Chapter 3 #2
Hyzenthlay’s ears pricked. “Is the schedule misbehaving?”
“Not the schedule,” Vic said. “The universe.”
She tapped open the weather app. A familiar swirl of blue and white spun ominously over the Scottish Highlands. The forecast for the next forty-eight hours was a cheerful mix of phrases like heavy snow, travel disruption likely, and risk of road closures.
She looked out the window again. The snow had picked up, the flakes bigger now, falling in earnest. The distant tree line was already fading into a grey blur.
“Oh, come on,” Vic said to the sky. “You had one job. Be picturesque, not apocalyptic.”
As if in response, a gust of wind hurled a fresh fistful of snow against the glass.
Hyzenthlay slid closer on the rug, peering up at the window. “It’s pretty,” she said.
“It’s a menace,” Vic said. “Pretty, but a menace. Like your Auntie Erin.”
“Auntie Erin is a menace,” Hyzenthlay agreed. “But she’s also really strong and good at piggybacks.”
Vic’s lips twitched. “True.”
She flipped further ahead in the schedule, heart rate ticking up. She’d risked a lot on this plan. So many moving parts. Very little margin for error.
Snow.
She’d factored snow in, of course. It was Balmoral in December. But she hadn’t factored in… this much.
Quick mental triage: what absolutely needed to arrive when it was supposed to?
Food, obviously. Fuel. Firewood. Gifts, technically, though she did have fallback versions hidden in a locked trunk.
Decorations were mostly already here—she’d supervised that delivery herself, much to the staff’s weary amusement.
And then there was Phase One.
Vic thumbed the edge of the schedule, finding the page more by muscle memory than sight.
23rd December — 10:00–12:00: Delivery & Settling-In of Reindeer (for Christmas Eve Courtyard Appearance).
She’d been so proud of that idea. Actual reindeer in the courtyard on Christmas Eve, snow falling, lights twinkling, triplets screaming with joy, Hyzenthlay giving them all names from Watership Down because that’s just how her child rolled.
Julia had called it “potentially excessive.”
Alex had said, “Reindeer? We can have reindeer?” with the unvarnished delight of a kid who’d grown up with pomp and circumstance but not a lot of actual magic.
Erin had made the face. The one that meant, “I love you all, but I am also planning fifteen contingency routes and a tranquiliser plan.”
Now the reindeer were at the mercy of the Scottish trunk roads and the gods of weather.
Vic’s phone buzzed again.
Julia this time: Do I need to come up and confiscate your phone?
A smile tugged at Vic’s mouth. She snapped a quick photo of the window, the thickening snow, and sent it.
Only if you can stop this, she wrote.
Julia: Can’t. But I can bring tea. x
Vic’s shoulders relaxed marginally. Tea. Tea would help. And Julia.
“Hyzzie,” she said, closing the laptop with more force than necessary. “Emergency summit. Round the coffee table. Agenda item one: How To Make Christmas Perfect While the Universe Tries to Sabotage Us.”
Hyzenthlay rolled onto her hands and knees, then pushed up to sit cross-legged, tiny hands folded on the table with exaggerated seriousness. “I call this meeting to order,” she said. “First question: why do you think you can control the universe?”
“Because I have a forty-three-page schedule,” Vic said. “And a label maker.”
“That’s not how it works,” Hyzenthlay said gently. “Mama J. says the universe is chaos and we just ‘surf along the wave of it.’”
Vic made an affronted noise. “Julia is banned from talking philosophy to you. It makes you smug.”
The door opened before Hyzenthlay could respond. Speak of the literal angel.
Julia stepped in, a tray balanced elegantly on one hand like she’d done it her whole life. Steam curled from a pot of tea, and there were biscuits too—shortbread in a neat little stack, the good kind with extra butter.
Vic forgot about the schedule for a whole three seconds.
“You brought offerings,” she said reverently.
“I heard there was a cult forming around a PDF,” Julia replied, nudging the door shut with her hip. She was in one of her Balmoral cardigans—the soft grey one that made her look utterly, devastatingly huggable, shiny hair up in a messy knot, glasses perched halfway down her nose.
Vic’s chest did the stupid warm thing again. For a moment, her obsessive spiral about snow and reindeer and deliveries receded.
“Hi,” she said, because her brain had been replaced by mush.
“Hi,” Julia said back, and there was so much affection in the simple word that Vic almost forgot they had company until Hyzenthlay made a gagging noise.
“Ew,” she said. “You’re doing the eyes again.”
Julia set the tray down, completely unbothered. “Sorry,” she said. “Next time we’ll schedule our eye contact between the hours of nine and nine-oh-five.”
“That’s not nearly enough,” Vic said. “I have needs.”
Julia’s mouth curved. “I’m familiar with your needs.”
