‘She’s probably right.’ Meg smiled. Her mother had never understood her, but she’d come to terms with that. In truth, they didn’t understand each other. They’d never been able to communicate, at least not since she’d been a teenager. So now Meg didn’t try.
‘Can I get a glass of water?’ Emily asked suddenly.
‘I’ll get you one. You unpack.’ Meg headed to the kitchen before her sister could object. She tidied away her dirty breakfast and lunch things and some bowls from last night, putting them into the dishwasher and wiping the countertops before grabbing a glass from one of the cupboards.
As she did, her mother wandered in with her laptop and sat at the small kitchen table next to the window. She settled herself, smoothing the green and red Christmas-themed tablecloth, and switched on her computer. ‘It’s been so long since I logged on. The mobile signal wasn’t good enough on our journey for me to get my messages.’ Kitty sighed. ‘God knows what’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.’ She swiped a hand across her forehead, looking worried.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Meg asked.
Kitty frowned, but nodded. ‘I found your WiFi code on the back of the router in the sitting room. I hope it’s okay if I log in? It’s a busy time of year and I don’t want to miss any messages.’ Her mother’s job gave her an outlet for all her stressing, but also meant she was hyper aware of the million ways a person could hurt themselves. Her eyes darted to the glass baubles Meg had hung precariously from the lights above them.
‘Sure.’ Meg nodded.
Kitty continued to take in the room. It was filled with an array of Christmas ornaments on the windowsill and there were strings of lights decorating most of the kitchen surfaces. ‘You certainly throw yourself into the season.’ Kitty’s tone wasn’t critical, but she’d never understood Meg’s love of Christmas, or why it made her so content. Which was ironic because the whole thing had stemmed from her childhood. When Christmas had been the one day her family had connected, although even that was getting tired now. Perhaps they’d all just got sick of pretending? ‘How’s your shop doing?’
‘Good.’ Meg switched the kettle on and found a mug. ‘It’s been busy. I’ve sold a lot of baubles for the Christmas Promise Tree and introduced a new range of inflatable characters. The trees are selling really well…’ She looked up but her mother was tapping the WiFi code into her computer, then watching the mass of emails gather in her inbox. Meg let out a long breath, finished making the hot drink and placed it on the table next to the laptop. Then she picked up the glass of water and headed back to her bedroom, trying not to feel disappointed. She’d never been able to connect with her family, had always felt like an outsider, and clearly nothing had changed. She was just glad it was only Emily and her mother, and that they’d be gone by Christmas. She could definitely handle that.
Six
Meg paced the hallway of her flat, trying to block out the sound of the guitar coming from her bedroom. Emily had been playing an Eric Clapton song for the last hour, missing the same notes again and again. Blitzen had retreated into his sawdust and refused to emerge, even when offered a whole handful of sunflower seeds. Meg had suggested she put him in the sitting room out of the way, but Emily had protested so she’d left him in the bedroom. The rest of the flat felt like it had been invaded by the entire workforce of Molly Maid. The kitchen was too tidy for Meg to feel comfortable – all the surfaces gleamed, and the tinsel that had been hanging around the cupboards was now stuffed inside a clear glass vase which had been pushed to the back of the kitchen counter. All of Meg’s fairy lights were secured onto the surfaces and walls with thick sticky tape – and her candles and tealights had gone AWOL.
‘Of course we’ll have to do a full walk-through of the building.’ Kitty paced the floor as Meg popped a cup of tea on the coffee table in the sitting room. She was Skyping her fifth client of the day and almost every conversation had sounded the same. ‘There are so many dangers hidden in the everyday. You’re better off safe than sorry.’ Kitty picked a large round ornament shaped like a robin off the mantelpiece and put it carefully on the floor. No doubt intent on saving Meg or Emily from knocking it off and doing themselves an injury.
Feeling like she couldn’t breathe, Meg grabbed her coat and headed downstairs to the shop, pausing for a moment as Cora finished serving someone a cappuccino in the cafe. She took in a deep breath, smelled pine cones and hot chocolate, and instantly relaxed.
