Sealed with a Christmas Kiss

by Rachael Lucas

  Kate, who had been watching from the doorway, slipped back into the hall just as the wreath slid to the ground with a crash.

  She sat down at the kitchen table with a happy sigh. Everything was falling into place so perfectly. There were mince pies cooling by the Aga, and Michael Bublé was crooning Christmas carols in the background. Her ‘things to do’ list was full, but there were a pleasing number of things she’d already crossed off – and nobody needed to know she’d stuck a few on there, like ‘buy wedding dress’, that she’d already done, just to make herself feel organized.

  Helen, who owned the island’s florist, had been an absolute angel. With most of the decorations already in place for Maddy and Leo’s ill-fated wedding, all that Kate had had to do was organize some pretty table decorations. She’d described what she wanted in great detail: red roses, sprigs of holly and ivy, and beautiful silver-grey eucalyptus. Everything was ordered and due to arrive the day before the wedding. The little catering company in Kilmannan had been ecstatic when they’d been offered the chance to show off their talents with a Christmas wedding.

  ‘It’s cold enough out there.’

  Kate looked up from her never-ending planning. Rubbing her hands together, Jean appeared in the kitchen, followed by their friend Morag, who was dressed in her standard outfit of jodhpurs and long waterproof outback coat. She leaned across the table, kissing Kate.

  ‘You’ve got wedding fever, Kate.’

  ‘I’ve got three days left. All I need to do is get this lot done.’ She motioned to one of the notepads, which had a series of lists and sub-lists scrawled on every inch of it. ‘Once that’s organized I’m going to concentrate on relaxing.’ She shut down the laptop quickly. She’d only meant to have a quick look at Pinterest for wedding ideas, and she’d been completely sucked in. Was it too late to organize little handmade favours for each guest? Grabbing a piece of paper, she scribbled down another note to herself.

  She caught Morag giving Jean a look. One of those looks. There’d been quite a few of Those Looks over the last couple of days, when she thought about it. But even with Susan taking over the organizing of the dining room for the wedding meal, and the plans to leave the ballroom simply decorated with the towering Christmas tree and the miles of fairy lights which Susan had helped to string around, there was so much to do. Nobody seemed to be taking it seriously. She stacked up some of the wedding magazines in a neat pile, folding her hands together in a gesture of Zen calm. Inside, her brain was still whirling around at 100mph, but nobody could tell. She exhaled, giving the impression of peacefulness.

  ‘So, what’s the news? Besides this wedding, I mean?’

  ‘Well, you’ll be happy to hear I’ve picked up the turkey for Christmas dinner.’ Jean motioned to a huge cardboard box.

  ‘Christmas!’ Oh God. She’d been so wrapped up in the whole wedding thing, she’d forgotten that the day after was Christmas Day – and with no ferries off the island, they couldn’t go on honeymoon even if they’d wanted to.

  Morag gave a snort of laughter. ‘You’re fine, Kate. We’ve got it under control – well, your mum has. Apparently she and Bruno are taking over dinner, and it’s up to you and Roddy if you want a quiet one, or—’

  She looked at Jean, questioning, and then back across the table at Kate.

  ‘Roddy’s dad used to have a carol service here on Christmas Day for the people on the estate. They’d have mince pies and mulled wine, and a bit of a singsong. Now, it’s up to you, but—’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Closing her eyes for a second, Kate swallowed. There was just so much to do and not enough time to do it in, and it all had to be just right or it’d all go wrong, and . . .

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes. Lovely idea.’

  She stood up and crossed the kitchen, unplugging Michael Bublé in mid-song. Suddenly it was all a bit too Christmassy. She was feeling a little bit headachey, and more than a little bit grumpy. Nothing a quick walk with the dogs wouldn’t cure.

  ‘Just going to nip out and take Willow for a run around.’ In acknowledgement of Jean’s proffered mug, she called, ‘I’ll get a cup of tea when I come back,’ and disappeared out of the room.

