As we get ready for the day, though, I feel I better force some Christmas cheer down my throat before Jessica does it for me.
“You ready, love?” I ask her, kissing the palm of her hand.
“With you? Always.”
Hand in hand we head down the stairs and find ourselves in a scene from a Christmas movie.
It’s early but Jessica has been doing the rounds, cooking up a storm and filling the house with a mix of mouth-watering scents. A few more Christmas decorations have appeared, including mistletoe over the doorframe, and the music is loud and cheery.
She greets us, wiping her hands on her festive apron. “Morning. Merry Christmas Eve! What would you two like to eat?”
The both of us aren’t picky eaters and I tell her we’re fine with just toast and orange marmalade but Jessica won’t have any of that. She fries up a real Scottish breakfast of beans, eggs, mushrooms, half a tomato, ham, tattie scones, sausage and black pudding (which Kayla won’t even touch, now that she knows what it is), along with orange juice and endless pots of tea. By the time breakfast is over, I feel like climbing back into bed. The comatose feeling is a nice change from anxiety though.
Even though last night everything went fine and everyone behaved themselves, with George only having a bit of sherry earlier, there was still this thread of tension that felt like it ran from me to everyone in the house. I know Kayla can feel it, I know everyone else does too. Everyone is tip-toeing around me like I’m a rocket that can accidently fire. Maybe George doesn’t quite know yet, or maybe he does and doesn’t care, but no one wants to be responsible for my downfall and I just want to tell everyone that I appreciate it but they don’t have to worry about me.
I worry about myself enough as it is.
After we’re done in the kitchen, we put our presents under the tree. George is in his favorite chair, acknowledging us with only a grunt. I guess it could be worse. Then Kayla and I go outside for a long walk and to bask in the snowfall.
It’s the right decision. Not only does it get us in the Christmas spirit, but Kayla is like a little kid, going nuts with her tongue stuck out, trying to catch snowflakes. We make our way over to the fallow field next door which belongs to a farmer a kilometer away. In summer it’s overgrown and reedy but now it’s a blanket of white. It beckons to either be photographed in its pristine condition or to be ravaged.
We decide to ravage it.
With Kayla calling the shots, we make snowmen and snow dogs. She attempts to make Lionel, Emily and Jo but they look like lumpy white logs instead. Then I pelt her in the head with a snowball, completely blasting her with snow all over her face.
She shrieks and a snowball war ensues with both of us hiding behind our snow creatures. Needless to say, I have pretty good aim, so I get her in the head every single time. Sometimes it’s right on top, sometimes it explodes at her temple, sending ice down her coat, sometimes it pops her on the forehead. It’s enough to drive her crazy and I feel like I’m harnessing the childhood I missed out on. I don’t think any kid, though, could have had this much fun.
Finally we cap it off by making snow angels, before trudging back to the house wet, cold and absolutely exhausted. But fuck, have I never seen a more beautiful sight than Kayla with her hair wet around her face, her dark eyes bright, her cheeks and nose flushed pink from the outdoors. She looks utterly alive, happy, and it bolsters some reserve inside me. I shouldn’t spend the rest of the day fretting about things I may not be able to control. I should be joyous as fuck that the woman of my dreams is in love with me, beside me, wanting to go through it all by my side.
I’m pretty sure that’s what the holiday is all about anyway. Sure we all lose our minds a bit and go nuts with the shopping and being around family who may not always mesh well. But as long as we have those we love, nothing else really matters.
I try and keep that all in mind as the day wears on. As we dry off inside though and settle down by the fire for snacks and more tea, the world outside seems to grow darker. The wind picks up and the snow starts coming down heavier.
I glance at the clock on the wall, ticking loudly in its wood carving. “What time did Brigs say he’d leave?” I ask. Last I talked to him was last night but all he said was “See you tomorrow.”
Donald gets up and stares out the window that is becoming harder to see out of. “He said he’d leave at noon. He should be here in an hour or so.”
