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“What’s square slice sausage? And sausage shouldn’t be square.”
He winked at her. “That’s in the fridge for tomorrow’s breakfast. Another Scottish delicacy. Don’t say I don’t introduce you to all the highlights of Scotland.”
She sipped her tea and turned towards the box on the floor next to her. She flipped open the cardboard flaps. “The smell from that tree is filling the whole room – probably the whole house. I’ve never had a real Christmas tree before. I didn’t realise they smelled so good.”
He took a deep breath and she saw something flit across his eyes. She had to keep reminding herself how many memories this must be evoking for him.
Inside the cardboard box was a whole host of wrapped up tissue paper. She lifted out the first one and pulled back the paper. A clear glass bauble with a little snow scene inside looked at her. It was obviously old, but it was so intricate it made her gasp. “This is beautiful.” She held it up in front of the fire. “Wow, Andrew. I’ve never seen a Christmas decoration like this. How on earth did they make it?”
Silence.
After a few seconds, his hand reached over and took the dangling bauble from her fingers. He was caught in something, some memory of a different time and place. She didn’t speak, didn’t break his moment. Was his hand trembling a little?
Finally, his face broke into a half-smile. “I haven’t seen these in such a long time. My mother collected them.” He leaned over and looked into the box. “Some of them might be broken. They are incredibly fragile. She used to buy a few every year from some specialist shop in Edinburgh. He put different little scenes in every one.” The sad smile widened. “Douglas and I were never allowed to touch them. We were typical boys – too rough and too clumsy.”
She sat the snow-scene bauble on the rug and unwrapped the next one. This time the glass was red instead of clear with a little pile of multi-coloured parcels inside. “This one is gorgeous too.” She spun it around. “These are so much nicer than the modern decorations. No wonder your mother wrapped them up so safely.”
Andrew reached over and took one from the box, unwrapping it and holding it up too. “I’d forgotten what some of these were like.” It dangled on the thin gold strand from his fingers. “This was mine – the one with the Christmas train inside. Douglas’s should be there too. Our mum gave us the chance one year to choose one in the shop. His was green with Santa’s sleigh inside.”
There was such a sad tinge about his words. Memories of Christmases gone by. As they unwrapped each glass bauble, a whole village scene was revealed, along with Rudolph and Christmas elves. When they’d finally finished, there were around forty precious glass baubles sitting on the rug in front of them.
Andrew looked over at the bare branches of the tree. “I guess we should hang them up.”
“Of course we should.” Juliette stood up, “No. Wait. There’s something else.” She walked over to the corner and picked up the tree lights. “Shouldn’t we put these on first?”
“Where did you get them?”
“From the man that’s probably secretly Santa in the village.”
A frown laced across Andrew’s brow. “Bert?” A look of realisation came over his face and he threw back his head and laughed. “You think he’s Santa Claus?”
“Oh, come on, Andrew. I’m in the middle of a TV movie here. “The butcher? Rudy? Well, he’s got to be Rudolph. As for Mrs McGregor, I’m pegging her as Mrs Claus. And if Bert King doesn’t climb on to his roof at midnight tonight and take off in his sleigh then I’ll eat my hat.” She raised her eyebrows at him, “Or your Christmas dinner.”
He stood up next to her. He wasn’t just laughing a little, he was doubled over. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Why? It makes perfect sense.”
“To a crazy person!”
He reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her closer. “You think I brought you up here to a secret Santa town?”
Her hands rested on his bare forearms, the dark hairs on his arms tickling the palms of her hands. “I think you brought me up here for something.”
Her voice had lowered. They were only inches from each other. But it felt good. It felt comfortable. Almost as if it were meant to be.
“But what?” he whispered, his deep green eyes fixed on hers. Her head was spinning. She was tempted to open her mouth and start babbling. It was what she always did when she was nervous. Probably not the best trait in a TV presenter.
The flickering flames were sending a warm glow over his skin. It looked inviting. As if it was just waiting to be touched. Her fingers itched to reach up and brush along the dark shadow on his chin.
She hadn’t answered. She couldn’t answer because right now her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. Everything all day had been leading up to this. It was inevitable. Almost written in the Christmas snow globe in her head. But she felt frozen.
There had never been anything between them before. She’d just been dumped. Dumped and humiliated.
Being in this house was obviously stirring up a whole host of ghosts for Andrew – and not the ones that were supposed to be there.
She didn’t want to tilt her chin towards his, to lick her lips, just to find out later that this was all a mistake. This was all just a reaction of two people, in a set of circumstances that neither had expected.
Maybe it was the fact she was still a little raw. Maybe it was the fact that she was feeling vulnerable.
She wanted Andrew to be attracted to her. To want to kiss her. To want to be with her. She didn’t just want to be the nearest warm body to touch.
She didn’t want to be a distraction from facing up to how he really felt about being back home.
“Why did you buy lights for our tree?” His voice was husky, almost a whisper. He was as affected by their closeness as she was.
Our tree.
That’s what he’d said. A tiny wave of panic started to wash over her. This was too quick. This was too soon. She wasn’t ready.
But her mouth was already open. “You said your decorations were old – hadn’t been used in years. I thought if you had any tree lights they’d be too old to use now.” She couldn’t pull herself back. She couldn’t bring herself to step back out of his arms. “Every Christmas tree should have lights. It’s part of the magic of Christmas.”
His eyes cast downwards. What had she said that was so wrong?
“You think Christmas is magic?”
“I think Christmas is supposed to be magic. I think Christmas should be magic – for everyone.”
But it was him that made the move, not her. His hands released their grasp on her waist, and he stepped backwards.
He bent down and picked up the box with the tree lights, pulling them out and starting to unfurl them. “Maybe we should plug these in and check if they work before we put them on the tree?”
Just like that.
It was almost as if she’d imagined the last few minutes – they hadn’t really happened.
Stepping away from the fire made her realise how cold the rest of the room still was. It was marginally better than a few days ago. It was unlikely that any drips from her nose would form icicles immediately. The chill from the air was gone – temperature-wise anyway. As for the other chill?
Her body went into automatic pilot, taking the cable from his hand and bending down to plug it in, while her brain whirred constantly. It didn’t feel good to think that Andrew might have had the same doubts that she had. Those doubts were only viable when they were in her brain, not his. Should she feel insulted he’d stepped away?
She flicked the switch and the lights turned on, flickering white in the semi-lit room. She walked to the main switch and put the overhead light out, plunging the room into darkness.
There was something so different about a room filled with orange flames and white flickering Christmas lights. Almost magical – how ironic.
She flicked the main light back on. “They seem to b