  7

  The Return of Bridezilla

  The late December wind was biting. Kate pulled her hands inside her sleeves as she marched down the long stretch of lawn towards the rough, stony beach which lay beyond the gardens of Duntarvie House. The sky was a most peculiar shade of purple grey, and in the distance the clouds were gathering. She could see the last boat sailing back towards the mainland on an ink-blue sea. Tomorrow she’d be on the first ferry with her mum, driving across to Glasgow to pick up her dress and some last-minute things.

  She laughed to herself at the thought. Everything had been last-minute. But once it was all sorted, once the dress was done and the flowers were delivered and the final food order was ticked off, then she could relax. The lists in her head were spilling out. A scribble of biro on her hand read Breakfast ideas, neutral ribbon, raffia, parcel tape.

  Until everything was done, she just had to keep going. The phrase reminded her of childhood – in the years after her dad had died, she’d heard her mum say just that so many times. ‘Just keep going, darling.’

  She watched Willow careering around, carefree. She didn’t have to think about anything beyond the next interesting scent on the air.

  I’m feeling jealous of a spaniel, thought Kate. There’s something seriously wrong here. She turned to walk back up the path towards home, welly boots scrunching on the fine gravel of the narrow, winding path.

  ‘Hello, beautiful.’

  ‘Oh!’ Kate was just hanging up her coat when Roddy surprised her with a gentle kiss on the back of the neck.

  ‘I hope you’re not overdoing all this stuff, sweetheart.’ Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around gently. Cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs traced the shadows beneath Kate’s eyes. ‘You look like you need an early night.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. I just need to sort out the—’ But her protest was silenced with a kiss.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’ll wait until tomorrow. Or I’ll give you a hand. But seriously, forget it. Let’s go to bed.’

  ‘But I’ve got to feed Sian and Adam and Jean’s made tea.’ The thought of disappearing upstairs, forgetting everything, was very tempting.

  ‘You need your beauty sleep, Kate.’ Morag, who had been on her way back to feed her Highland ponies and tuck them in for the night, gave her a warning look. ‘You’ll burn yourself out if you’re not careful, my dear. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that things like weddings tend to sort themselves out in the end.’

  Roddy gave her his lopsided smile. He could charm her into anything, really. And being charmed into an early night by your gorgeous husband-to-be wasn’t the end of the world, was it?

  Kate woke with a start, hearing wind howling and a door banging outside. She jumped up from bed, grabbing her dressing gown, wrapping it against the chill darkness of the bedroom. It could be any time of the night. She pulled the window closed and crept back into bed, wrapping herself around a sleeping Roddy. He didn’t stir.

  What felt like moments later, her alarm was shrieking in her ear. Reaching across to shut it off, Kate took a half-asleep moment before the noise outside registered. The wind was still howling around the roof of Duntarvie House, and hailstones were battering the windows. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she clambered out of bed and tiptoed across the bedroom.

  Having showered, she refused to check outside, hoping if she ignored the weather it would go away. Downstairs in the kitchen, she found her mum already pouring hot water onto tea bags and looking out at the windswept courtyard. The source of last night’s loud bang could be seen – the door into one of the outhouses was twisted on its hinges, hanging by a thread after being beaten in the storm. The garden was decorated with frost, the tops of the cars scattered with still-f
rozen hailstones.

  ‘I’ve checked the Cal Mac website, Kate. There’s no ferry this morning.’ Handing over a mug of tea, Elizabeth’s tone was cautious.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Kate could hear herself snapping. She knew it was irrational to want to shout at her mother about the weather, but she just didn’t seem to get it. ‘It’s often stormy first thing and then it settles. If we just head down to Kilmannan, we can get in the ferry queue and catch the first boat going.’

  Where was today’s list of things to do? She grabbed the pile of papers from the dresser, leafing through the scratched-out lists and torn-out magazine pages. She flipped through the pages again, pile after pile of smiling, perfect brides looking up at her, beaming in glorious sunshine, laughing out at her.

  ‘The forecast is for this storm to get worse, not better.’ Elizabeth spun the laptop around, so the BBC news website was facing Kate.

  ‘“Winter Storm: Christmas Travellers Facing Chaos. Ferry services disrupted, road to island ferry blocked by land slip . . . ”’ As she read the words aloud, the pile of papers slipped from Kate’s hand, floating down to form a carpet around her feet. ‘Bloody hell!’ It was a moment before she realized the yelling she could hear was her own voice, louder than she’d shouted in a long time.

