Highland Christmas: Highland Books

First published December 2020

PRINT ISBN: 9798215454749

Copyright © Emma Baird 2020

The right of Emma Baird to be identified as the author of this work has been identified by her in accordance with the Copyright, Patents and Designs Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be subject to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Entirely. Except for those in the public eye who are referred to in a tongue in cheek way.

Cover design by Enni Tuomisalo of https://yummybookcovers.com

Published by Pink Glitter Publishing. If you would like to receive (infrequent) email newsletters from the author, please email her at [email protected]. In return, she’ll send you a free short story about Gaby and Jack’s experiences in lockdown.

https://emmabaird.com

List of characters:

Gaby —a graphic designer of some talent, and a woman who staked her future on moving to a small village in Scotland.

Jack—Gaby’s husband. Mean, moody, magnificent. He bears a striking resemblance to Jamie Fraser, or rather, the actor who plays him, Sam Heughan. Gaby might suggest he’s the actor’s much better looking younger brother.

Evie—their one-year-old daughter and so like Jack in appearance, people often wonder aloud at her maternity.

Mildred—their fabulous and fabulously spoiled cat.

Dr McLatchie aka Caroline aka Psychic Josie—Jack’s mum, a GP who has embraced a side hustle as a psychic, one she freely admits is a complete fraud.

Ranald—her husband. A quiet man.

Mhari—a ‘friend’ of Gaby’s and to date the nosiest woman in the world. Complicated love life*, yet to be resolved.

Katya—Gaby’s best friend. A freelance writer, Pilates aficionado and talker of much sense, bluntly, a lot of the time.

Dexter—her boyfriend, an American too fond of hyperbole and long working hours. Katya and Dexter are new parents. Unlike as is the case with Evie, people often wonder quietly about their baby’s paternity...

Xavier—a French Canadian. Definitely oui-oui. Objects to being objectified.

Jolene—a New Zealander ex-pat with a weird taste in boyfriends.

Stewart—boyfriend of the above. Worshipper of all things porridge and newly converted to the joys of yoga.

Tamar—their adorable child.

Lachlan*—an on-off boyfriend of Mhari. Part-owner of the Lochside Welcome and enjoying the novelty of living life on the right side of the law.

Mandy—Gaby’s mum and someone who sees far too little of her first granddaughter. Harbouring a secret and in need of a happy ending.

Nanna Cooper—Gaby’s grandmother. A woman with a wise saying for every occasion.

Dylan—Gaby’s brother. Also harbouring secrets and wouldn’t mind his own happy ending if they are being handed out.

Zac—posh, blonde. Executive chef and manager of the Royal George, Lochalshie’s other hotel.

Falls in and out of favour with Gaby. Current status? Out.

Colm—a man keen to exchange meaningful looks with others.

Caitlin Cartier—a ‘self-made’ reality TV star who achieved billionaire status at the age of 21, thanks to the beauty company she set up. Some of you might think she is based on a real-life person. The author refers you to the front of her book, where she tells you everything in this book is fiction and any resemblance to real-life characters coincidental. Entirely. Especially any bits that might be read as libellous.

Terry—a Lochside Welcome regular. Rumour has it he’s married. No-one has ever met or seen his wife.

Laney Haggerty—just always in these books, okay?

THE TRUTH UNIVERSALLY KNOWN TO MOTHERS

Dear Santa, I appreciate this is a busy time of year for you, but if you could see your way to sending a few more customers to the Lochside Welcome and make this the best family Christmas we've ever had, I’d be eternally grateful...

The person meant to be making a wish as she blew out her birthday cake candles was Evie, not me. But as this was her first birthday, I thought she wouldn't mind me appropriating her request. And boy, did we need those customers... Today, however, I would not be dwelling on non-existent punters. I pursed my lips. Blow, Evie! Like this, one, two, three!

Ah. Too late. The village’s second-youngest resident, Tamar McMillan, a year and a half older than Evie, sneaked up underneath the table, stuck his head up, blew with all his might and ducked back under again.

