A Scottish Christmas

Chapter 1

Rose lined up the elf-shaped pencil sharpeners on the counter in front of her, ensuring she kept a welcoming smile fixed on her face in case either a customer or, more likely, her boss made an appearance. She was definitely getting better at blocking out Noddy Holder screaming, ‘It’s Christmas!’ on repeat, she mused.

She shivered and glared at the goose pimples forming on her arms. If Malcolm expected a grown woman to dress up for work in thin polyester as Disney’s Queen Elsa, he really should be prepared to turn the heating up significantly. At least the long blonde wig kept her head warm.

It was a particularly quiet afternoon in the pop-up Christmas shop despite it being a Saturday and the first of December. There hadn’t been a customer through the doors for half an hour now. It didn’t help that the shop wasn’t exactly positioned on the most salubrious part of the high street, but rather, where rent was cheap, down an alley in between a vaping shop and a tattoo parlour.

The shop was crammed full of what could only, but fairly, be termed Christmas tat. Goodness only knew where Malcolm managed to source all his stock. Those ‘contacts’ of his that she’d met since starting the job a month ago definitely worked out of the back of vans and were decidedly shifty when asked if they could provide more of a particular product.

Rose resolved to wander around the shop to warm up and see if she could reorganise things a bit. It would also make her look busier if Malcolm got bored of watching daytime TV and ventured down from the flat he lived in above the shop.

She cursed her ridiculous outfit afresh ― this time for being far too long and cumbersome to effectively manoeuvre through the narrow aisles of the shop. She bent down to pick up a particularly glittery toy Santa that she’d knocked to the floor.

Mid bend, she heard a polite cough from behind her. “Excuse me,” said a man’s voice with a soft Scottish lilt. Rose jumped, knocking her head on the underside of a shelf.

“Ouch,” she muttered, standing and rubbing her head through her wig. She turned and found herself faced with a broad, suited chest. She glanced upwards. The man who stood before her was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome, with slightly messy chestnut hair and a jawline so chiselled, he’d give Henry Cavill a run for his money.

“You appear to have lost your crown,” he said drily, picking up and then handing her the silver plastic accessory which usually adorned her head during work hours.

Their hands touched briefly and suddenly Rose was no longer cold.

“Thank you,” she managed to stammer, doing her best to pull herself together. Really, someone that good-looking shouldn’t go creeping up on people unawares. It was completely disarming. She found herself adjusting her wig.

“My pleasure,” he said, and looked away. But had their eyes held? Just for a moment? Or was she imagining it?

“How can I help you?” asked Rose, regaining her composure as she self-consciously placed her crown back on her head.

“I’m not sure,” the man said, glancing around the shop. Disappointment at its offerings was written all over his face.

“Was there anything in particular you were looking for?”

“I have some Christmas events I need organising,” he replied, carefully.

“I’m afraid that’s not something we offer here, but we could certainly provide decorations,” suggested Rose at her most helpful and customer-friendly. “What kind of events are we talking about? Are they for children or adults? Is there a theme? What sort of budget have you got in mind?”

“You know a lot about this . . . Christmas stuff and decorating, I suppose?”

“I guess so — and I used to work in event organisation for a while,” Rose admitted.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he glanced around again, then seemed to come to a decision. “Could you organise some events for me?”

“That isn’t something we offer here,” repeated Rose.

“But is it something you could offer?” he asked, his eyes now meeting hers. Rose felt her stomach flip.

“Um . . .”

“What’s your name?”

“Rose. Rose Aldridge.”

The man looked her up and down before seemingly coming to a decision. “How much do they pay you here, Rose Aldridge?”

Rose opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but before she could he continued, “I need someone to organise the aforementioned Christmas events for me, as well as decorating my house and buying and wrapping gifts, that sort of thing. Come to work for me until Christmas Eve and I’ll pay you triple whatever they’re paying you here. Accommodation and food are thrown in. And use of a car, of course — you do drive?”