  ‘Kate, you’re being ridiculous.’ Elizabeth tried to catch her daughter’s arm but Kate spun out of reach, her face twisted with disappointment and fury. Jean, who’d watched the scene from the doorway, opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late.

  Not even stopping to grab a coat, Kate stormed out of the big wooden door of Duntarvie House in fury. She marched, the wind whipping her hair across her face in strands, down towards the shore. She’d worked so bloody hard to get everything perfect. Standing on a rock under gathering purple clouds, the wind buffeting her sideways so she had to fight to stay upright, she yelled out to sea.

  Turning, she looked up at the turrets of Duntarvie House which rose out of the trees, half hidden. All those people who relied on the estate for their livelihood, the naysayers who’d shaken their heads, convinced that weddings on the island would be a disaster because of the unpredictable nature of island life –

  There were footsteps on the gravelly beach behind her. She turned, pulling her hair out of her face once again.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you back.’

  Elizabeth, wrapped in one of Roddy’s old coats and a pair of too-big wellington boots, was standing there, her arms open.

  ‘It’s okay, my darling. Just let it out.’

  Oblivious to the howling wind, with the first snowflakes icing her hair, Kate allowed herself to be wrapped in her mother’s arms and comforted like an exhausted child.

  Eyes scarlet from crying, still sniffling, Kate was soon up to her nose in bubbles. Her mum had run her a bath whilst she’d sat, obediently, on a chair in the bathroom, blowing her nose on pieces of loo roll. When she’d protested that it was a bit early for a glass of brandy, her mum had insisted that it was good for stress, and her expression made it clear there was no place for arguments.

  By the time she got downstairs, hair knotted up with a clip, wrapped in her favourite of Roddy’s big sweaters and a pair of old jeans, she found the kitchen was full.

  ‘It’s okay, Bridezilla, we’ve got this.’ Sian gave her a gentle smile, pulling out a chair.

  ‘Me?’ Kate looked at Sian, who was positively beaming. She had her hair folded into a headscarf today, a pair of dungarees over a tight, comic-strip-patterned T-shirt. She looked ready for anything.

  ‘You.’ Roddy was by the Aga, his expression full of love. He was barefoot, his hair standing half on end, and his T-shirt was inside out. Clearly this emergency summit meeting had taken him by surprise.

  Kate looked around the kitchen. Jean, predictably, was dishing up a pile of pancakes. Her mum was making tea. Morag was writing a list – just as well someone was, thought Kate – and Susan was perched against the dresser, one long leg folded across the other. She raised her eyebrows at Kate.

  ‘I’ve never been so glad to be trapped on this bloody island. If that’s what it takes to bring you back to reality, it’s worth it. Kate Jarvis, we love you, and you’ve gone completely bonkers.’

  Placing a plate of pancakes in front of Kate, Jean gave her a fond smile. ‘You know, dear, I had no idea what a Bridezilla was until Sian told me the other day. But you’ve got so wrapped up in this nonsense, you’ve forgotten what this is all about.’ She pushed the plate a bit closer. ‘Now eat this, and get some tea inside you.’

  She ate the pancakes obediently. She’d spent quite a bit of time this last week feeling like she was about five again, and it was strangely comforting not having to think about anything.

  ‘Right then.’ Sian was holding a clipboard. That’s my clipboard, thought Kate.

  ‘We’ve had a change of plan,’ said Sian. ‘And I’m sorry, Kate, if I helped tip you over the edge getting stressed about tietheknot.com.’

  ‘Even if you were doing it for all the right reasons, honey.’ Roddy gave Kate a conciliatory smile.

  ‘But you’ve lost the plot completely.’ Susan was no-nonsense as ever.

  Kate realized she had a point, though. She looked across at the wall by the Aga, where she’d Blu-Tacked up four pages of almost identical thank-you notes in order to compare them whilst cooking risotto.

  With the breakfast ready, everyone settled down at the table. There were a few minutes of grateful silence, punctuated only by the sounds of tea being poured. Plates of maple syrup and bacon were passed back and forth. Kate looked across at Roddy, who caught her eye, laughter in his voice.

