Page 33 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘What is this – a Hallmark movie? All we need now is a perfectly timed snowfall and a flour fight when we get back to the kitchen,’ I say, making him laugh, but this is the dream Christmas. ‘Seriously, Ol. You could sell this as the perfect festive experience. People would pay to come here and do this. Like those bookshops where you can book a week to take over the running of the bookshop. Burnt-out city dwellers would flock to experience this. Decorate your own castle for Christmas. I meant what I said the other day – I should be paying you for letting me spend December here.’

‘It’s a nice thought, but I’ve got other things to worry about, I can’t take on any more.’ He ends the sentence with a shiver, even though I don’t think it’s anything to do with the chill of the early December day.

Before I can push it any further, Rory calls out, ‘Where did you go for your first date?’

‘Where did we go on our first date, Lu?’ Ollie tugs me closer so we can whisper without being overheard.

I look around for inspiration. I can hear the sea in the distance and think about the cliffs I can see from the tower window. ‘How about for a walk down to the famous Mull of Kintyre lighthouse? And this city girl underestimated how steep the path was and you had to carry me half the way back?’

He laughs, even though I daresay that if I was to attempt the winding path down to the lighthouse, I would definitely need assistance in getting back up.

‘Why is it always here? The castle, the library, the lighthouse. Everything we’ve ever fictionally done has taken place right here…’

I look at him for a long moment and I see the vulnerability in his eyes, like he wants to hear an answer different to the one I have. ‘Because this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. If you’re lucky enough to live somewhere like this, you don’t take people on dates somewhere else. It’s like a living storybook.’

‘Reall—’ He was intending to question me further, but Rory interrupts again.

‘Where was your first kiss?’

Ollie pulls us to a halt and waits for them to catch up. He gives me a playful look that means he’s up to something, and then lifts our joined hands until his lips brush gently over the back of my hand. His mouth is blisteringly hot and he hasn’t shaved since Friday morning before work, so the scratch of stubble is really, unfairly delicious and makes my hand flex involuntarily in his grip. Until now, I’d been admonishing myself for forgetting my gloves, but I’m suddenly really glad I did.

It doesn’t last anywhere near long enough, and when he lets our hands drop, my knees feel decidedly unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the grassy ground we’re walking across.

‘At Christmas, on the walk to the tree lot. How’s that?’ The unsteady knees and inexplicable blush are worth it for his look of defiant amusement as he gives Maisie and Rory a satisfied nod.

Maisie looks so happy that she might be about to explode in a burst of pink glitter. ‘Soooo romantic!’

‘Sorry,’ he whispers as we carry on walking. ‘Didn’t mean to overstep.’

His hand squeezes mine, and he looks over at me nervously and I squeeze his hand in return to make sure he knows that was more than okay.

‘I see you two have been putting them through their paces,’ Nancy observes.

‘They needed all the help they could get,’ Rory tells her. ‘Honestly, it was so cringe! Thank God we came when we did. We might have to come back next weekend to make sure though!’

Ollie and I catch each other’s eyes again and smile. Somehow, I’d be remarkably okay with that.

The tree lot is both spectacular and ordinary when we reach it. Grassy paths between Christmas trees of varying sizes and unkemptness. Not uniform ones like you’d see at a Christmas tree farm, but that makes it better somehow. These are trees that have mattered to this family over the years, and I love the thought of Ollie’s grandfather, or his father and Hamish, replanting a tree for every one they took going back decades. It’s a place that makes you want to throw your arms out wide and frolic.

‘What are you looking for, Auntie Lula?’ Maisie asks as I mooch around the small patch, searching for one that’s right for what I envision.

‘A grand tree for the grand entrance hall. It can’t just be any tree, it has to say something.’

‘Christmas trees can’t speak, silly!’

‘Metaphorically. It has to be so big and majestic that it silently conveys “hello, and welcome to the most Christmassy Christmas you’re ever going to have”.’ I look over at Ollie and then add, ‘“With the best investment accountant you’ve ever known who you’re definitely going to promote”.’

‘That is a very chatty tree,’ he murmurs.

‘And that’s it!’ I squeak excitedly when I spot the perfect tree. It’s about eight foot tall and could do with a trim to make it more symmetrical, but it’s a beauty and my fingers smell of pine when I rub the branches.

‘I can hear it nattering already,’ Nancy says, and Maisie puts her ear to the trunk to see if she can hear it too, then gives a thumbs-up of approval, even though I’m reasonably sure the tree hasn’t said anything at all.

Ollie marks up where the axe needs to hit the trunk, and I have a go at swinging it, and then Maisie and Rory do the same, although we all hit it in three different places. When we’ve had our fun, we stand back while he and Hamish take the saw and cut it down in the proper way between them.

There’s something about this rugged, outdoorsy side of my fake husband. In a knitted bobble hat, jeans and workboots, he’s a million miles away from the briefcase-carrying suited banker type who comes home every evening, and this version seems to agree with him a lot more.

‘He’s in his element doing this.’ Nancy has obviously noticed the way I’m watching him. ‘We always thought he’d follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and get hands-on with everything that needs work around here, not take over his father’s office job and never have time to do anything he actually enjoys.’