Chapter Four
Jessica had nodded off in the back seat of the car on the way back from the airport and woke up to the sound of her mum calling.
‘We’re here. That’s us home, love.’ Jessica rubbed her eyes, surprised she had fallen into such a deep sleep in the car.
Especially when she couldn’t quite remember when she had last slept through the night in her own bed in London.
‘Come on, Jess,’ said her dad, opening the car door for her.
Yawning, she climbed out the car and immediately noticed the huge wreath on the front door of Thistle Cottage, studded with gold stars, pinecones and red baubles. ‘I made it at a craft session in the village hall,’ said her mum, looking at it proudly.
‘Well done. It looks great, Mum. Very shabby chic.’
‘That was exactly the look I was going for.’ Her mum grinned in delight. ‘See, Gus. At least someone appreciates my artistic talent.’
Her dad shook his head in confusion and tilted his head towards the house. ‘I’ll just put your things in your room, Jess,’ he said, unlocking the door.
As she walked into the vestibule, she kicked off her shoes and felt the rough texture of the seagrass carpet dig into her feet.
It was scratchy but comfortingly familiar.
Then she slipped off her coat and hung it on the row of pegs by the door.
She took a deep breath in. She had forgotten how comforting the smell of home was.
It was a mixture of laundry powder, freshly baked cake and nutmeg.
It felt exactly how it always had done. She sighed with relief, so glad to be back.
‘Do you fancy a nice cuppa?’ Mum said, bustling into the kitchen and filling the kettle.
‘That would be great. Thank you.’ She followed her mum and sat down at the pine table that was pushed against the wall.
On it were various piles of Christmas cards, written and to be written, unopened mail and her mum’s to-do list which was as lengthy as a loo roll.
She refused to make lists on her phone, claiming she liked the sense of being able to physically cross things out with a pen.
‘It’s so nice to have you here,’ said her mum, setting a mug down next to her and opening a large tin of fruit scones. ‘Help yourself. I made these fresh this morning. I’ll just get the butter.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Jessica took a sip of tea and then reached for a scone and spread it with butter then added a dod of jam.
‘Now, you make yourself at home and just come and go as you please. We added you on to the car insurance in case you want to head to Glasgow to do some shopping. I expect you’ll be wanting to do your own thing and have made your own plans.’
Jessica shook her head thoughtfully. ‘Not really,’ she said.
It had been ages since she’d caught up with anyone from her childhood home.
Especially as most of her friends had moved away elsewhere.
She had no idea who would be around over the festive period.
‘I’m just looking forward to catching up on some sleep and reading.
’ The thought of Christmas shopping in Glasgow held no appeal whatsoever even though it used to be a highlight when she was younger.
Watching the carol singers at Princes Square used to be an annual tradition.
Her mum sat back in her chair and eyed her suspiciously but didn’t say anything.
‘How are you?’ Jessica said, quick to avoid one of her mum’s interrogations.
‘I’m very happy to have you home, and the fact your brother is coming, too, is an added bonus. It will be wonderful to have the family all together again. Christmas is such a magical time anyway and it will be extra special this year with you all here and wee Lexi.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jessica. The thought of Lexi being around was making her feel slightly more enthusiastic about Christmas.
‘Your dad was waiting for you to come back so you could come with us to get the tree at the farm.’
She forced a bright smile. ‘Sounds good.’ She bit into the scone. It was crumbly and buttery. ‘This is so delicious,’ she said between mouthfuls.
Her mum raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying. Tuck in.’
‘Am I allowed one?’ said her dad, wandering into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of tea and then sat in the chair opposite Jessica. ‘You know your mum doesn’t really bake any more. When I had the tin open this morning, I got a row. You would have thought I was stealing the crown jewels.’
‘Hmm, that’s not entirely true, Gus.’
‘It is so. If you do bake, then you’re usually doing it for someone else. So I can smell all these lovely things being made and then you tell me they’re not for me . . . they’re for the village hall or Jeannie down the road or the book club.’