Tamar! The little scamp’s mother barked at him. He ran from her, giggling. Evie wriggled in my arms, desperate to go after him. Evie loved Tamar. Her feelings weren’t reciprocated. The last time Jolene and I took them swimming together, he did his best to duck her head under the water and keep it there.

It’s a phase he’s going through, Jolene had said, at least I hope so?

I put Evie down, and she scooted off on all fours—Tamar far more enticing than the prospect of cake.

As Evie was Lochalshie’s youngest resident, everyone had assumed they were invited to her birthday celebration. Our house wouldn’t have handled the numbers, so we hit on holding it in the Lochside Welcome, the hotel we part-owned with six others.

Jack had strewn the bar with the pink, silver and white bunting I had designed and helium balloons. The tables had been cleared away to make enough space for party games.

Xavier, the hotel’s manager and head chef, had gone to town on the food. Brought up in Canada, he was unfamiliar with traditional British party food staples. Most of it made him shudder. But he’d stumbled on an old Nancy Spain cookbook from the 1960s. Look at zees, Gaby! You slice cucumber up very thin and put it on ze whole salmon, so people think it is scales! Shall I do zis?

When I pointed out children weren’t always the biggest fans of salmon and many people in Lochalshie promised fish gies me the dry boak despite fish having been a natural part of the Scots diet for centuries, he pouted. Then cheered up when he read about the hedgehog—half of a grapefruit studded with cubes of cheese and pickled onions on cocktails sticks. I’d already worked my way through far too many of them, consoling myself that the pickled onions must count as one of your five a day.

The Lochside Welcome’s signature pudding was a chocolate decadence dessert. Xavier had made the dessert Evie’s birthday cake, levelling up the luxury with gold leaf—the gleam of it caught in the flickering flames of the candles.

He reappeared, knife in hand, and sliced the cake into as many pieces as there were people. Tricky given the numbers, but job done, he, Jack and I handed the plates round.

Mhari, taking a break from her semi-official role as party photographer, sat down next to me and filched my cake.

Hey!

Well, my slice was titchy. Cannae expect me to survive the rest of the afternoon on just a wee bittie o’ cake.

Can I see the pictures?

No. I need tae touch them up. ‘Specially the ones of you.

Mhari, my Lochalshie self-described best friend, was an acquired taste.

I got a cracking shot of Jack, though. Look.

Oh, wow. That one was going on our website for sure. A tough job being the wife of a man as delectable as Jack McAllan, but someone had to do it, right? Mhari had captured him as Xavier placed the cake in front of Evie—the candle flames illuminating the planes of his face, casting exaggerated shadows that only emphasised the similarity to the ancient statues of Greek gods. She must be using an enhanced colour filter too as the red of his hair stood out in sharp relief.

I took some o’ the outside of the hotel too, she added, showing them to me. Looks awfy Christmassy, eh?

The lights outside the hotel were OTT, though we’d yet to get around to decorating the hotel’s interior. In the garden, a reindeer pulled a sleigh at the front next to an enormous tree dotted with star lights and a gobo that projected holly leaves and berries on the white walls of the hotel. The electricity bills had soared.

It’s Christmas made camper, I’d said when we’d set them up a few days before. Jack raised an eyebrow. Can you make Christmas camper?

Probably not, but with any luck, the Lochside Welcome’s Christmas lights would be one of those displays people drove to from miles around to see, dropping in for a drink or some food while they were in the area.

My phone buzzed as it had been doing all day—people reacting to my pictures on Instagram or phoning to wish Evie a Happy Birthday.

The screen showed my mum calling again. She’d already phoned early this morning in tears because she couldn’t be here for her only grandchild’s first birthday. Great Yarmouth was too far away to make visits easy, and Mum’s budget too limited for her to able to afford a trip here for Evie’s birthday and Christmas.

Mum, hello! I switched the phone to FaceTime mode and showed her the birthday girl now sat on the floor tearing up birthday gift wrap.

Your brother, she replied, wants to apologise for not having posted Evie’s birthday present and card on time.

Does it count as an apology when you overhear your mum standing behind your brother, hiss-whispering that he needs to say sorry, forgetting that a mobile phone makes all background noise clear as a bell? If Dylan had remembered Evie’s birthday or it crossed his mind that as her uncle, he should buy her a card and a present, I’d eat my Christmas cracker hat.