“Not in this weather, not with that damn car of his,” George grumbles.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Jessica says, though you can hear in her voice that she doesn’t quite believe it.
I’m sure he’ll be fine too. The car isn’t as bad as we make it out to be – it’s an Aston Martin after all – and I know he’s got snow tires on the thing.
But after two hours of sitting by the fire, listening to Christmas music, drinking tea, snacking on cookies and making small talk about my cousin Keir who is moving back to Edinburgh after years in the army, the sky outside has fallen dark, the snow is coming down heavier and we can’t pretend we aren’t worried about Bram.
“Still nothing,” Jessica says, ending a call from her mobile phone and turning it over in her hands.
“His battery must be dead,” I tell her as calmly as possible. “I’m sure he’s on his way.”
“If his battery is dead, he must be able to recharge it. Unless he can’t at all,” Jessica says. She blinks a million times at nothing and then scurries off into the kitchen, checking on the roast in the oven again and again.
“I should go out and see,” I tell Donald, getting to my feet.
“I’m going with you,” Kayla says immediately, as I knew she would.
“You’re going to go find him in this?” George says, pointing at the window with his came. “Walk all the way to Edinburgh? You may play rugby Lachlan but you can’t do everything.”
I give him a tepid look. “We’ll go to the end of the driveway, down the road maybe to the MacAuley’s farm. It’s better than sitting here and doing nothing.”
So Kayla and I pile on the layers, coats and boots while Donald arms us with flashlights that belong with the Navy.
“Oh, don’t get lost, please,” Jessica says as she hovers at the door. “And turn back when you get cold. Otherwise I’ll have to send Donald after you and he’ll get lost right away.”
I give Donald an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be right back.”
I open the door and we’re blasted with wind, the snowflakes slicing into our faces like shards of ice. I pull up my scarf over my nose, making sure Kayla does the same with hers, and we set out into the darkness.
Thankfully that flashlight works wonders, even though the rapidly falling snow makes visibility tricky. It’s too hard to hear Kayla over the wind and crunching snow with the earmuffs and hats pulled low on our heads, so I just hold her mitted hand while we walk through a different kind of wonderland.
When we get to the end of the driveway, we scour the main rural road, looking down both ends, into nothing but blackness and driving snow. There seems to be some kind of light flickering in the distance but it’s the same area as the neighboring farm. Probably a barn light. Still, I pull her hand and we set out in that direction.
Because of the snow and the wind and Kayla’s short stride, it takes us a while to finally get close to the light. It does appear to be the barn and as we stop, staring at it from a few metres away, prepared to turn back, a shadow passes across the light. A human figure, seeming to walk toward us.
I lower my scarf and yell out, “Hello?” while flashing the light over. The beam keeps catching in the white of the falling flakes, throwing everything off, until finally we’re just a few feet from a man.
Kayla stiffens beside me and I try to squint through the snowstorm for a better look. If it’s some crazy person I can more than take care of the both of us, but most likely in this storm it’s someone looking for help.
“Lachlan?”
I hear Brigs’ voice and suddenly he’s in front of us, his coat bundled around him and held up to his chin. He’s not dressed for the weather with only his coat, a scarf and leather gloves.
“Brigs!” I exclaim, happy to see him but wondering what the hell happened. “Are you okay?”
He closes his eyes against the beam and nods. “Yes. Bloody cold but yes.” He squints at me and Kayla. “Hi Kayla. I’m not far from the house am I?”
I shake my head, grabbing his arm and pulling him in the right direction. “No, we’ll get you inside quick.” As we trudge through the snow though, Brigs keeps his hands at his chest and collar. At first I thought he was trying to keep warm but it looks more like he’s actually got something inside his coat. A present, maybe.
“What happened?” Kayla shouts at him. “Everyone was so worried.”
“Bloody storm caught me by surprise. I was all right though, until just back there, at the bend near the farm. I hit a bad patch. Ended up in a snowbank. Couldn’t get the car out and the MacAuleys aren’t home.”
“Is the car damaged?”