Hyzenthlay slammed a small hand on the table. “Meeting! We are in a meeting.”
“Right, yes, sorry, Madam Chair,” Vic said. “Point of order: the weather is trying to murder Christmas.”
Julia poured the tea, her movements brisk and precise. “It’s snowing, babe,” she said. “We’re in Scotland in December. This was not unexpected.”
“Level of snow: expected,” Vic said. “Timing of snow: rude. Potential impact on scheduled activities—” she slapped the pages for emphasis “—catastrophic.”
Julia handed her a mug. “We don’t know that yet,” she said. “Patel messaged me as well. They’re monitoring the roads. They can move some deliveries up, push others back.”
Vic took the mug like it was a lifeline. The hot ceramic warmed her fingers immediately. “Some,” she repeated. “Not all.”
“We’ll be fine,” Julia said. “We have enough food on site to feed a small army even if nothing else arrives.”
“It’s not just food,” Vic said. “It’s the atmosphere. The vibes. The… reindeer.”
Hyzenthlay perked up. “Reindeer?”
Vic winced. She’d been trying not to build that up too much, in case it didn’t happen. But she’d also told absolutely everyone who would listen about her genius idea, so the cat—and the reindeer—were very much out of the bag.
“Maybe reindeer,” she said cautiously. “If the roads cooperate.”
Julia paused mid-pour. “What do you mean maybe?”
Vic stared at her. “What do you mean what do I mean? I mean maybe. As in, they have to get up here from the reindeer place, and the roads might close, and—”
“You didn’t get reindeer from Balmoral?” Julia asked, baffled. “There’s not a local reindeer dealer?”
Vic blinked. “Do you honestly think there’s a reindeer dealership in the Highlands? Like a car lot, but antlers?”
“I don’t know your life,” Julia said. “I just assumed you’d sourced them from somewhere nearby for ease of transport.”
“They’re from a reputable farm,” Vic said defensively. “They do seasonal events. They have excellent reviews. And I booked them months ago.”
“Reviews,” Julia murmured. “Of course you checked the reviews.”
“Yes,” Vic snapped. “Because I care about quality. And animal welfare. And a magical experience for our children.”
Hyzenthlay tilted her head. “If they don’t come,” she said, “we can pretend the deer in the woods are reindeer. Nobody will know the difference.”
“I’ll know the difference,” Vic muttered.
Julia pushed a mug toward her. “Drink,” she ordered. “You’re spiralling.”
Vic took a gulp. The tea was strong and slightly too hot, but it grounded her. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
“You’re right,” she said grudgingly. “I’m… overreacting. It’s just—this is our first proper Christmas. All of us. I want it to be good. I want…” She looked down at her daughter, who was busy stacking biscuits into a leaning tower. “I want them to have the kind of memories we didn’t.”
Julia’s expression softened, the teasing sliding away. “They will,” she said quietly. “With or without reindeer.”
Hyzenthlay dropped a biscuit. It bounced off the table and onto the rug. She eyed it consideringly.
“Don’t even think about it,” both adults said in unison.
Hyzenthlay sighed. “You two are no fun.”
“We’re plenty fun,” Vic protested. “I’m the most fun member of this family.”
“You’re the most chaotic member of this family,” Julia corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Rude,” Vic said. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, “Can a chaotic person produce a forty-three-page Christmas schedule, complete with contingency plans and a risk assessment section?”
“Yes,” Julia said promptly. “In fact, that’s exactly the kind of thing a chaotic person does when left unsupervised with a laptop.”
Hyzenthlay snorted with laughter, crumbs spraying.
Vic clutched at her chest. “Et tu, Hyz?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Hyzenthlay said. “But it sounds dramatic, so I’m saying yes.”
The knock at the door came not long after they’d finished the first pot of tea and most of the biscuits.
“Come in,” Julia called, before Vic could panic that something else had gone wrong.
It was Mr. Patel. His expression was as soothing as ever—slight smile, calm eyes—but the way he held his tablet a little closer to his chest made Vic’s stomach tighten.
“Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am,” he said to Julia first—habit—and then, “Mrs. Grey-Hughes-Wilding. Miss Hyzenthlay.”
“Hi,” Hyzenthlay said. “We’re in a meeting.”
“So I see,” he said, amused. “I’ll be brief.”
Vic sat up straighter, folding her schedule pages in half so they didn’t look quite so… much.
“Hit me,” she said.
“Not literally, please,” Julia murmured.
“There’s been an update from the caterers,” Mr. Patel said. “The forecast is worsening. They’re advising they may be unable to make the full delivery tomorrow as planned. The A93 has already had a minor closure further south, and if the snow continues, the A9 may be affected as well.”
The words slid over Vic’s skin like a cold breeze.
Unable to make the full delivery.
“The… full delivery,” she repeated carefully. “As in… some of the food?”