Chapter 1
Belle Albany slowly pedalled her red bicycle out of Christmas Village Primary School and swung right onto the main high street.
Her breath caught as she took in the imposing mountain ranges that flanked the edges of the valley where Christmas Village was located.
Despite living in the small Scottish district since she was eight, she was still in awe of the stunning views.
It was only four o’clock but the sun had already started to set behind one of the highland peaks – and the globe-shaped street lamps and white Christmas lights that adorned the street she was cycling along suddenly flicked on, making the thin layer of snow on the ground sparkle.
Belle knew she probably shouldn’t be riding her bike in this weather, but it had been a long day teaching the ten over-excited kids in her primary two class, and she just wanted to get home.
She had a long evening ahead of her. She’d been trying to find temporary accommodation for Clyde and Isla MacGavin, the parents of little Adam, one of her students.
The whole family were about to be evicted from their home – and despite helping them for the last week, she’d found nothing and time was running out.
The street was empty of people, and Belle pedalled past The Corner Shop where Tavish Doherty was polishing the insides of the front windows with his usual military precision.
She knew that signalled he’d be closing soon.
The post office next door had shut hours before, but a smattering of people were sitting in Rowan’s Cafe which was further up the high street.
Belle could see slivers of steam rising from customers’ mugs and disappearing into the gold and red tinsel that had been strewn across the ceiling.
She toyed with the idea of stopping at The Workshop, the small hair and beauty salon situated at the far end of the quaint row of high street shops, so she could pass the time with her best friend Kenzy Campbell.
But as she approached her legs refused to stop pedalling; perhaps they were afraid that if they did, they wouldn’t be able to restart?
As Belle drew closer to the T-junction at the end of the high street, beside the old spruce tree laden with mounds of icy snow, her mind began to rehash the conversation she’d had a few hours earlier.
‘Lassie, I’m so sorry to ask but I need your help and there’s no one else who can do it.
’ Robina Sinclair, headmistress of Christmas Village’s small primary school, had wrinkled her mouth as she’d cornered Belle in the playground at lunchtime.
‘I desperately need someone to take on the school nativity – if I can’t find a volunteer we may have to cancel.
I’m already teaching extra classes and don’t have time.
I’ve spoken to the other teachers, but they either live too far out of the village or they’ve got other things on.
If it doesn’t go ahead, the wee ones in your class will be devastated.
You know the bairns in primary two always get the big parts, and your lads and lassies love dressing up.
’ Robina’s whole face had drooped and her wrinkles had deepened into crevices.
‘What’s happened to Benji Nevis?’ Belle had asked. Benji taught the youngest children in the school and organised the nativity every year.
‘Ach, he’s been called away until the New Year because his da’s recovering from a heart attack – his family farm won’t run itself.
’ Robina had raised a bushy eyebrow and Belle had nodded even as her head had filled with the million things she already had on her to-do list. Could she really find the time to help?
‘Of course I’ll take on organising the nativity, it’s no problem,’ she’d promised.
It wasn’t like she had a social life to give up.
Her boyfriend of two years had emigrated to Australia five months ago without a backward glance so she was young, free and single again.
If she had to stay at school for a few more hours over the next weeks, it would be worth it for the look on the children’s faces.
She could tell her da all about it the next time he called – perhaps this time he’d pay attention.
‘Aye, I knew I could rely on you, lassie. I always can. There’s no one in Christmas Village who’s more reliable, or as willing to help out.
’ The old headmistress had tapped Belle affectionately on the shoulder.
‘Come to my office before you leave today and I’ll give you Benji’s notes.
You know he organises the props, the set and everything.
His plans for this year were very ambitious.
’ She’d had a bounce in her step as she turned and trotted down the long corridor.
Heavy snowflakes began to fall from the sky, melting on Belle’s cheeks as she puffed out another breath, speeding up as she approached the T-junction at the top of the high street, ready to take a right.
The wind was freezing now and the flakes were starting to thicken, settling on the ground into something deeper than a mere smatter.
But she’d be home in less than ten minutes if she pedalled faster.
A soft flake landed in Belle’s eye and she blinked it away, catching sight of a blur at the edge of the pavement a few metres ahead.
