Page 35 of The Christmas Highland Lodge

It was the Saturday of the grand Christmas light switch-on in the town.

Craig Brae high street was awash with pink-faced chattering children and their parents, the odd meandering tourist accosting the locals for directions and the warm aromas of roasted chestnuts, hot chocolate and mince pies wafting from not only Mrs Crill’s bakery, but also a couple of decoration-strewn mobile snack vans.

Santa had already sailed statesman-like past Christmas Crackers, complete with four of his trotting reindeer and his sleigh. I recognised the twinkly, pale eyes of Mr Dalgleish behind his mass of white beard. He played Santa every year and was also the owner of the local garden centre.

Now, a choir of children from the local primary school which I had attended, all sporting loud Christmas jumpers and Santa hats, began belting out ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas,’ across the other side of the cobbles.

The grand light switch-on was due to take place at five o’clock, about ninety minutes from now. This year, the local provost, Mr Reginald Jay, had been invited to do the honours, although Mum told me he’d been dropping hints since March that he would be more than happy to do it.

He was mingling amongst the buzzing crowd, no doubt pressing some flesh and trying to secure re-election next year.

Further down the pedestrianised town centre, a handful of brightly painted fairground rides swirled and danced, with squealing, laughing children aboard unicorns.

I stepped out of Christmas Crackers, clutching a handful of the fliers I’d created. The air was laced with chatter. It already felt as though Christmas had arrived in Craig Brae, even though it was still only the third week of November.

A little boy and his sister sauntered past, devouring toasted marshmallows.

The shop had been operating at a very brisk pace and today had seen a surge in customers. They came and went, armed with their purchases.

Just past the cluster of roundabouts and attractions, the shiny foil and cottonwool dome of Santa’s grotto could be seen, rising phoenix-like over the paintbox lights of the fairground.

Stephanie, Max and Kim had arranged to meet me outside the shop at four o’clock and as soon as the velvety black descended and anticipation began to build at the prospect of the Christmas lights being switched on, the three of them arrived. They were all wrapped up against the biting cold, while the children surrounding us were hopping from foot to foot and squealing at everything.

Kim was wearing a black and silver pom-pom winter hat and matching scarf. Stephanie clapped her gloved hands together. She grinned at the glowing windows of Christmas Crackers and the stream of people ferrying in and out. ‘Business looks good.’

‘Oh, it is,’ I assured her. ‘The stock is flying off the shelves.’

Max tightened the tartan scarf knotted around his neck and gestured to the fliers I held in my hands. ‘They look terrific, Lottie. You’ve done a great job with them. Right, let’s make a start, shall we?’

The four of us turned around, appraising the sea of pink-tipped noses and winter coats.

We had just begun moving through the crowd, handing out the leaflets and chatting, when Andrew and Dominic Clark appeared in front of us. ‘Need a hand?’ asked Andrew.

He proceeded to introduce his wife Lisa, a petite blonde with friendly hazel eyes, and his two little girls, Lola and Anna. Their mouths were falling open at the colours and sounds.

Beside them was Dominic and a tall, attractive, brown-haired man in trendy spectacles. ‘And this is my husband Sandy,’ he beamed.

Handshakes and pleasantries were exchanged all round.

‘We thought we could help too, before the big switch-on,’ explained Dominic.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ said Max. ‘The more, the merrier.’

‘We’re not going to miss the Christmas lights being turned on, are we, Uncle Dom?’ pleaded one of his little nieces from under her red fringe.

Dominic crouched down in front of her. ‘Of course not, sweetheart. That’s a promise.’

I handed out leaflets to all of them with grateful thanks, before we broke off into different directions.

The reactions from the locals and from the tourists alike were encouraging. A large number of them, over the sound of the school choir, asked for more information while others assured us they would check out Magical Occasions Cabins on social media.

I took a breather for a moment, savouring the scent of cinnamon in the air and the chips of stars breaking out across the black sky. It was great that all the team were so enthusiastic and willing to pitch in. Well, almost all of them.

Blake hadn’t shown up. He was conspicuous by his absence.

That was no surprise. He seemed to view me and my suggestions as some sort of weird oddity that weren’t deserving of his time or attention.

I could see Kim and Stephanie laughing with members of the public, as they answered questions and pointed through the dark towards the country lanes that slid away from the centre of Craig Brae and in the direction of Rowan Moore House.