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Archie wasn’t saying anything, probably because he was even more horrified than she was. How could she be crying?
Somehow, with what felt like superhuman effort, she managed to get her unruly emotions back under control. Mostly.
“Sorry,” she said for a third time as she hitched in a ragged breath. “Coming back here…it’s brought up all sorts of memories and feelings I didn’t expect.”
“Bound to,” Archie said with a nod and a creased smile of sympathy. “Since you hadn’t come here since you were a lass. Bound to bring some things back up.” He seemed reassuringly unfazed by her near-meltdown, taking it in his stride along with everything else.
“Yes, it’s just…” Laurel could still feel a lump in her throat, although it was thankfully starting to dissolve. “I came here hoping for some sort of miracle,” she confessed with a wobbly laugh. “Isn’t that stupid?”
Archie’s eyes looked impossibly blue as they creased in concern. “I wouldna call it stupid,” he said after a moment. “After all, Christmas is the time for miracles, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose. And I have a tendency to…” Be naively delusional. No, she wasn’t going to admit that. Laurel decided it was time to rein the conversation back in. “Anyway, it’s a miracle to me that you got the Rayburn working at long last.” The cooker was still rumbling away, and Laurel could actually feel a warm, comforting heat emanating from it, a miracle indeed. “Thank you.”
Archie took the not-so-subtle cue and reached for his coat. “Anytime. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Feeling a bit as if she’d brushed him off, Laurel said, “Actually, I was hoping to get a Christmas tree today. Is there a place in Stromness where they sell them?”
Archie shook his head. “Not in Stromness, no, but you could get one in Kirkwall, if you wanted, at the garden centre on the outskirts of town. It’s about a twenty-minute drive.”
“I think I can manage that. Thank you.”
He nodded, and then turned to go. For a second, Laurel had the bizarre urge to ask him to stay, although she couldn’t even say why. Perhaps because, beneath his bluff exterior, he really did seem like a kind, old soul, and she could use one of those in her life right about now.
But he had to work to do, and she didn’t actually know him from Adam, and anyway she was here to bond with her nephew, not an eccentric sheep farmer she’d most likely never see again. Although she’d thought that once already, and yet here she was.
“Thanks again, Archie,” she called as he headed out of the cottage. “See you…sometime.”
He waved in response, and then he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a final-sounding click.
Laurel turned to the kitchen, which was looking cosier now that she’d cleaned it and there was a hopefully reliable source of heat. Her sagging spirits started to lift, just a little, although she still had to fight a wave of loneliness from crashing over her.
Now that the cottage was looking homier, she was reminded all the more of Eilidh. She could picture her standing at the stove, or sitting by the fire, always with a ready smile, a welcoming hug.
Standing there, Laurel found herself picturing her mum as well, curled up in the other armchair by the fire, laughing at something Eilidh had said. It was far easier to picture Eilidh than her mum, because she’d seen her, albeit intermittently, over the years.
Her mum felt like a ghost, hazy and unreal. She couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like, or the exact shade of her brown hair, or how she’d smiled.
And yet Archie had made her remember. She had lovely long hair and she liked to sing.
Yes, she’d had long hair, even if Laurel couldn’t remember the exact shade. Long enough for her to
be able to sit on it. Sometimes Laurel had brushed it at night, long, sure strokes while her mother had closed her eyes and smiled. She’d had hazel eyes, too, the same as Laurel’s—and Abby’s. And the same slight space between her front teeth that hadn’t been worth the aggro of braces. Actually, Laurel realised with an unsettling jolt, her mother looked a lot like her. Or rather, she looked like her mum.
She was almost near tears again, Laurel realised with alarm. She wasn’t normally so emotional, not about her mum, at least. Give her a good rom com or a soppy advert on TV, and she’d be in extravagant floods of tears, but when it came to anything that actually mattered…
She drew a quick breath, willing all that emotion back, and decided to find Zac and ask him what he’d like for lunch. Perhaps afterwards they could venture into Kirkwall, to find a Christmas tree.
Zac was lying on his bed in the little third bedroom Laurel had once shared with Abby, squinting at his phone, fingers flying.
“What!” Laurel stared at him in dismay. “I thought you didn’t have signal.”
“I don’t,” he said in his usual bored voice. “I’m playing a game that doesn’t need Wi-Fi.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Deflated, Laurel tried to bolster her spirits set to sag once more. “Well, what would you like for lunch? There’s leftover stew or I could make ham and cheese toasties.” Zac just shrugged, and Laurel bit her lip, fighting a wave of frustration. If he could just look at her… “Please, Zac. I am actually trying, you know?”
Finally, he lifted his gaze from his phone. That was something at least. “Trust me, I know.”
Ouch. Did he think she was pathetic, pushing for some kind of relationship when he so obviously didn’t want one? The thought made her squirm, and resolutely she put it to the side. Not helpful. “I thought after lunch we could go get a Christmas tree.”
