A Little Christmas Magic

‘I am. And there are plenty of temporary jobs that come up at this time of year. Do you remember the year that I was an elf?’

‘One of Santa’s helpers.’ Sharon was laughing. ‘I’m sure I’ve got a photo of you in that outfit somewhere. I’d better not show it to Andy or he might think he married the wrong girl.’

‘Yeah, right …’ But Emma was grinning. ‘Or I could busk …’ She shifted her gaze to a far corner of the room. ‘My poor guitar’s just gathering dust at the moment.’

‘Sounds cold. Being an elf would be more fun.’

‘Yeah …’ It was getting cold in the apartment now. Definitely time to close the window. To get moving properly, even. ‘You know what? I’m going to go down to the corner shop and get some papers. See what’s being advertised under the situations vacant.’

‘Go, you! Keep me posted.’

‘I will.’

‘Love you. Miss you heaps.’

‘Same.’

When the call ended, all Emma could hear was the soft hiss of her fire and the patter of rain on the window. After the joy of conversation it was an unpleasant quietness.

A very lonely one.

Threatening. If she stayed in here it would pull her back into her pity party so allowing it to continue wasn’t an option. Latching the window, Emma shrugged into her warmest coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her umbrella as she let herself out the door. She wouldn’t get the papers at the corner store. She’d walk all the way to the high street and get the bonus of a decent bit of exercise on her mission.

‘Ouch … That hurts, Daddy.’

‘Sorry, pet.’

Adam McAllister suppressed a growl of frustration. Fine blonde hair was refusing to co-operate. How could his fingers be so deft when it came to removing a foreign object or stitching up a wound so that it barely left a scar but be seemingly incapable of braiding a small girl’s hair?

‘How about a wee ponytail instead?’

‘No.’ The headshake pulled the almost finished braid from his fingers and what had already been accomplished unravelled at the speed of light. ‘Jeannie always has plaits and I want to look the same.’

‘Dad? Where’s my shoe?’

‘Where you left it, I expect, Ollie.’ Adam picked up the hairbrush again and the movement made him notice the face of his watch. ‘It’ll have to be a ponytail, Poppy, otherwise you’re going to be late for school and I’ll be in trouble with Mrs Stewart at the clinic. The waiting room will be full of cross people asking where their doctor’s got to.’

Poppy burst into tears.

A crashing sound came from the living room, accompanied by a wail from her twin, Oliver. ‘It wasn’t my fault. It just falled over and now it’s broken …’

The wind must have caught the front door to make it slam so loudly. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. The roads are so icy and old Jock was blocking the road with his tractor, helping someone whose wheels were in the ditch. I …’ She stopped talking, taking in the scene of chaos in the kitchen.

‘I take it she’s gone, then?’

‘Aye …’ Gratefully, Adam pushed the hairbrush into his mother’s hand. ‘I’ve almost got the bags ready. I’d better go and see what Ollie’s broken.’

‘Little minx. I can’t believe she’s run off like that. With no notice.’

‘She’s nineteen. In love. Getting pregnant probably made the decision a wee bit urgent.’

‘What’s pregnant?’ Poppy had stopped crying and was standing very still while her grandmother rapidly braided her hair.

‘It means that you’re going to have a baby.’

‘Auntie Marion’s going to have a baby.’

‘Aye … she is. So’s Kylie.’

‘But Kylie looks after us. She’s coming back, isn’t she?’

‘No. She’s going to Australia—where her boyfriend comes from.’

‘What’s Australia?’

‘It’s a country a long way away.’ Adam had gone as far as the door to see that the standard lamp had fallen in the living room, sweeping a photograph from the corner of the mantelpiece onto the hearth. Nothing life-threatening. He could sort it out later when he had a minute to spare. Stooping, he picked up an abandoned shoe.

‘Ollie? Where are you? It’s time for school.’

A small, tousled head with wide eyes appeared slowly from behind the sofa.

‘Come and see your gran. You need your hair brushed too.’

‘It’s even further away than Canada.’ By some miracle, his mother had found ribbons to tie on the ends of Poppy’s plaits. ‘Where Aunty Marion lives.’

She looked up as Adam came back with Oliver in tow but then her gaze shifted to take in the pile of books and papers on one end of the kitchen table. A milky spoon from a bowl of cereal was sitting on top of a school book. Turning her head to look at the dishes piled up on the kitchen bench, she clicked her tongue.

‘I can’t do it,’ Catherine McAllister said. ‘I’m no’ going to take off for Canada and leave you to cope with this lot alone.’

‘You have to. Marion needs you. The bairn’s due next week.’

‘She’ll understand.’

‘This is my sister we’re talking about.’ Adam’s smile was wry. ‘She’d never talk to me again. She’d say I’ve had years of your help and she only needs you for a few weeks. It’s not her fault my nanny’s run off to Australia.’

Catherine raised her gaze to the old clock on the wall. ‘You’d better go, son. Or you’ll be getting the evil eye from Eileen Stewart. She’s bad enough when an emergency comes in and puts out all the waiting times. I’ll get these wee lambs off to school.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Adam pushed his arms into the sleeves of a coat that hadn’t made it off the back of a kitchen chair last night. ‘And you’re not to even think of cancelling your trip. I’ve got ads in papers everywhere for a temporary nanny. I’ll find help for while you’re away at least, and then we can worry about something more permanent.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Catherine sounded unconvinced. ‘My flight’s not till Tuesday. If you haven’t found help by then, I’m staying and that’s an end to the matter.’

The train from London to Edinburgh arrived on time. The connecting train Emma needed to get out into the middle of a Scottish nowhere was clearly less reliable. The wicked draught coming into the waiting room was chilling her to the bone and Emma huddled between the backpack full of clothes and her guitar case.

How crazy was this?

But that Dr McAllister had sounded so enthusiastic on the phone yesterday. Said he’d pay for her travel if she could come up for an interview and he was sure she’d be suitable so she might as well bring what she needed for the next few weeks and that way, if she was happy to take the position, she wouldn’t need to go all the way back to London again.

And it all sounded so perfect. She already had the image of a pretty, old Scottish village with the stone buildings softened by a layer of fluffy snow and the sound of Christmas carols being sung by rosy-cheeked village children. What better place to spend these few weeks of the unbearable waiting? It wasn’t as if she would have the responsibility of caring for a tiny baby or something. Looking after six-year-old twins—how hard could that be?