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Juliette gave a silent nod, knelt on the floor and started assembling a few of the boxes. Having her here gave him strength, which was a strange thing for a burly Scotsman to admit.
He pulled open a drawer on the dresser and sighed when he looked at the clothes. He had no idea his mother had kept all Douglas’s perfectly folded clothes. Relics. He might keep a few personal things. He might even keep the dressing gown. But it was time to make a start.
He started handing some of the items down to her. He couldn’t help but keep talking. For him it was therapeutic, almost as if this would help him through. “You hated this t-shirt, didn’t you? And I bet Mum didn’t know you’d taken the knee out of your Sunday-best trousers, did she? But I did.”
He picked up the books and paused, gesturing towards a different box. “I’m keeping these. I’m hoping that some day in the future I’ll have kids that will want to read these stories. Kids that I’ll be able to tell about their Uncle Douglas and how he hid an action man in the oven during hide and seek and set fire to the oven. Or, that he tried to loop a rope around the chandelier and swing from it.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Andrew.” She pointed to the picture on the top of the wardrobe. “I think you should keep that too. I think,” she hesitated for the tiniest second, “kids would love to hear stories about their mischievous uncle.”
Had she been about to say ‘your kids’ or maybe something else? Our kids?
He paused for a second. For the tiniest instant he felt the room cool. Crazy, just his imagination. Juliette’s head rose. Their eyes met. She’d felt it too.
He’d checked the infrared cameras. There hadn’t even been a flicker on them last night. Just as he’d always known. So what on earth was it? He gave himself a shake.
“Let’s do the cupboards now.”
Juliette nodded and put some boxes on the bed, slowly and methodically folding every item of clothing he handed her. Then she assembled a few more for the rest of Douglas’s toys. A train set was packed up and kept. Everything else wasn’t really salvageable. Wasn’t really worth keeping.
“Andrew?”
He turned to her voice. She had a few boxes in a pile in her arms. “Where would you like me to put these?”
It felt like the ultimate question. But the heavy black cloud had lifted from his shoulders – had lifted from this room. The answer was easier than he could ever have imagined. “Put them by the front door.” He stepped closer and brushed a bit of hair behind her ear, bending down and leaving a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for helping me do this, Juliette.”
There was a sheen in her eyes. But she didn’t look sad. “That’s what friends are for,” she whispered. “I’ll give you a few minutes. I think I might go back to bed. We’ve got a big day today – lots of cooking. Take your time.”
She disappeared out the door and he heard her soft footsteps pad down the corridor. She’d supported him. She’d listened. And now she was giving him that little bit of space that he needed. He really couldn’t have asked for more.
He turned and looked around the room one more time. It looked different already. The last thing hanging on the door hook was the dressing gown. He reached out and gathered it in his hands, letting the warm, soft feeling flood around his palms.
“About the ring. Thank you. I had no idea where that was. I thought Mum had lost it. She’s still here – still alive.” He shook his head, “But you’ll know that, I guess. It’s just, she’s not here anymore. She still thinks you’re alive. She still thinks Dad’s alive. It makes her happy, so I don’t tell her any different.” He pushed his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the ring. “I hope – someday in the future and when the timing is right – I’ll give this to someone. Someone that I know Mum would like.” He looked around and smiled. “Someone who I hope will help bring some life back into Garnock Hall.” He walked to the door as the light flickered.
Christmas Day this year would be the start of new memories. It would be a celebration of all the Christmases before. Garnock Hall should be a happy place, not sad. Not remembered because of ghosts.
He walked over to the window and closed it properly, finding a towel to soak up the snow on the ledge. When he walked out of the room he left the door open. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with Douglas’s room. Part of him wanted to leave it. Another part wanted to change it and move on. He could decide later. He had Christmas to sort out. And a woman to convince that she’d found a place in his heart. It was strange. The place felt a little warmer already.
For a second he hesitated, before shaking his head as he took one last look and picked up the remaining boxes. “Wish me luck, Doug.”
Chapter Ten
‡
She’d never had problems deciding what to wear on Christmas morning before. Usually she just grabbed whatever came to her first.
But the entire contents of her bag were currently spread over her bed. Nothing seemed right. Not the suit she’d worn last night. Not the jeans she’d had on the other day. She did have a black dress but that was hardly suitable for first thing in the morning. She had a red fluffy jumper, but right now it looked as if she’d have to wear it on its own. She kept rummaging through the bag – there had to be something?
Her hand caught something soft. A pair of black leggings she’d missed. They would have to do. Two minutes later she was dressed. Her hand hesitated at the door handle. “It’s one day. You can get through it,” she muttered to herself.
Andrew had seemed more at peace in the middle of the night – if a little melancholy. She hoped at some point today he might even smile.
She was still fretting over the fact he hadn’t kissed her. It stung. Was she really that unattractive? She was sure she’d felt a pull between them – something in the air. But it was obviously just in her imagination. Because at best, he seemed distracted.
She yanked open the door. There was a smell drifting down the corridor towards her. A smell of something good.
It pulled her in like the Pied Piper of Hamelin had enticed the children with his music. Her nose led the way directly to the kitchen.
She stood in the doorway for a few seconds. Andrew was busy buttering rolls and pouring tea. Something on the grill smelled great, as did a pot bubbling on the stove. Curiosity was killing her. She walked over to take a look.
“You made soup? Already?”
Andrew spun around. “Oh, Juliette. You’re up.” He paused for a second then stepped forward and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
The moment was over in an instant. So unexpected she wasn’t even sure it had actually happened. Was this the same guy from last night?
He pulled out the grill plate and picked out squares to put in the rolls. She wrinkled her nose. “Is this the square sausage? What did you call it – slice?”
He smiled. There was something different about him this morning. He seemed much more relaxed than before. Chilled even. With a determined edge about him.
He handed her a mug of tea and the roll with the square sausage. “Ketchup or brown sauce?”
She sat down at the kitchen table and opened her roll to look at the sausage again. “Ketchup. I think.”
He handed her the ketchup and sat across from her, watching as she took her first bite. The effect was instant – pure and utter pleasure.
“Do you like it?” he queried.
“Hmm, it’s better than I thought. It’s actually quite nice. Where do you get this stuff?”
“At any butcher’s in Scotland. Can’t get it anywhere else in the world for love or money. All the old ex-pats in the US and Australia always want square sausage sent to them. And it doesn’t matter where I go on location. The first thing I eat when I come back to Scotland is a roll and slice.”
She laughed. “I can’t believe you’re such a traditionalist. You don’t normally seem like that at work.” She licked her lips between bites.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why?
How am I at work?”
She took another bite. “You know, grumpy. Or what’s the word you use. Crabbit.”
She sat back feeling very pleased with herself.
“Crabbit? Me? Never.” It was the gleam in his eyes and mock horror in his voice that made her laugh again.
“I’m kidding. People do talk about you though. But it’s your good manners and work ethic they talk about. That, and the fact, you don’t suffer fools gladly. If Lois, the director, ever has a problem she always just sighs and says she’ll leave it to you to sort out.” She took a sip of her tea. “I think she might actually have a secret crush on you.”
“You do?” His eyes were definitely twinkling now. Such a change from last night. He was teasing her. Flirting with her.
“Yeah, I think she might.” She stared right at him, almost daring him to respond to her words. “Working on location can be hard. Lots of nights away from home, even the most unusual suspect can start to look handsome.”