“She’ll be fine,” he says, brow furrowed against the cold. He offers me a wry smile. “Moneypenny has been through worse.”
Ah, yes. I forgot he named his car. Fitting, isn’t it.
We reach the start of the driveway, the journey back feeling quicker.
“I’m not alone, though,” Brigs says, coming to a slow.
Kayla and I stop and look at him. He’s staring at us earnestly and I scan the dark, snow-strewn world behind him. As far as I can tell, he is alone.
“What are you talking about?” I ask him, turning around. “Come on, let’s talk inside.”
“We can’t,” he says. “Because he won’t be allowed inside.”
I stare at him, bewildered, as Brigs undoes the top of his coat.
The small white head of a puppy pokes his head out, blinking big black eyes at the snow.
“Brigs?” I say, stepping closer, peering at the cold and frightened thing. “Where did he come from?”
He quickly closes up his coat and jerks his head toward the farm. “I was in the barn, looking for people. I heard this mewling sound, moved some hay around and found a damn puppy. Thought it was a trick of my eyes. I looked around everywhere, there wasn’t another dog or any animal around. If I didn’t take him, he’d freeze tonight.”
“Awwww,” Kayla says, practically melting at his feet. “Well hopefully he belongs to someone and they come looking for him.”
“Yes, well until then it looks like he’s spending the night here. And you know how our grandfather feels about dogs. Or anything cute that brings joy into people’s lives.”
“Oh, I know,” Kayla says.
“So you’ve properly been introduced to old George McGregor?” Brigs asks with a raise of his brows. “Then you know. But Lachlan, you have to help me hide this thing.”
“Anything for my brother, anything for a dog,” I tell him.
“And your girlfriend,” Kayla adds.
“Especially that,” I tell her. “Come. They’ll be hugging you, Mr. Popular, and the pup will get squished.” I unzip my coat and put my hands out for the dog as Brigs hesitantly removes him from his coat. “While they’re all praising the lord that you’re alive, I’ll put him up in your room.
Brigs hands over the puppy, white and fluffy. It’s probably a few months old, a mix of Husky or Eskimo dog and maybe a smaller breed like a terrier. It’s terribly cute but frightened to death.
I make cooing sounds to the puppy before hiding it in my coat, keeping it warm. “Okay,” I say to them. “Let’s go.”
I’m glad that Brigs told us about the dog earlier because when we are just steps from the house, the front door flings open, bringing Jessica, warmth and the smell of spices.
“Oh, Brigs!” she cries out and just as I thought he’s swept into the house in a wave of fawning parents. But it’s the perfect opportunity for me to slip upstairs without them noticing, even though I quickly take off my boots so I don’t track snow in the house.
I head into the room where Brigs will be staying and look around. The layout of all the rooms are pretty much the same. I undo my coat and take out the pup, placing him on the bed.
He looks up at me with wide, heart-breaking eyes and I could nearly kiss my brother for saving this little fluffball.
First things are first though. I quickly head to the toilet across the hall and snatch up the newspapers from the magazine rack. Then I go about setting them all out on the other side of the bed furthest from the door, where you can’t see if someone were to poke their head in. I grab several stacks of books from the bookshelf and make a make-shift fence with them, corralling the newspapers to the wall.
The puppy watches me from the bed the whole time. I pick him up and place him in, then go into my room to get a sweater that I don’t care if it gets destroyed. I fold it up, head back to Brigs’ room and place it in the corner of the pen, making a nice soft bed for the pup to sleep on.
“You stay there,” I tell him gently, pointing at the pen. “I’ll be back with some water.”
I quickly make my way down the stairs as silently as possible, which isn’t usually easy when you’re as tall and heavy as me. But everyone is now back in the drawing room, talking to Brigs and I work fast, getting a small bowl of water, plus grabbing a small piece of roast from inside the oven. I run those back upstairs, pleased to see that the puppy hasn’t knocked over the books. In fact, he’s curled up on the sweater, getting up when he sees me. I give him the water and meat, then leave on the bedside lamp before turning off the lights.
