Page 10 of The Christmas Highland Lodge

Kyle would complain about not only the cost of the decorations (forgetting I received my treasured discount) but the ‘mess’ they made and the ‘commercialisation of what is essentially an excuse for gluttony, excess and conglomerate exploitation.’

On more than one occasion, he would insist that Christmas Crackers had a limited shelf life and then proceed to laugh at his own, corny joke.

If he knew what was happening now, he would let out one of his dramatic sighs and say, ‘I did warn you, Lotts.’

I made myself a mug of hot chocolate, which usually at this time of year would fire up my festive anticipation even more.

But these weren’t normal times.

I sank into the chair behind the desk, the Christmas stock on the shop floor casting slivers of light.

After a frantic series of scorings out in my notebook and several frustrated mouthfuls of my hot chocolate, I managed to come up with the following:

IMPORTANT NOTICE – CHRISTMAS CRACKERS

For the past three years, we at Christmas Crackers have aimed to deliver the excitement of Christmas to our loyal customers all year round.

Unfortunately, due to matters out of our control, the business will have to close.

This is a very sad and difficult time, but I would like to extend our grateful thanks, appreciation and good wishes to you all, for your unwavering support. It has meant so very much.

Christmas Crackers will officially cease trading on 31st December and Ronaldo’s, the Italian restaurant chain, will be taking over the premises as of 6th January.

Have a wonderful Christmas and New Year and thank you once again for your loyalty. It will not be forgotten.

Vivian Sangster, Lottie Grant, Bernadette Grant and Orla Cunningham. X

Through a series of sudden, rasping sobs, I somehow managed to type up the notice on the office PC, before posting it on our Christmas Cracker Facebook, Instagram and Twitter accounts. I also made sure it appeared on our shop website.

I printed off two copies and just as I was leaving the shop for the evening, I attached a copy to the inside of the shop window and stuck the other on the inside of the shop door.

I then trudged home, bone-weary, to my flat at the other end of the town, feeling as though I’d been kicked by a bloody great horse.

* * *

I sat in front of my laptop that evening, nursing a huge glass of white wine and scanning job vacancies.

Mum had asked her friend about a few hours here and there for me at Eternal Flame, but Susie had apologised and said orders this year were down on previous Christmases, and she regretted she wasn’t in a position to offer me anything. She was just about able to give Mum a few more hours as it was.

I had read her text with a degree of resignation and decided to check out any available opportunities.

It turned out there were a couple of part-time posts going in Craig Brae. One was behind the bar in the local pub, the Hound and Hare, and the other was on reception in one of the hotels just a short distance away, but that was it.

I knew Mum had made me promise to look further afield but I couldn’t. At least not for the moment. She had been slowly coming to terms with losing Dad, but the last thing I wanted to do was leave her at the moment. It just didn’t seem right. Not yet.

A chill raced down my spine as I recalled that day eighteen months ago, when Mum rang me at the shop to tell me Dad was gone.

It had been a crisp beige and russet autumnal morning, with the sun kissing the roofs of the shops. I had just arrived at Christmas Crackers for the start of the day. We had received an early delivery of blown-glass reindeer and Christmas tree decorations and I was busy unpacking them, when the shop phone rang out.

I was surprised to hear it was Mum on the line. She always called me on my mobile. At first, I struggled to understand what she was saying. She was garbling words I couldn’t make out. I asked her to slow down and she said something about ringing my mobile, but she didn’t know if I would hear it over the morning buzz in the high street.

I started to ask her if she was all right and what was going on, but she broke down into a ragged series of gasps and sobs.

Dad had suffered a massive heart attack in bed. She had popped downstairs to make him a morning cuppa before he set off for work. He had been going on about the gorgeous new wildlife centre they were building.

Mum had only been in the kitchen a few minutes, she said. He had joked to her about her bringing him a full fry-up as well, as she had left the bedroom.

When she padded back upstairs in her slippers and dressing gown, she thought he had fallen back to sleep. Mum said she had laughed and told him to wake up.