‘You didnae have much of a rest,’ Cora observed, as Meg began to rearrange some tinsel which had fallen onto the floor, before abandoning it when the action reminded her of Kitty. ‘Shall I make you some lunch, lassie?’
‘It’s fine. I thought I’d pop to the post office, I’ve got something to talk to Morag about.’
‘Your mam and sis driving you mad and you’re looking for a distraction?’ Cora guessed, patting her shoulder affectionately.
‘I’m fine, everything’s great.’ Meg ran a hand across her brow, remembering she hadn’t been able to brush glitter onto her cheeks this morning because she couldn’t find the pot in the bathroom. No doubt her mum had put it somewhere safe. The flashing elf ornament with the spiky hat she’d left in the sitting room had disappeared too.
‘Aye, I can see that.’ Cora winked. ‘Perhaps your da’s planning a surprise visit too. Wouldn’t that be nice, the whole family together just in time for Christmas? Might be just the thing your mam needs. She doesn’t look very happy.’ Meg gulped. ‘If you see Morag, can you tell her I made that chestnut jam recipe Lilith mentioned at the Jam Club meeting – it’s good.’ Cora’s rosy cheeks glowed.
‘Did Marcus like the new flavour?’
‘Ach no. But I’ve three more recipes to try. I’ll find one he likes before the end of December.’ ‘Jingle Bells’ began to play in the front of the store, signalling another shopper. ‘Now go and get some fresh air, lassie.’ Cora waved a hand towards the door. ‘I’ll look after the shop – and there’ll be a hot chocolate waiting when you return.’
The post office was busy. Meg walked into the red-brick building and straight into the back of a queue. Behind the till, Morag Dooley rang up a couple of tins of beans and placed them into a canvas bag on the counter. The shop was dual purpose and supplied the locals with essential daily items, as well as the usual post office fare of stamps, passport forms and car tax. Anyone who needed supplies when it was closed had to travel over fifteen miles to Morridon.
Meg glanced around the shop, which was filled with shelves that showcased jams, tins, Dundee cakes, whisky and household fare. There was a small fridge packed with milk, cheese and ham, along with open baskets of potatoes, apples, onions and carrots. Next to the main till was a large glass cubicle with an opening for customers to slide their parcels and paperwork through. Morag used it when she was performing her post office duties, usually between two and four o’clock.
Meg grabbed a gossip magazine with a picture of a boy band on the front and joined the queue. A gust of cold air blew against the back of her neck as the door opened and she turned to see Davey breeze in, wearing a bulky black jacket and matching hat. His blue eyes lit up when he spotted her, and he grabbed an onion from one of the baskets and came to stand behind her.
‘Ingredient emergency.’ He waved the vegetable under Meg’s nose. ‘How about you?’
‘I want to talk to Morag about something and it’s been a while since I read one of these.’ She waved the magazine. ‘My sister used to eat them up.’ Perhaps Emily still would?
Davey nodded. ‘Tom mentioned your mum and sister were visiting.’
Meg looked up, surprised. ‘I didn’t realise Tom was on the Lockton grapevine – how did he know?’
‘Gave them a lift, apparently. A heroic rescue from a frigid walk on the main road into Lockton. My words, not his,’ he added. ‘He was late getting to the pub and I forced it out of him – used my best thumbscrews.’ Davey grinned. ‘He said your mother looked like an older version of you
, without the sparkles.’
Meg frowned, annoyed by the comparison. ‘How’s the concert shaping up?’ Morag finished serving another customer and the queue moved forwards. ‘I’m asking before Morag questions you. Best to get your facts straight. I heard she was once an interrogator for the police.’
Davey laughed. ‘I’ve three artists almost in the bag – one would need to leave straight after the concert to get back to his family for Christmas Day, so that might not work out. The other two just need to confirm before we can make the big announcement, and we’ll need to check if Lilith has space for them for a night or two in the hotel.’ His cheeks flushed in sharp contrast to his black coat. ‘I’ve been lucky. It’s taken a while to get anyone to agree – it’s a crazy time of year for most.’
‘You must have a lot of good relationships if you can persuade people to work for free on Christmas Eve,’ Meg said.