Mum came back on the line. I’m so looking forward to Christmas! What a wonderful celebration it will be this year when we are all together.

Me too! We blew each other kisses and hung up. Yes, Christmas shimmered on the horizon in all its glittery glory. But that familiar prickle of worry, whenever I thought about the future started up. Money worries took the shine off somewhat.

This year’s summer had been a stinker. Lochalshie’s weather gods had lulled me into a false sense of security since I’d upped and moved sticks to the north of Scotland. Warm, dry-ish summers, the odd autumn storm and cold but dry winters. This year rain started mid-May, stopped for a day or two in June, and then continued into the autumn when it turned sheet-like and icy. The weather deterred everyone. We’d put up with endless cancellations and days on end when the numbers in the bar didn’t surpass those working in the hotel.

Evie scuttled towards the fire, Jack swooping in to whisk her up as everyone cooed in admiration and remarked yet again on how similar they looked. It’s a truth universally known to mothers... All a dad needs to do is hold his baby, jiggle her up and down a bit, and he qualifies as father of the year. Meanwhile, we women stir ourselves from sleep three hours earlier than we would like, spend our days running around after our tiny tyrants, juggling a job at the same time, and dealing with our extended family, before flopping into bed at 10pm, exhausted. 

Two women sharing a bottle of wine watched him, transfixed. They nudged each other, open-mouthed. Snatches of their whispered conversation drifted over. OMG! He can father my baby any day! Yeah! My ovaries have just exploded!

Just as well I’d grown accustomed to such reactions. If Jack had been a sex god before Evie appeared on the scene, nowadays he was Zeus at the top of Olympus. Women tailed him, tongues hanging out. Even if I stood next to him, waving my left hand in the air. Ring, fourth finger, placed on said hand by the gent you’re ogling!

Mind and take plenty o’ pics, Caroline, my mother-in-law, called out to Mhari. Jack, Evie balanced on his right hip, screwed up his face. Posing for photographs topped the list of things he hated.

Caroline joined me, waving a glass of wine at Evie, now pestering one of Laney Haggerty’s ginormous Alsatians. Laney’s dogs tolerated Evie to a remarkable extent, putting up with her tugging their tails and pulling their ears.

It’s good tae have a relaxed approach to parenting, Caroline said. Evie will build up a good immune system, wi’ all the exposure she has tae filthy animals. She gets that wi’ Mildred too, doesn’t she?

Mildred, our ancient moggie, had yet to forgive me for Evie’s usurping her rightful place as Queen of Our House.

How are the Christmas bookings coming on? she asked. Caroline and her husband Ranald were part of the consortium that owned the hotel.

Three reservations for lunch, I told Caroline. And only two of the hotel’s rooms booked. Any chance you might ask the spirits to intervene and persuade people to come?

As a sideline, my mother-in-law doubled up as a psychic. Jack and I regarded Caroline’s hobby as a load of old rubbish, but any help we could get with the hotel’s success, we would take. Best to cover all bases.

I’ll ask them the next time we commune, Caroline said. She’d been faking the sideline so long she’d started to believe she honestly had powers beyond the limits of rationality and logic. What harm could it do if she put forward a sincere request?

Would you and Ranald mind having my mum and Nanna to stay on the 27th? I asked. Our own celebrations would take place two days after Christmas once all the hotel guests had left. Last year’s Christmas had been muted, thanks to Jack and I’s zombie-like state as we adjusted to life as new parents. This year, I wanted the family party to be epic.

How long for?

The abruptness startled me. Caroline never objected to hosting my mother and Nanna. The house where Jack and I lived only had two bedrooms. Too much of a squeeze for us to fit anyone else in there.

Um... seven days? That way they can see in the New Year with us too?

I’ll have tae ask Ranald, she replied. He likes his privacy, mind. I’m gonnae get a bit more food and drink.

She had a point. Much as I loved them, inflicting Mum and Nanna on anyone for seven days was a big ask. If the worst came to the worst, there was a caravan park on the other side of the loch. It closed from October to April, but the owner let out caravans to people on the proviso they kept quiet about it.

