the neck.’

  ‘I’ve run you a bath,’ said Sam, reappearing.

  ‘I’m not six years old,’ muttered Kate mutinously.

  ‘No, but you’re acting like it,’ said Emma, propelling her towards the hall. ‘Now go and get yourself warmed up. You’ve got the Christingle to get through yet.’

  Kate groaned in mock-horror, before opening the door of the bathroom and breathing in the lavender-scented steam.

  Emma looked at Sam, raising her eyebrows. ‘Apparently she’s not remotely interested in Roderick.’

  ‘I can see that. Thank God we never have to go there again, eh?’ said Sam, folding Emma into his arms as Kate surrendered.

  Christmas morning flashed past in a flurry of wrapping paper, excited squealing from the girls, and Emma’s visits to the loo. Kate had taken over her share of the cooking and was basting the turkey when Emma reappeared, grey and shaking.

  ‘Urgh! That smells vile. No offence, guys – it’s just me.’ She had her hand over her mouth, nostrils held closed. ‘It’s fine as long as I don’t breathe in.’

  ‘All this throwing-up is a great sign – it just means the pregnancy hormones are doing their thing,’ said Sam comfortably, from the sitting-room floor. He was helping Katharine to build a Playmobil castle, and was surrounded by hundreds of tiny pieces of plastic, all in separate, equally tiny bags.

  ‘So you say,’ said Emma, bolting out of the room once again.

  ‘Is she actually being sick?’ asked an interested Jennifer. ‘What happens if she’s sick and the baby comes up out of her tummy and through her mouth and into the loo?’

  ‘I promise you one thing,’ said Kate. ‘That will definitely not happen.’

  Emma returned, sitting down at the kitchen table. She sipped at a mug of cold peppermint tea before looking up at Kate. Her friend looked happier now that she was distracted – perhaps Kate’s mother was right, and they ought to try and persuade her to come home.

  ‘So have you heard from anyone on the island today?’

  ‘Morag rang earlier, and Jean sent a text.’ Kate laughed to herself, knowing that it would have taken Jean about fifteen minutes, and a lot of cursing under her breath, to achieve the brief message that she’d received on her mobile.

  ‘Nobody else?’ Emma raised her eyebrows, then laid her head down on the cool of the table, waiting for the next wave of nausea to hit.

  Half an hour later the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of Kate’s mother, complete with bags of beautifully wrapped presents.

  ‘Just in time for dinner.’ She breezed in. ‘Darling, can you manage that gravy? Shall I take over?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Kate weakly, as her mother grabbed the wooden spoon. Really, it was easier not to argue. She picked up the box of crackers, laying the table around the sleeping Emma, who was still sprawled, head down.

  ‘That’s not very hygienic, is it?’

  ‘No, Mum, but she’s feeling a bit sick. We thought she needed the rest.’

  ‘Sick?’ said her mother, turning to Sam. ‘She’s not . . .’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘Good grief! But you already have two – why on earth would you want another one?’

  ‘Mum!’ Kate hissed, horrified.

  ‘Oh, well, I mean, congratulations. It’s . . . well, it wouldn’t be my choice.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it wrong, you know.’ Kate turned back to the vegetables, feeling rather pleased with herself. She’d spent years backing down and doing what her mother thought was right, just for an easy life. She stabbed a Brussels sprout with a knife, thinking uncharitable thoughts as she did so. ‘These will be ready in about two minutes. Can you wake Emma up, please, Sam? And, girls, can you two go and wash your hands without flooding the bathroom, please?’

  Poor Emma couldn’t face any dinner, but sat looking seasick and sniffing at a lemon. ‘I’d love to have some, but it just smells like dead bird.’

  ‘That’s because it is!’ chorused the girls in delight.

  ‘Urgh, Emma, you’ve put m
e right off this,’ said Kate, pushing her plate away and standing up to clear the dishes.

  ‘I suspect the reason you can’t eat any more has more to do with the gigantic plateful you’ve just devoured,’ offered Sam helpfully.

  ‘Yes, darling, I think you’ve had more than enough. I have to say, I think island life is making you a little bit tubby.’ Kate’s mother patted her bottom as she leaned over the table. ‘In fact, I think I’ll come up and see what you actually do there. Next week would be convenient?’

  Kate caught Emma’s eye and breathed out slowly, nostrils flaring. ‘Count to ten,’ mouthed Emma, helpfully.

  ‘Pudding, anyone?’ asked Kate, through gritted teeth. ‘I fancy a big slice with extra brandy butter, myself.’

  She gathered up the last of the plates and fled to the kitchen, where she emitted a silent scream. I want my dog, and my bonkers orange carpet, and my fire, and my beach, and my seals, and my island, she thought. And I have no idea how long it will last, but anything’s got to be better than living with Mum.

  11

  Hogmanay Ceilidh

  Willow galloped joyfully down to the shoreline, chasing her ball. Seagulls wheeled overhead in a cloudless azure sky. It was bright, clear and freezing cold, but it was beautiful, and there wasn’t another human being to be seen or heard anywhere. Kate laughed out loud for joy, bending down to scoop up her puppy as she hurtled towards her, soaking wet and covered in sand.

  ‘Willow – yeuch!’ she cried, as the puppy tried to lick her face.

  They headed back up the hill through the trees and the frost-bleached bracken, towards Bruar Cottage, where the fire was lit and waiting. A figure stood at the top of the path, waving vigorously.

  ‘Morag!’ Kate started to run, realizing as she grew closer that her friend wasn’t alone. Jean and Susan were standing just over the crest of the hill, peering into the three-wheeled pushchair, talking to Mhairi.