Davey shrugged, but his cheeks went pinker still. ‘I’m owed a fair amount of favours, and it’s a nice gig. Christmas in the Highlands, with snow and as much whisky as you can drink. It’s an irresistible deal. Who wouldn’t love it here?’
Meg’s mother wasn’t a huge fan – she’d complained about the snow constantly since she’d arrived the day before, citing a million reasons why they should all stay inside. Although Emily had snuck out with her guitar at least once when their mother had been on the phone.
‘Do you miss the business?’ Meg watched Davey’s expression as he considered the question, noticing a hint of unhappiness slide across his eyes.
‘Of course it’s fresh, you dunderhead,’ Morag rumbled from behind the till. ‘But if you’re worried, feel free to get yourself to Morridon. There’ll be at least one bus running in the next week. Although you might have to help dig it out of the snow.’ She whacked the tub of soup under the counter, out of her customer’s reach, and glared as a woman Meg didn’t recognise waddled to the door with her head tucked low.
‘Why would I miss London when I have all this excitement!’ Davey sniggered as the door behind them slammed again and Lilith strode in. She wore a red coat, jeans and boots with a three-inch heel. Davey’s cheeks went beetroot and he swallowed, but this time he kept his mouth closed.
‘Next,’ Morag bellowed, and they all jumped and edged forwards under her dark glare. She ignored Meg and Davey – who was staring at Lilith – and focused on the Italian chef, who didn’t wither under the unfriendly scowl. ‘Your parcel hasn’t arrived. Here’s a form,’ she snapped, pulling a piece of paper out from under the counter and waving it. ‘I suggest you fill this out for the purposes of insurance. Your package might turn up, but knowing the eejits who work in the sorting offices over December, I wouldn’t bet my whisky on it.’ Lilith took the form and began to read as Morag frowned at Davey. ‘Have you booked the bands?’
‘Almost sorted,’ Davey promised, finding his voice again. Meg waited for Morag to interrogate Davey further. To ask who exactly he had on his list of potential acts. The woman was well known for her dedication to gathering and spreading gossip – and people came from miles away to shop in the post office for their daily dose. Meg suspected Morag’s news had a wider circulation than the Morridon Post.
‘Is there nothing that can be done to find my olive oil?’ Lilith sounded worried.
‘You can get some here.’ Morag waggled a finger at a shelf to their right, where an array of different-shaped bottles were lined up. ‘It’s on offer until the weekend, two for one.’
Lilith shook her head sharply. ‘I need my olive oil. One Italian family – the Bellagambas – make it. They have an olive plantation and only sell the oil they make in their deli. It has a particular flavour. There’s nothing on the whole of the planet that will work in my recipes as well.’
‘Oh.’ Davey sounded surprised. ‘Um, I didn’t realise oil had different flavours.’
‘Ahhhh, but you are not a cook.’ Davey looked taken aback until Lilith attempted a small and unexpected smile, before frowning and looking away.
‘If you order more, it will probably arrive in time for Christmas. If those eejits in Morridon learn to read an address,’ Morag grumbled.
Lilith raised her palms. ‘The deli has sold out and there will be no more until next year. It’s why I ordered so early. My mamma buys hers in October; I should have done the same.’ She shook her head. ‘The meals I’ve planned will all have to change.’ She winced. ‘We always eat the same courses at Christmas, ever since I can remember.’
‘Who’s we?’ Morag asked, and then her eyes widened and she held up a palm. ‘Don’t answer. Forget I asked,’ she snapped.
‘I can ask Johnny if he has any oils. In the pub kitchen, I mean,’ Davey stammered. When Lilith shook her head, he carried on. ‘He doesn’t boast about it, but…’ He swallowed. ‘Johnny, my brother, he worked in two of the most exclusive restaurants in New York before moving here. I mean, to Scotland. He… he knows his oil.’ Lilith’s mouth formed a becoming ‘o’ as she took the information on board. ‘He – Johnny that is – is particular about ingredients… like you. We’ve fought a few times about the quality of the herbs in Lockton. He’s passionate.’ Davey smiled, his cheeks darkening even more. ‘He convinced me.’
