Page 6 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘Are your bosses not allowed to know that?’

‘No. They’re supposed to think I’m a multi-talented multitasker who can manage investments by day and decorate with flair and nuance by night, while showering my fictional wife with affection and being a wonderful father to my two non-existent children. Or perhaps that we decorate the castle together before snuggling in front of the fire to eat toasted marshmallows and make gingerbread houses or whatever it is that happy families do at this time of year. A film-worthy Christmas, Miss Haines. No one ever questions how it all gets done or how the main character affords it, it’s just…’

‘Christmas magic?’

‘Exactly. This needs to be the most magical Christmas any of them have ever had, better than the five-star resorts they usually go to, and I need to make it look effortless. Your job is visual merchandising, and I need to visually merchandise myself, my non-existent family, and my home. I need them to see the castle and realise I’m a reliable family man who can be trusted to start up a new branch of their firm. Is that doable?’

‘Anything’s possible at Christmas.’

He nods in a sceptical way, but I feel like I’m vibrating inside with excitement. How could I get this lucky? To lose my job and feel the pull to do something different, and then for this to fall into my lap. All the times I’ve felt unlucky in my life, it’s surely because the universe was saving up all of my luck for this one moment.

‘We’re on the Kintyre peninsula, right down on the Mull, really remot⁠—’

‘Like the song?’ I cut him off without meaning to when I realise what he’s saying. This castle is on the Mull of Kintyre? The world-famous Christmas song of the 1970s, from Paul McCartney’s post-Beatles era. One of my mum’s favourite songs while I was growing up. A song I’ve heard so many times that I could sing it backwards. I’ve always wanted to visit Scotland and promised myself that one day, when I can afford to travel, I’ll go there to see the mists on the sea and the green valleys that Paul sings about.

He laughs, an indulgent laugh that sounds like he’s never met a person who hasn’t mentioned the song, but the vibration of excitement inside me is getting stronger. It’s another nod from the universe and I can’t shake the feeling that this job was meant for me. I was crushed yesterday, but it suddenly feels like I lost my job at exactly the right time to make way for this.

‘And the wife thing?’ I voice the only thing that’s tempering my excitement.

‘I apologise, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s such a stup⁠—’

‘What if I was to agree?’

‘Then I’d be very grateful.’ He does that nervous-embarrassed laugh again, the one that’s incredibly endearing. ‘I know this is weird, but no funny business, I promise. You’ll have your own room, your own bathroom, your own space. You’ll barely even see me because I’m always at work. The only thing you need to do is exist, and let my bosses believe we’ve been married for five years and have two children.’

I think about it again, like I haven’t been turning it over in my mind since the moment he said it. A chance to get out of London. Exactly what I wanted. The money would give me a buffer when I get back.

That kind of lump sum for a month’s work would mean not having to worry about the rent and bills for a while. It would mean not having to give up and move somewhere more affordable. I would have time to find a job where I’m valued and appreciated, and maybe even start saving for a deposit on somewhere of my own and get out of Mira’s spare room… One month of decorating and perpetuating a little white lie, and I could be back here in January and start the new year off right.

‘And a reference?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Of course.’ He smiles like he understands exactly why that part is so important.

He hasn’t judged me for the window disaster, and he might be the only person in the universe who will employ me with that on my record. This would be a chance to… not exactly erase it from my CV, but bury it further down and have a good reference from someone who has no partiality to aardvarks, and that slow smile makes something tingle into life inside me. He seems genuine, and I relate to the predicament he’s got himself into. It’s easy to imagine how something like that can spiral into a huge web of lies just because you want someone to think you’re different than you are…

And I think about how much I’ve laughed over the course of this conversation. How easy it’s been to talk to him. What started out as a job interview has quickly become a friendly chat of empathising with each other, and I feel lighter somehow. Plus, the idea of getting to decorate a castle is ridiculously appealing. A month to do something different and spend Christmas somewhere magical…

‘You know how when you look at a swan gliding along a lake, it’s all calm and serene, but if you looked under the water, you’d see its flippers going a hundred miles an hour? These visitors need to see the swan, not the flippers.’

It’s a perfect description of window dressing. The window is the swan. Perfect, pristine, enticing, and the customer must never see the flippers – the hours of night work, of preparation and planning, of designs and arguments with Head Office and sourcing the stock, to ensure the perfect window appears, as if by magic when the shutters roll up in the morning. I spend my life making sure no one ever sees the flippers.

It’s a metaphor I feel in my soul, and it makes me take leave of my senses. ‘I’m in. On both counts.’

For a moment, I think my soul leaves my body because I’m looking down on myself and wondering why the hell I said that when my brain is screaming, ‘Of course you’re not in! You’re not going to pretend to be some random stranger’s wife for the next month!’

Even through the screen, the gigantic smile that spreads across Oliver’s face is a sight to behold. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No, of course not! This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever agreed to in my life!’

‘We’re in luck then because it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever suggested in mine.’

He’s laughing as he says it, and it makes me laugh again and feel that same sense of companionship. If I can help him out, be paid nicely, and have an adventure in the process, then why not?

‘I’ll pay for your travel, of course. It’s a long way and we’re very remote.’ He sits forward and focuses on his screen instead of the camera, like he’s trying to do it quickly before I have a chance to change my mind. ‘So, it’ll be a train from London to Glasgow, and then you connect to a plane from Glasgow airport, and⁠—’

‘A plane? You’re not on the mainland?’

‘We’re hanging onto the mainland by a thread, but the bus from Glasgow takes four hours and only runs twice a day if the weather’s good enough for the roads to be open, whereas the plane is reasonably reliable and only takes half an hour.’ It sounds like he’s on the train ticket website already. I can hear the clicks of his keyboard as his fingers tap it. ‘When do you want to leave?’