“Um, yes I drive.” Rose focused on stopping her mouth from hanging open.

The man handed her a business card. “Think it over. I’ll need a response within the next couple of hours. You’d need to catch a train to Edinburgh tomorrow and start work on Monday. My assistant would organise your ticket.”

“Edinburgh?” Rose was utterly bemused.

“Yes, my home and business are in Scotland.” He sounded a tad impatient. He’d clearly decided he’d sorted out his problem and was ready to move on with his day. “I hope to see you in Scotland, tomorrow.”

And with that, the man turned and left.

Rose shook her head and read the business card: Alastair Duncan. Duncan Enterprises .

“I’m sure there’s something you could be doing instead of standing around,” said Malcolm’s voice, making her jump. Usually she heard him coming down the stairs and unlocking the door from his flat into the shop, but Rose must have still been discombobulated from her meeting with Alastair.

Rose chose not to answer.

“It’s been quiet today, hasn’t it?” Malcolm stated, glancing around the empty shop. “You may as well get off home. I’ll give you a call if I need you tomorrow.”

“Oh right,” said Rose. Damn . Being on a zero-hours contract meant she only got paid for the hours she actually worked. She was going to struggle with her meagre, minimum-wage pay cheque at the end of the month. Maybe she could see if there was any local bar work she could pick up . . . Then there was . . .

She found herself actually considering the option of taking Alastair up on his offer. But how weird would it be to travel however many hundreds of miles it was to Scotland from London to go and work for a guy she’d never even met and just for a few weeks . . . She shook her head at herself. Though she’d always wanted to go to Scotland. And Edinburgh itself was supposed to be beautiful. She’d heard there was a wonderful Christmas market there . . .

Grateful that the day, although cold, was dry, Rose removed her awful wig, freeing her own shoulder-length darker blonde hair and quickly changed out of her Elsa outfit and into dark blue jeans and her favourite oversized black cotton jumper. She pulled on her boots and her coat, and wrapped a large red scarf around her neck.

What should she do with the rest of the day? It was now two thirty in the afternoon. Would any of her friends be free? Probably not, they’d all be at work or looking after little ones in some cases. She’d fallen out of touch with a lot of her closest friends, those she’d met at university, anyway. Seeing them go on to do what she’d so longed to just hurt too much.

She could catch a bus to the Tate Modern and check out the new exhibition there by a sculptor she was a fan of. She’d heard good things about it and had been meaning to go. She meant to go to every exhibition she made a note of . . . And yet Rose found herself taking the bus in the opposite direction to the gallery and heading back to her flat.

She opened the front door and dumped her bag on the hall table. The space was silent and felt as empty as usual.

Rose walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on to boil before opening up her laptop. She didn’t need to recheck the name on the business card as she began googling.

Alastair Duncan was a big deal. His estate was huge, and he ran several businesses from it. Rose was soon down a rabbit hole. She couldn’t discover much about Alastair personally, other than his age — thirty-four — just photos of him at various charity events looking as handsome as she remembered, but she found plenty about the estate he owned. It appeared he also happened to be a genuine Scottish laird.

Rose stared at a photo of some of Alastair’s estate. Would she be staying somewhere on it? It was beautiful. Not that she was considering taking Alastair up on his job offer. That would be ridiculous. Anyway, she could get a phone call from Malcolm at any time with more hours for her . . .

She knew she should probably look for another job, especially as the Christmas shop would be closing at the end of December. It wouldn’t be reinventing itself as a pop-up Valentine’s Day shop until February, and she wasn’t prepared to dress up as Cupid. Everyone had their limits.

She’d had so many jobs in the past eleven months, and none of them had stuck. Certainly none of them had paid anything like what Alastair was offering.

Remembering the kettle, she made herself a cup of tea and a ham sandwich. Malcolm didn’t offer lunch breaks or anything as civilised as that. She usually picked at food she hid under the counter but she’d been in a rush that morning and hadn’t taken anything with her.