Caroline stood up and made her way toward the buffet table, its legs groaning with the effort of holding up so much food. We’d barely scratched the surface.

Evie had fallen asleep snuggled into the Alsatian’s stomach, the dog curled around her. Babies were lucky that way—able, like animals, to drop off whatever noise went on around them when they were tired enough.

Mhari crept over to take her photograph. She limited her insults to me. If I died tomorrow, I knew she would leap at the chance of being Evie’s guardian.

Dring! The phone again. I hit the green answer button.

Katya! How are you? I tried to get you earlier.

My best friend’s voice sounded muffled. In the background, I heard wailing—her six-month-old. I know. I’ve been a bit... busy. Sorry.

Is something wrong? The flatness in her tone rang alarm bells in my head.

No, no! Fake cheery. Is Evie there so I can say happy birthday?

Fast asleep, I’m afraid. But the party has been lovely. I wish you and Dexter had been here. And your little one.

Next year, I promise. And I’ll try to make it up to Lochalshie soon. Maybe for Christmas. It would be nice to escape London. The capital’s hell at this time of year.

The wailing started up in earnest. Katya let out a sigh. Often, we phoned each other late at night to swap tips on childcare. More often, they ended up as mini counselling sessions, both of us reassuring each other we were not as crap at motherhood as we suspected.

You wanted Evie, though, Katya would say. I didn’t wan—oh, it’s pointless to moan. And I do love the little wretch, really.

A lot of the time she sounded as if she was trying to reassure herself, rather than me.

I better go, she said now. I’ll be in touch soon, okay? M’wah!

I m’wahed back and hung up, placing my phone on the table. I’ll try to make it up to Lochalshie, not we’ll try to make it up. Promise you’ll tell me if anything is wrong? I fired off the message and clapped my hands.

Anyone for musical statues?

One hour—and a lot of cheating—later, people gathered their coats. Outside, a downpour had the rain rattling off the windows. Thickly padded coats over multiple layers, woolly hats, scarves and gloves were the only way to muddle through the winter months here. Above the smell of pizzas cooking—another Lochside Welcome speciality—I caught the distinctive aroma of damp wool.

Caroline got to her feet, her movements unsteady. A believer in strict adherence to public health guidelines on safe drinking levels, she limited herself to one glass of wine most of the time. I’d spotted her necking a second one earlier.

I better find Ranald and head home, Gaby, she told me, indicating vaguely behind her.

The party guests streamed out, everyone calling out cheery goodbyes. The door opening and closing let in brief blasts of icy air, forcing me out of the booth where I’d taken a seat to one nearer the fire. Jack scooped up the empty plates. Evie was still slumped on Laney’s dog.

I need to wake her, up or she’ll never sleep tonight, I said. Jack nodded, moving off to the kitchen, pausing next to the dog to gaze in raptures at his daughter.

Mhari, official photographer role finished for the day, took the seat opposite me.

Something wrong wi’ Katya? she asked her attention half on me, the rest on her phone.

Nothing at all!

Mhari hadn’t seen Katya, her erstwhile flatmate, for months. Katya made a point of never posting pictures of her child online. Mhari had cajoled, threatened and sucked up to me, desperate for me to share any photos I had. So far, I’d held out—mostly because Katya threatened to kill me if I did.

Didnae sound like nothing to me. D’ye ken what I thought? That bairn of hers—

The phone rang again—my mum. She must be terribly upset about missing Evie’s birthday.

Hello, you! I said, I was just about to send you this gorgeous pic of Evie. She’s curled up asleep on—

Gaby, love! my mum burst out. Your Nanna’s in hospital! You need to come down here as soon as you can!

THE HAVE A GO GRANNY

Jack materialised by my side, mouthing the words, ‘What’s wrong’ I pointed at the phone and said ‘Nanna’, making my way through to the deserted conservatory, him following me.

What happened? I asked as Mum hiccoughed her way through an explanation, I jolted enough to worry that the all the pickled onion and chocolate cake I’d eaten might reappear.