She pressed gently on her brakes, intending to dodge whatever it was, at the exact moment a mountain of ice slid off one of the lower branches of the spruce tree, falling just as Belle drew up beside it.
The huge lump of snow splatted across her face, temporarily blinding her.
She squeezed hard on the brakes, letting out a surprised screech as the bike refused to cooperate and instead slid on the layers of ice.
Belle held on for dear life, blindly steering herself in what she hoped was a straight line.
‘Stop, ya wee devil!’ Belle shrieked as she skidded further along the road. Then the bike jerked to an abrupt halt as it hit something with an ominously fleshy thud – and she launched off the seat, landing on the metal frame and handlebars which jabbed painfully into her stomach and inner thighs.
‘Ouch!’ Someone moaned, and Belle swiped frantically at her eyes until she could see. An elderly woman was lying prone on the snow in front of her.
‘Mrs Lachlan?’ Belle asked, hurling the bike to one side and dislodging her bulging backpack from her shoulders, throwing it onto the pavement.
She scrambled forwards and crouched next to the woman, her heart beating wildly, ignoring the cold which was now seeping through her trousers.
Then Belle took her arm, helping to ease her into a sitting position, righting the chunky ruby tiara that was tucked into the woman’s tartan cap.
Who wore a tiara unless they were going to the opera?
‘Call me Edina, lass,’ the woman croaked, squinting through the snowflakes floating between them.
‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have been cycling.’ A ball of guilt lodged in Belle’s throat as she frantically checked for injuries.
‘Ach, lassie, don’t you worry,’ Edina murmured, scraping a globule of ice from her cheek and beaming.
‘I saw the snow hit you, nothing you could have done. I couldn’t stop myself from stepping out.
’ She glanced back at the pavement. ‘I was halfway onto the road before I saw you coming and realised you couldn’t stop. ’
Aside from the tiara, Edina was wearing dark trousers, snow boots and a long tartan coat.
Belle knew the woman was a spritely seventy-seven.
A widow, she lived alone in Evergreen Castle – a six-bedroomed fortress, complete with high curtain walls and a small round turret, which was located at the far edge of Christmas Village – but rarely strayed from its grounds.
‘I just posted some cards and was encouraging my pet donkey Bob to follow me home – he likes to go on walkabouts when he feels like company,’ Edina confessed.
She winked at Belle before grabbing a carrot from her pocket and waving it at the small grey donkey who was crouching underneath the spruce tree, seemingly shielding from the snow which was now coming down in thick droves.
Edina swiped at her trousers and put her gloved hand on the ground.
‘Ouch!’ She groaned as she tried to straighten one leg and ease herself upwards.
‘That hurts.’ She slumped back onto her bottom and grimaced, clamping a hand to her left ankle.
‘I may have bruised it, what an eejit.’ She let out a slow breath as she took in their surroundings.
‘I dinnae think I can walk just now, lassie. You may have to get some help before we both turn into wee snowmen.’ Her attention caught on the bike lying in the snow behind them.
‘Unless you can get me onto that. If you can, perhaps you could wheel me back to Evergreen Castle?’
‘What’s happened here?’ a gruff voice barked from behind them, making both Belle and Edina jump.
‘Ach, Tavish!’ Edina declared, her cheeks flushing a becoming shade of pink as Belle stood and whirled around, before grabbing the shopkeeper’s arm and leading him forwards.
The older man was dressed in a thick Aran jumper with a dark navy overcoat.
He peered at Edina as his small black Scottie dog came trotting over to sniff her legs.
‘Iver!’ Tavish ordered, sounding like the ex-sergeant major he was, and the dog shot back to his heels.
‘I accidentally knocked Mrs Lachlan over with my bike – she’s hurt her leg, I dinnae know how we’re going to get her home.
’ The ball of guilt had expanded while they were speaking and Belle tried to push it back down her throat.
She was supposed to be all about helping people like her da did, not wounding pensioners out for a stroll.
‘I’ll carry her,’ Tavish snapped, pushing his blue beanie hat up and off his forehead. He had silver-grey hair, matching stubble, and sharp green eyes which belied his seventy-five years.