Page 55 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘Do you know what I haven’t seen?’ Clint turns back to us from his examination of the mantelpiece. ‘A single wedding photo. Actually, come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single photo at all. You’d think someone with a family as perfect as yours, Ollie, would be keen to show them off.’

I bristle at his use of Ollie’s nickname, something I’ve yet to hear anyone from work call him.

‘We’re not big photo people. I’ve told you before that my family are camera shy, no matter how much I try to talk them into posing occasionally.’

‘Hmm.’ He looks us up and down like he’s trying to analyse our body language, and I squish closer to my pretend husband.

Clint is going to be a problem this week, I’m sure of it.

I look up and meet Ollie’s eyes again, and not a single thing about it feels pretend. If we believe that, there’s no way they can fail to believe it too… not even Clint.

18

The day after their arrival is Christmas Eve, and Ollie has taken the men for a round of golf across the peninsula. Nancy, Hamish, and my mum and dad have taken the youngest kids on a walk around the grounds, while one teenager has taken over the TV in the guest lounge and the other is firmly attached to a phone screen up in their bedroom, leaving me and Mira alone with the three wives. I’ve suggested making Yule logs, which has been a Haines family tradition for me and Mira since we were young, but now, only the two of us are making them while the others have pulled stools up to the kitchen island and are nursing cups of tea and watching us.

‘Oh, Luce, you’re so lucky.’ Michelle leans back and gazes wistfully around the huge kitchen. ‘This beautiful place and a husband who still looks at you the way Oliver does.’

‘I’ve noticed it too,’ Orla says. ‘Extraordinary to still have him so smitten after so many years.’

‘Oh, he’s not.’ The thought makes me feel tingly inside, but I have to wave it away with my batter-covered spoon as I spread the chocolate cake mixture into the shallow tin. Ollie’s not really smitten, he’s just a good actor. I know that, even if they don’t.

‘Oh my God, he so is.’ Mira joins in even though she knows the truth. ‘The only thing Brian looks at like that in our house is his PlayStation!’

The others groan in mutual agreement.

‘Or his work laptop,’ Michelle says.

‘His bloody air fryer, for God’s sake. The air fryer gets more affection from Clint than I do,’ Gisela adds.

They all look at me expectantly and I know I need to make something up to fit in. ‘Oh, yeah, Ollie’s, um, office. He spends more time in there than he does with me.’

‘What’s your sex life like?’ Orla asks, and I choke like I’ve just swallowed a string of tinsel.

Gisela giggles. ‘Lucy’s not used to your particular brand of directness, Orla.’

‘Oh, no, it’s fine. We’re all adults here, aren’t we?’ I do an awkward laugh but realise I really am going to be expected to answer the question. ‘It’s, er, very good. Very nice.’

Has anyone ever described their sex life as ‘very nice’ before? Surely, somewhere beneath this castle, there is a sinkhole that could swallow me up? I didn’t realise this was going to become that much of a girlie sharing session, but I can feel the sense of comradeship between these women. We all share husbands who do the same job and, from the sounds of it, are equally married to it rather than to them, and they have no reason to believe I’m not one of them. If Ollie really was my husband, I’d probably be in exactly the same position too.

I’ve struggled not to rip his clothes off a few times since we started sharing a bed a few nights ago, but consummating our fictional marriage in a very real way has felt like crossing a boundary. If we don’t draw the line somewhere, where does this pretence end?

‘What about yours?’ I ask.

‘Non-existent!’

‘Cringeworthy!’

‘To be honest, the nights when he sleeps at the office are better!’ Michelle says it as a joke and everyone giggles, but there’s such a hidden sadness behind it.

‘Oh, don’t make me laugh like that!’ Orla scolds. ‘My pelvic floor can’t take it!’

‘My pelvic floor hasn’t been the same since giving birth. Has yours?’

‘We, er, get by,’ I say, like my pelvic floor and I are struggling to pay a bill together. ‘It has its moments.’

‘You’re just trying to make us feel better,’ Michelle says. ‘You’re younger – wait until you reach our age and you’ll see the comeuppance of having popped out two babies!’

‘One is bad enough,’ Mira says.