Page 21 of The Christmas Highland Lodge

I swallowed. ‘But that’s the thing, Dad. What about the shop?’

‘What about it?’

His interested, kind face was every bit as caring as I remembered it.

‘I can’t just up and leave, especially not right now when we’re closing down in a matter of weeks. If I did that, it would be like all the hard work I put in, was for nothing.’ I blew out a mouthful of frustrated air. ‘I know that sounds crazy, but I can’t.’

‘Oh, you’ll think of something. You always do. What is it I always tell you?’

‘That things have a habit of sorting themselves out in the end.’

I wanted him to stay. I wanted to reach out to him, be scooped into his capable, supportive arms for one of his bear hugs.

‘Go for it, Lottie. Be proud. It’s the things you haven’t done that you regret, not the things you have.’

But I was beginning to lose him again. I shot out one hand in the hope he would take mine, but it melted into the November night air. ‘Dad? Dad! No! Don’t go. Wait, please!’

I shot up in bed, almost knocking over the half-drunk mug of camomile on my bedside table. It took a few moments for my head to unscramble itself. My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

When I came that day to view the flat with Mum and Dad in tow, it had been clean, but a lot of the fixtures and fittings were tired and dated. Dark wood panelling ran along the length of the hallway and the walls had been painted a disturbing shade of green.

The bathroom was fitted out in white but the shower cubicle leaked and the kitchen was also begging for a makeover, with its flowery tiling and amber linoleum on the floor.

The spare bedroom was painted in cream and had a russet carpet, but my bedroom had wonky shelves and a loud, paisley patterned carpet which gave you a migraine whenever you looked at it.

As for the sitting room, that was all Venetian blinds, brass wall lamps and was painted a duck-egg blue.

Nevertheless, I could see the potential it had, as did my parents, so I bought it. We each rolled up our sleeves and set to work on dragging the whole place into the twenty-first century.

It took several months, but thanks to Mum and Dad’s efforts and Dad calling on the expertise of some tradesmen colleagues of his, it had been transformed into a pastel-hued comfy home with a stone fireplace and scatter cushions that I could call my own.

I stared around my bedroom, with its mirrored wardrobes and cream and coffee bedding. It felt like my dad had been here, but then he’d slipped away again. Even in my flat, my late father’s presence was imprinted everywhere – and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Loss crushed my insides as I sank back under the covers again. I had conjured him up. I had willed him to be there and yet, his advice rang true as it always had.

It was like he had whispered to me while I was asleep. Dad always maintained that every problem had a solution.

After wriggling around under the covers, I sat up again and propped myself up against my pillows. It was almost nine o’clock in the morning.

I reached for my mobile by my bedside lamp and switched it on. Outside, I could hear the comforting, rusty peel of church bells.

Mum’s number rang out several times before she picked it up. I didn’t give her time to speak. ‘I dreamt about Dad,’ I blurted. ‘It was like he was here, chatting to me.’

I heard Mum swallow down the line. ‘I dreamt about him again last week. He was telling me off after I said I would only be ten minutes down the shops and I ended up being two hours.’

I laughed at the memory. ‘And his car battery went flat waiting for you. He was always trotting that story out.’

‘And it was exaggerated,’ insisted Mum. I could almost hear her smile. ‘I was not two hours… well, not quite.’ She paused. ‘So, what did Dad say to you?’

I pushed my bed head around. ‘He said I should accept the Styles cabins job.’ I rubbed at my creased face. ‘I received an email yesterday, inviting me for an interview for the part-time hotel reception vacancy.’

Mum listened. ‘Oh right. What’s your heart telling you to do, lovey?’

I played with the edge of my crumpled duvet. I could see the woodland dusted with snow in my imagination and the glow of lamps from inside the log cabins, throwing a lemony warmth everywhere. There was the smell of pine needles. The cabins were furnished with sparkly cushions and woven rugs.

‘But the shop, Mum,’ I said, pulling myself back to the real world. ‘If I did accept that job with the Styleses, they said they would like me to start straight away. Who would oversee the closure of the shop? I mean, I’d still be able to pop in and out, but I wouldn’t be around like I am at the moment.’

‘Well,’ steeled Mum. ‘I was having a think about all this last night and I don’t see why Orla and I can’t do it.’