Page 21 of The Moon Sister
‘But it’s all so worthwhile,’ I breathed, unable to prevent my arms gesturing expansively at the incredible landscape that lay all around us, glistening with a life of its own in the emerging sunlight. He stared at me for a second, then followed my lead and gazed out across the glen, inhaling deeply as he surveyed what was effectively his kingdom.
‘You know what?’ he said after a pause, during which his shoulders seemed to relax and release some of their tension. ‘You’re right. I have to remain positive about it, realise how lucky I am.’
‘You are lucky, yes, but I totally understand how it must feel overwhelming. We’re all behind you though, Charlie, really we are.’
‘Thanks, Tiggy.’
Spontaneously, he reached out to briefly touch the sleeve of my ski jacket, and our eyes locked for a moment. I pulled mine away first and the moment was gone as swiftly as it had arrived.
Charlie cleared his throat. ‘Listen, I want to apologise for that unfortunate scene you witnessed last night.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I hope it got sorted anyway.’
‘No it didn’t, and it never will be,’ he said abruptly. ‘I didn’t sleep a wink last night, which is why I got up early and came down here. I thought some fresh air might clear my head.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie, for whatever it was. My father used to tell me that there were some problems you could sort out, and the ones that you couldn’t, you just had to accept, close the door and move on.’
‘Your father sounds like a very wise man. Unlike me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But he’s right. Fraser’s back at Kinnaird for reasons unknown and there’s nothing I can do. Right, I’d better go back or Beryl’s full Scottish breakfast will be getting cold.’
‘She won’t like that,’ I smiled.
‘She certainly won’t,’ he agreed as we turned to make our way back towards our respective dwellings. ‘Where are you spending today?’
‘Margaret’s invited me to her new bungalow for lunch.’
‘Send her my best, won’t you? I’ve always been very fond of her,’ Charlie said as we paused in front of the Lodge. ‘Merry Christmas once again, Tiggy. Thanks for your company this morning. And I hope we’ll get a chance to talk some more.’
‘I hope so too. Merry Christmas, Charlie.’
*
Margaret’s bungalow was everything a new bungalow should be and we both made appreciative noises as she demonstrated how the taps produced immediate hot water, and we touched all the radiators and flipped the channels on the television.
‘This is so cosy, Margaret,’ I said as she guided me to a new pink Dralon sofa and handed me a whisky. She looked well and rested, and her two dogs and the cat were sleeping peacefully in front of the fire.
‘I must say, I don’t miss gettin’ up at the crack o’ dawn. After all those years, it’s a true luxury to have a lie-in until seven! Now yae relax, Tiggy, and I’ll be seein’ to our lunch.’
I sipped my whisky slowly, the heat trickling pleasantly down my throat, and I eventually followed her to the small table that she’d dressed with a ruby-red poinsettia and candles. While I enjoyed my nut roast, made the way only she knew how, Margaret tucked into a turkey breast.
‘How was the Christmas Eve ceilidh at the Lodge last night?’ she asked me. ‘Was Zara there?’
‘I was really tired so I didn’t stay for the dancing, but yes I did meet Zara. She’s quite a character,’ I said, suppressing a smile. ‘Actually, when I left the Lodge, there was this really tall man hanging around outside. Then Charlie came out and . . . well,’ I shrugged, ‘he didn’t seem very pleased to see him.’
‘Yae say he was tall?’
‘Very,’ I confirmed. ‘And he had what I think was an American accent.’
‘Canadian, more like. No . . . it couldn’t be.’ Margaret set her fork down and stared into the candlelight.
‘His name was Fraser,’ I prompted. ‘Charlie said so this morning.’
‘Then it was him! What on earth is that lowlife doin’ back here? Hah!’ Margaret took a deep swig of her whisky then thumped the table. ‘I’d bet I know.’
‘Know what?’
‘Nothin’, Tiggy, but yae stay clear o’ him. He’s trouble in a teapot, that one. Poor Charlie – that’s all he needs just now. I wonder ifheknows?’ Margaret mused to herself, obviously not inclined to share. ‘Anyway, we’ll be forgettin’ about him. It’s Christmas Day after all.’
I nodded compliantly, not wishing to upset her. After lunch, we sat down and I enjoyed one of her homemade mince pies. We watched the Queen’s traditional Christmas Day speech and after that, Margaret dozed whilst I did the washing-up. I did my best not to think about Pa and the fact I really missed all my sisters and the sense of belonging they gave me. Even if we were a disparate bunch, with zero blood links between any of us, our Christmas gatherings had always been warm and massively comforting, glued together by our traditions. We all used to decorate the tree together on Christmas Eve, then Pa would lift Star up to put ‘herself’ on the very top of the tree. Claudia, our housekeeper, always prepared the most amazing food, and while everyone else tucked into meat fondue or goose, I’d have little vegan treats made just for me. Then, feeling deliciously full and warm, we’d open our presents together in the sitting room, the windows glazed with snow and the stars in the night sky winking through. On Christmas morning, we’d run into Pa’s bedroom to wake him up, then go downstairs for one of Claudia’s traditional sweet crêpe breakfasts, followed by a brisk walk, warmed afterwards by a mug of her mulled wine.
