Page 49 of The Christmas Highland Lodge

Blake looked at me, Mrs Stritch and the expectant faces of his fellow walkers all crowded round him in horror. He let out a whimpering noise and closed his eyes for a few seconds, as though willing us all to vanish. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ he hissed under his breath. There was an agonising silence for a few seconds. ‘All right! All right. I’ll do it.’

Mrs Stritch clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, Mr Dempster. You’ve saved Christmas for the little ones!’

Blake tried to smile, but he looked more like he was suffering with an ingrown toenail.

Mrs Stritch couldn’t contain her delight. ‘I’ll email you the details when I return home, but if you could be at Craig Brae Primary School for one o’clock tomorrow afternoon please, that would be grand.’

Buzzing with relief, Mrs Stritch and her walking companions began to file their way out of the cabin and tap back down the porch steps.

I beamed over at him.

‘I won’t forget this, Grant,’ he ground out.

‘I’m sure you won’t. Still, I’m looking forward to seeing you do your yo-ho-ho act tomorrow.’

Blake looked stricken. ‘What?’

I hooked my thumbs into the beltloops of my jeans. ‘Oh, I’ll make sure I’m there, don’t you worry about that. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

Chapter Fourteen

My old primary school was just as I remembered: a big, stately grey stone affair from the Victorian era, with sash windows and a large playground. The only new addition was an Astroturf football pitch.

As soon as I pressed the intercom, I was allowed entry and directed by a young teaching assistant to the school office.

A sharply dressed woman with curly hair smiled through the glass partition at me. It was all so different to when Mrs Edmond was the head school secretary. Her Dame Edna Everage-style glasses would glint at you with irritation if you dared to approach the hallowed ground that was the school office. It was most unnerving. She viewed all the kids as a damned nuisance.

I explained to the smiling woman that I was here to see Mrs Stritch and she told me to take the first right down the hallway to the main hall.

Paintings and drawings of everything from treehouses to volcanoes dotted the walls.

The playful tinkle of a piano sent the sound of ‘Frosty the Snowman’ across the hall to greet me, making me smile.

The polished wooden floor of the hall gleamed up at me. The air smelled of wax crayons and the remnants of school lunch.

A Christmas tree, popping with multi-coloured lights, sat in the far corner. Underneath it were several foil-wrapped boxes masquerading as presents.

Ahead of me and to the left were a number of occupied classrooms. Memories of my school Christmas parties trailed through my mind. The hall had been strung with paper chains and dangling spinning snowflakes, and we had played pass-the-parcel. I remembered Mum tonging my hair into ringlets especially for the occasion.

Mrs Stritch was chatting to a gangly, young male teacher. When she saw me, she smiled and excused herself. ‘Lottie. How nice to see you again.’

‘Likewise.’ I glanced around myself, noting over her shoulder a classful of five-year-olds, chatting and giggling to each other, through a gap in the partially open classroom door. They reminded me of miniature princes and princesses, in their party outfits of smart shirts, waistcoats, glittery tops and velvet dresses. ‘Is Blake here yet?’

‘Oh yes. He arrived ten minutes ago and has gone to the gents’ teacher’s toilets to get ready.’

As if on cue, a blur of red and white emerged out of the corner of my eye.

Mrs Stritch reached behind her and tugged the classroom door closed, so that the children wouldn’t be able to see anything.

Blake was clumping along in heavy, shiny black boots and glowering out at me from under a long white wig and matching false beard.

Oh dear. Something told me he was still rather annoyed at me.

‘You look terrific, Mr Dempster,’ exclaimed Mrs Stritch. ‘The real deal!’

Blake flapped his ankle-length cloak. ‘It will only be for about half an hour, won’t it? The wig and this cloak are rather hot.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to cope,’ I beamed up at him. ‘Playing Santa will be a walk in the park for someone who conquers three mountains before breakfast.’