‘Sì.’ Lilith nodded. ‘So we agree.’
‘My herbs are bonnie, laddie,’ Morag growled, her attention darting to a small selection of bottled dry herbs before she glowered at Davey. ‘And I’ll be having words with your brother about that.’
Davey paled.
‘There’s no alternative. The Bellagamba oil is for an Italian dish that my family’ – Lilith’s gaze darted to Morag as she inadvertently answered her question from earlier – ‘always have on the twenty-fourth of December.’
‘Can’t you just pretend you used it?’ Meg asked. ‘If you serve it to your guests, how many will even notice?’
‘My parents are coming to the hotel for Christmas,’ Lilith snapped, but then closed her eyes. ‘They will know. What my papa expects, my papa gets.’ She tapped her fingers against her chest. ‘Everything has to be perfetto.’ Her lips pinched. ‘Or their whole visit will be ruined. You have no idea…’
‘I’ll tell you if it arrives. In the meantime, there’s not much I can do,’ Morag said. The door opened behind them, bringing a fresh blast of cold air. Agnes walked inside and joined the queue.
‘I’ve just been yarn bombing with Cora and Matilda,’ she explained, giving Meg a quick hug hello. Her cheeks glowed as she pulled off her gloves and patted them.
‘Bombing?’ Davey looked shocked. ‘I don’t understand.’
Agnes chuckled. ‘It’s when you decorate outside with things you’ve knitted or crocheted.’ She pulled a couple of knitted guitars from her pocket and waved them in the air. ‘We’ve been making Christmas decorations and instruments to advertise the concert. We put a few up the other day and just finished hanging more around the village and high street. There are loads in the square.’
‘Better get on with booking the bands, laddie, or the knitters of Lockton will be coming for you.’ Morag frowned as her attention switched to Meg. The door opened again and this time Tom walked in. His eyebrows shot up when he spotted the assembled group.
‘Is this a post office party?’ he joked.
‘It’s the hot toddy,’ Agnes said, her expression turning sly as Tom gathered bread, soup and cheddar, and put them into a basket. ‘What brings you here, lad?’
‘Lunch.’ Tom grinned and his eyes slid to Meg, making her stomach lurch.
‘Meal for one?’ Agnes asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tom’s eyes widened, but he nodded.
‘Meg’s single too.’
‘What about your Christmas Promise?’ Meg said sharply, and Agnes let out an unhappy huff.
‘Aye.’ She looked annoyed. ‘And I only hung it on the tree this morning.’ She grinned as her attention switched between Meg and Tom. ‘I suppose I’ll have to let things run their natural course…’
&nbs
p; ‘Things?’ Tom asked, as Meg cleared her throat. Then his eyes dropped to the magazine in her hand and his expression changed.
‘Are you standing in the queue to keep warm, lass, or was there something you wanted?’ Morag bellowed.
Meg put the magazine on the counter. Why had Tom looked so upset? ‘I wanted to ask if you were looking to get another pet. I know you lost Petra…’ Morag’s face dropped as Meg mentioned her beloved old poodle which had died in the spring. ‘There’s a cat who keeps coming into the shop. She doesn’t belong to anyone, I’ve asked around – I wondered if you’d want to take her on?’
‘That’s a lovely thought, lassie,’ Agnes said.
‘Aye.’ Morag frowned. ‘I’ve been considering getting another dog for a while, but a wee cat…’ She pursed her lips. ‘I’ll pop into the shop later. It’ll give me a chance to check out your guests. Cora told me your—’ She clamped a hand over her mouth and rang the magazine up on the till with the other.
‘Are you okay, Morag?’ Davey asked. ‘Is there something we can do?’
‘I’m not gossiping.’ Morag took her hand away and handed the magazine to Meg. ‘It’s my Christmas Promise. I hung it onto the tree yesterday evening and I’m not breaking it for anyone, no matter how much I want to. It’s harder than I expected.’
If Every Day Was Christmas: A gorgeous and heart-warming Christmas romance Page 5