The kitchen could do with a good clean, she noticed. Maybe she would do it after she’d eaten . . . But what did it matter? It’s not like there was anyone else to see it.

Rose had lived her whole life in this two-bedroom flat. Just her and her mum, until her mum had become sick. The space held a lot of memories, but now being here just made Rose feel sad and oh so aware of everything missing from her life. She knew she should move; it was silly to pay rent on a flat with an extra bedroom she didn’t need, but the thought was exhausting and where could she afford that would be better?

She finished her food and half-heartedly sorted through some post that had been lying around and wiped down the countertop. Her gaze returned to her laptop and the photo of Alastair still on the screen. What would he be like to work for? She guessed she wouldn’t have much contact with him if she were to accept his offer. He’d have far more important things to deal with . . . Wait, was she seriously considering this?

She’d be hundreds of miles away from home until Christmas, but then again what did she have to be home for? And it wasn’t like she had a lot of planning to do for her own Christmas.

If she stayed in London, she’d have to find another job. She couldn’t make it through the month on what she was taking home from the Christmas shop. If she went to Scotland, she’d get an all-expenses-paid trip and would earn a lot more than anything else she’d be able to find on such short notice. Just her luck that it had to be another job involving her least favourite time of year though.

Taking a deep breath, Rose picked up her phone and dialled the number on the business card.

“Duncan Enterprises, Mairi speaking,” said a female voice with a slight Scottish accent.

“Hi,” said Rose, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. “My name is Rose . . . I um met Ala— Mr Duncan today, and he gave me his business card . . .” She sounded ridiculous. There must be a better way to explain this.

“You’re the Christmas princess!”

“Queen Elsa, actually,” Rose found herself murmuring.

“Typical that Alastair wouldn’t realise that,” Mairi said with a laugh. “But at least he let me know you were going to call. I’m Alastair’s assistant.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief as Mairi continued, “So I’m guessing you’ve decided to take him up on his offer?”

“I think so,” replied Rose, cautiously. “It’s just . . .”

“Completely out of the blue and totally random?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yeah,” said Mairi. “That sounds like Alastair . . . Usually we hire a company to organise events but this year Alastair has family coming to stay and he wants someone in-house to make sure things run smoothly. I mentioned this morning that he was going to struggle to find someone as he’s left it so late. Alastair walked into your Christmas shop, thinking someone might be able to point him in the right direction, and apparently, you’re the somebody who can do the job.”

“That’s not exactly what I said . . .”

“Well, Alastair seems sure you’re the one for the role. He’s had me draw up a contract for you. If you’re happy with it and sign, I’ll book you on a train to Edinburgh tomorrow and you’ll start work on Monday morning. Alastair said he made an offer based on your current salary, but didn’t actually know your current salary so I guessed and rounded up a bit. I hope you’ll be happy with it.”

Rose found herself telling Mairi her email address and ending the call. Seconds later, an email pinged into Rose’s email account with the contract attached. Rose was being offered more like four times what she was earning at the Christmas shop — and that was assuming she was still working there full-time rather than having her hours cut so much. She’d not find anything else that would pay anything like what Alastair was offering for the next few weeks. And Rose had to admit her life was completely stuck in a rut. Maybe getting out of London for a little while would do her good, shake things up a bit . . .

* * *

Rose woke the following morning not feeling quite so sure of herself and wondering if she was making a huge mistake. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, worrying about what exactly she had signed herself up for. What if Alastair was some crazy, demanding millionaire who expected her to work all hours on ridiculous tasks? You can always leave , she told herself reasonably. London was only a train ride away. And Mairi seemed happy working for him so he couldn’t be a complete tyrant, could he? And the pay was really good.

She returned to bed to drink her morning cup of tea and eat her toast, unable to stop looking over at her almost completely packed suitcases on the floor. For so long she’d had someone else to look after and think about. When that ended, she’d entered survival mode, going through the motions to keep her life going. It was time to do something different, to take a chance. As much as she was reluctant to admit it, she needed to get on that train to Edinburgh.