Kathleen Millar, Nanna Cooper’s oldest friend, had phoned my mum in a panic an hour earlier. She’d called around to Nanna’s small terraced house in Norwich, so the two of them could go to their weekly Tai Chi lesson and hadn’t received an answer at the door. Phone calls hadn’t worked either.

Kathleen knew where Nanna Cooper kept her spare key—in the plant pot at her front door. (And yes, Mum and I nagged her about the riskiness of keeping the key in the first place a potential thief would check.) On this occasion, though, the crystal-clear hiding place came in handy. Kathleen let herself in and discovered my nanna lying on the floor. She’d fallen and been unable to get up.

She was so lucky, Gaby, Mum told me. If Kathleen had got there any later, imagine what might have happened! Your poor gran, lying there, unable to feed herself or get to the toilet! We don’t know yet if she’s broken her hip. I’ve read the stats, Gaby! Elderly women who break their hips often end up dying after a year!

She burst into tears, me joining in. Jack, able to hear everything, put his arm around me, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

Elderly women. A descriptor that now applied to my nanna. The woman who’d only recently thumped a man who tried to rob her at a cashpoint, earning herself the headlines ‘Have a go granny hammers hooligan’ on the website of the local TV news programme.

What have the doctors said? I asked. Nanna was currently in Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital.

They want to keep her in for an X-ray, my mum said, and observation. But you should see her, Gaby! All hooked up to these machines beeping away. She’s so thin too. I can’t bear it.

Jack held his phone in front of me, the screen showing flight availability to Norwich. The airport wasn’t a major one and flights from Edinburgh infrequent. However, there was one tomorrow at 11.15am, which would get me to Norwich an hour later.

I’ll be down as soon as I can, Mum.

And with that, I hung up and fell into Jack’s arms. Gaby, I’d come wi’ you, but Monday’s gonnae be full-on.

Late November wasn’t a busy time in the hospitality industry. Still, we’d managed to persuade one of the local council departments to hold its annual community prize-giving event in the hotel.

Several local lollypop persons, care workers, and charity representatives were very much looking forward to the afternoon. They would eat their bodyweight in pizza and drink prodigious amounts before making their wobbly way to the front of the function room. That is where they would receive their medals and be photographed for an honorary appearance on the council’s Facebook page and in the local press.

He squeezed my shoulder. I’m sorry. I should be wi’ you.

I gave him a watery smile. Well, we knew what we were taking on when we bought a share in this place, didn’t we?

Words I said all the time to myself. Even though I’d stopped believing them a long time ago. Knew what we were doing my backside! The sheer relentlessness of hotel work threatened to grind me down all the time. And I wasn’t even the person who spent the most time in here.

Nestled in the Highlands, the hotel and other local businesses relied on tourism through April to October when visitors flocked here to experience the countryside. Behind the village, the peaks of two hills, affectionately christened Maggie Broon’s Boobs by the locals, offered views for miles around. The peace appealed to those who spent most of their lives crammed into the UK’s overcrowded cities.

Running a small hotel in the middle of nowhere was a rollercoaster of highs and lows, where we lurched from one crisis to the next, never sure if the income from one month would keep us going another.

After a terrible summer, we needed Christmas to be mega. And to come up with a long-term plan that would keep the hotel viable in challenging times.

I blew my nose. We better get back to the party.

Jack nodded. Gaby, you’re no’ to worry about anything else except Nanna Cooper, d’ye hear me?

Dark eyes searched mine. I nodded. Message received and understood.

Back at the bar, everyone expressed sympathy.

I’ll babysit, Jolene volunteered. Tamar will be so happy if Evie comes to stay with us!

Tamar was busy plunging Evie’s favourite teddy bear in and out of the giant bowl of non-alcoholic punch. What did that say for my daughter’s chances of survival should she stay with them?

Thanks, Jolene, but I’m going to bring her with me. Evie might be what Mum and Nanna Cooper need. And if I don’t take her, my mum will never speak to me again.

Another unwanted thought surfaced later when Jack, Evie and I made our way home.

If Nanna’s broken her hip, I said, "she won’t be able to