‘That’s because you need to watch your cholesterol levels,’ she said firmly.
‘That’s so tragic, Dad,’ said Jessica with a smile. ‘By the way, your jam is delicious.’
He beamed proudly. ‘All made from the raspberries grown in the garden too. I was lucky and had a bumper crop this summer.’
The thought of actually growing anything and then making jam from it left Jessica bemused. She couldn’t ever imagine having that much time. It was far easier to pick up a jar at Waitrose. Though she knew it wouldn’t be as nice as the home-made stuff.
‘Are you still baking your bread?’ enquired her dad.
Jessica shook her head, remembering the joy that baking bread used to bring her.
She had stopped just around the time she met Tim and then things changed.
She hadn’t baked any bread since. ‘Nope. Not any more. I haven’t made bread for ages.
’ Or eaten it either, she contemplated. The thought of eating carbs at work was abhorrent, especially as everyone seemed to be on some type of ketogenic diet where bread and pasta were viewed as the food of the devil.
‘Well, you are welcome to make some while you’re here,’ said her mum.
‘There’s nothing better than a freshly baked loaf.
’ Catriona finished her tea and then stood up.
‘Sorry to dash, but I promised to go and help decorate the village hall. It’s the Christmas fair at the weekend.
’ She looked sheepish. ‘I didn’t want to crowd you by breathing down your neck and being around all the time,’ she explained.
‘And I thought you might be tired and want a wee nap.’
As though on cue, Jessica yawned. ‘I will go and have a lie down if you don’t mind.’
Angus reached for his glasses and unfolded the newspaper. ‘You make yourself at home. I’ll be down here reading the paper and then doing the crossword.’
‘Just make sure you don’t eat all those scones,’ said Catriona admonishingly as he sliced his in two and began spreading the two halves with butter.
Jessica laughed at the way her dad pretended not to hear what she was saying. ‘See you later, Mum, and thanks for coming to get me.’
Catriona gave her a smile and a wave and disappeared out the front door, closing it with a bang which caused Jessica to jump.
‘I do wish she wouldn’t do that,’ said her dad.
‘She does it every time. I keep telling her that the cottage will fall down one day. Makes no difference though.’ He reached into the tin for another scone and lined it up next to the buttered one on his plate.
He was clearly making the most of Catriona being out.
‘You enjoy your five minutes of peace, Dad. I’m away for a nap.
’ Jessica smiled as she slowly plodded up the stairs towards her bedroom.
The third step from the top still creaked and she chuckled, remembering how she and Murray would always avoid it if they came back from a night out later than they should.
Reaching the top, she turned right at the landing.
She was never quite sure what to expect when she came up here.
The dark red carpet was still there and the walls were still an off-white.
The same pictures were hanging on the wall.
There was the one of their old golden retriever, Charlie, who had gone to Rainbow Bridge fifteen years ago, and another, a watercolour of Loch Lomond.
Everything looked the same, but she knew when she opened the door of her old bedroom, she could be faced with anything.
It could be a crafting room, yoga studio or gym.
Her mum was always repurposing her room for different hobbies which changed frequently.
Her brother’s room was now a small library which housed her entire collection of Mills it still squeaked reassuringly.
Jessica gasped when she looked inside. Her mum had indeed redecorated since she’d last been home.
This wasn’t what Jessica had been expecting at all.
But fortunately, Mum had gone for the shabby chic look, something she was obviously embracing at the moment.
The walls were a vintage pale pink, and the bedspread was white with the palest pink roses.
She had strung white flower fairy lights around the bed, giving the room a warm glow.
A new fabric tub chair sat at the window with its view over the back garden.
Her old pine wardrobe had been stripped and repainted white, along with the floorboards.
A large dusty rose rug had been added, along with a matching Roman blind to the window.
It was the perfect room for her to retreat to.
Yawning again, she decided to unpack later. She lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her, and within a few minutes she had fallen fast asleep.