  ‘Darling, we’ve learned a pretty important lesson here. If we’re going to be offering weddings, we needed to know how mad people can get about details. And you’ve been pretty mad about details.’

  ‘My fault, though,’ Sian reached across, squeezing Kate’s hand. ‘I’ve been just as bad.’

  ‘I think I got a bit caught up in the whole thing,’ admitted Kate. ‘But it’s not just about the wedding, really, is it?’

  ‘It’s about the marriage, Kate.’ Jean, married herself for forty years, looked at her oldest friend, Morag, who nodded.

  ‘We don’t have to work hard to make this place look good in photographs. Adam’s already got some amazing shots. Duntarvie House is just beautiful,’ said Sian.

  ‘Well, that’s the house sorted.’ Morag put both hands down on the table. ‘Now all we need to do is sort out everything we need for this wedding.’

  Kate looked at her with panic.

  ‘I’ll have none of that expression from you, young lady. We’ve got this under control.’

  8

  Sealed with a Christmas Kiss

  As it happened, there wasn’t another ferry until after Christmas. High winds made the seas rough and the crossing too dangerous. Kate’s perfect dress sat in the shop in Glasgow, sheathed in a protective cover, as the last-minute Christmas shoppers hurried past Bonny Brides. The order for dozens of deep-red roses couldn’t make it to Helen’s florist shop, so the perfectly coordinated Christmas-themed table settings didn’t happen. And somehow, Kate realized, it all worked out just perfectly in the end.

  Morag had found her 1970s lace wedding dress in the attic. It sent Sian into raptures of delight with its vanilla-ice-cream fabric, maxi skirt with frilled hem, and pintucked bodice with a cut-out lace insert. Jean had found a long, midnight-blue velvet evening cloak (‘I used to have a fine time in this,’ she’d smiled, remembering, ‘and there’s your “something borrowed” and your “something blue” in one package’). Morag’s dress had fitted surprisingly well, especially if Kate didn’t breathe too often or make any sudden movements. The morning of Christmas Eve, they’d woken to find the island sparkling with a thick hoar frost. The storm had dropped, and ferries were running again. By lunchtime, though, the blue skies were clouding over, the sky filling ominously with violet-grey clouds.

  They’d clattered along
from Morag’s stables in the early afternoon. Kate, deciding to be traditional, spent the night before the wedding in Morag’s guest bedroom. They spent the morning cosy in Morag and Ted’s kitchen, warmed by the Aga, toasting the future with champagne for breakfast and a constant supply of cakes. Kate, who’d insisted she couldn’t eat a thing, found that Morag’s baking was tempting enough to surprise her into managing quite a bit.

  Once she was dressed, they headed out into the stable yard. Thor, Kate’s favourite Highland pony, was in harness, the shining leather woven through with red tartan ribbon which looked beautiful against his pale coat. The little two-man carriage had been decorated by Helen, and every surface was wrapped in ivy and ribbons.

  ‘Come on, then, you’ve got a wedding to get to.’ Ted held out his hand to help her up onto the seat, which was lined with a thick woollen fleece. He climbed up beside Kate, gently placing a fake-fur-trimmed cloak around her shoulders.

  Morag, dabbing her eyes, handed Elizabeth a tissue. ‘You look beautiful.’

  With a sudden jolt, they were off. Thor’s head was high, his ears pricked forwards, as he stepped carefully along the narrow road that led down to Duntarvie House.

  As they arrived in the icy courtyard of Duntarvie House Kate looked up for a moment, realizing what she was taking on. The turrets sparkled in the winter sunlight, and in the windows she could see hundreds of Christmas lights twinkling out, a galaxy of winter stars.

  ‘Come on, my love. You get inside.’ Ted, with a gentle hand on her elbow, helped Kate as she clambered down from the little carriage. She recognized one of the teenagers who helped out in the stables at weekends.

  ‘Good luck,’ said the girl with a shy smile as she took Thor’s reins, ready to lead him carefully back home.

  ‘She doesn’t need luck, this one.’

  Kate felt as if a million butterflies wearing army boots were dancing in her stomach. She looked up at the hugeness of Duntarvie House and back at Ted, silently seeking reassurance.