When I come back downstairs, my face is flushed and I feel like I’ve been running a marathon. I take off my coat and scarf and finally saunter into the drawing room, taking my place beside Kayla on the couch.
She looks at me with questioning eyes so I can only smile and nod, patting her on the leg. As long as the dog doesn’t start barking up a storm, we should be okay. I’m sure since it’s Brigs who found the dog, if George did find out, maybe the dog would be allowed to stay. But I also think George would think it’s my dog anyway with Brigs taking the fall, and we’d all be ousted.
Brigs continues talking to George about his upcoming teaching position but when he briefly meets my eye and raises his brow in question, I give him a wink. So far, so good.
The evening ends up being a rather pleasant one. Maybe everyone is feeling the power of the storm, the reverence of Christmas Eve, but George seems totally focused on Brigs, which is great. He only makes one thoughtless blunder when he brings up if Brigs will ever date again. That obviously didn’t go over well. Brigs clammed up and through those piercing eyes of his, I could tell he was being brought into his own dark place, so similar to mine.
But Kayla, dear, sweet, fucking amazing Kayla, had a way of easing the tension. She got up and even though everyone was full and lazy from the delicious roast that Jessica prepared, she put on ‘Jingle Bell Rock” and invited Donald to dance with her. That was a smart move. Brigs was too lost and aching to do it and George would have turned her down. And there’s nothing funny about dancing with me. But Donald, my quiet, nerdy adopted father? Dancing with my feisty girlfriend? Yes. Now that’s funny.
They ended up dancing for a few songs and then Jessica pulled me up and the four of us danced away Christmas Eve, feeling like idiots, but happy that the family has remained intact for at least another day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kayla
“Merry Christmas, love,” Lachlan murmurs in my ear.
I turn over in bed, practically rolling into him. While I’m completely lazy and maybe a bit sore from all the silly dancing we did last night, and tempted to keep sleeping, the fact that it’s Christmas hits me with a jolt. It’s the one day of the year where I actually can’t sleep in and spring out of bed like a livewire. Same goes for anytime I visit Disneyland.
This Christmas is no exception. I kiss Lachlan quickly
and then get out of bed, sliding on my merry pajama pants and a fuzzy red sweater. Another great thing about Christmas: permission to stay in your pajamas until dinner.
At least, in most homes it’s like that. I look over at Lachlan as he pulls on his pair of thin black pajama pants and try not to drool over his bare torso.
“We don’t have to dress up for Christmas morning, do we?” I ask.
“Don’t be silly,” he says, slipping on a white t-shirt. “We better go check on Brigs and the puppy, though.”
Out in the hall, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and sounds of laughter waft up from downstairs, along with the smell of bacon and eggs. My stomach grumbles, despite the load of roast and Yorkshire pudding I had last night. You’d think I’d be too excited to eat, but I’m feeling ravenous about everything.
Lachlan knocks on Brigs’ door.
“Just a minute,” we hear him say.
“It’s me,” Lachlan says.
“Oh. Come in.”
He opens the door and we step inside to see Brigs lying on his stomach on the bed, his long frame half hanging off. The puppy is in front of him, rolling on his back and chewing on one of Brigs’ fingers.
Brigs looks up at us sheepishly. “He’s a monster this little one. Cried all night until finally I had to bring him up into the bed with me. Course I couldn’t sleep one bloody wink for fear of crushing the little bastard in the night.”
“Well you look like you’re suffering,” Lachlan remarks, folding his arms across his chest. He peers over the side of the bed. “Though things are going to get right stinky in here if you don’t clean that up.”
Brigs eyes him pleadingly. “I thought maybe you could help. They’ll be suspicious why I’m going outside.”
Lachlan shakes his head. “No way. Your dog. Your shit. Those are the rules.”
Brigs sighs and lays down his head, inviting the puppy to come pounce on it, paws first. It’s too cute for words but I can tell Lachlan wants out of there before Brigs convinces him otherwise.