Chapter 3
‘You’re doing what?’ Mira stands in the doorway of my room as I stare at the open suitcase on the bed and wonder what to put in it. I repeat what I’ve already told her, not stopping to appreciate how truly bizarre it sounds until her face contorts in befuddlement.
‘You’re going to Scotland to pretend to be some guy’s wife for Christmas? Tomorrow?’
‘No, I’m going to Scotland to decorate a castle for Christmas, and there’s a teeny-tiny little sideline in pretending to be some guy’s wife.’
‘Lula, you cannot be serious.’
I grab a couple of pairs of jeans from the wardrobe and fold them into the suitcase rather than answering her.
‘What in the name of jingle bells are you thinking? You can’t just…’ She throws her hands up and huffs in frustration. ‘Look, this whole Calloways thing will blow over. I didn’t realise it had affected you this badly. You’ve lost the plot. You’ve honestly lost it.’
Have I? I turn back to the wardrobe and pull a couple of Christmas jumpers off their hangers.
What do you wear for a month of decorating-slash-wifery?
Do I need formalwear? Casual wear? ‘Festive pyjamas!’ I say out loud.
No one can spend December without festive pyjamas, no matter where they are in the country.
‘I am literally watching my sister have a breakdown.’ Mira throws her hands up again. ‘Lula, please stop this. You’ll get another job. In January, there will be new openings. You don’t need to go to the other end of the country and live with some random guy off the internet who you’ve never met!’
‘He seemed like a really nice guy.’ I stuff make-up that’s scattered across the top of the dresser back into its bag.
I’m not much of a make-up person in my day-to-day life, but presumably I’ll need to look presentable at some point over the festive season.
‘Earnest, open, embarrassed and self-deprecating.’
‘Axe-murdery?’
‘No, not murdery at all. Someone who’s dug himself into a hole and is trying to claw his way back out, and we’ve all been there.
Did I mention that he’s paying really well and he’s covered all my travel expenses without a second thought?
And the castle is beautiful. The kind of place I’ve always dreamed about visiting. And it’s on the Mull of Kinty—’
‘You are going to be murdered. You’re going to be chopped up and dumped in a ditch or chained up in some castle dungeon forevermore, and it’s going to be my fault for not being able to talk sense into you.
Are you sure it’s even a real castle? It’s not, like, a ruin with no roof and three crumbling half-walls, is it?
If there really is a castle at all. It could all be a ploy to lure his next victim to their demise.
There’s no way this is going to end well. ’
‘He was charming and professional.’
‘That’s exactly what everyone says about every serial killer that’s ever existed! That’s how they pull their victims in – by being irresistibly charming and not weird at all!’
‘He put an ad on a job site, Mira. If he wanted a murder victim, he’d be more subtle about it.’
‘I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you think it is. I think you’re so het-up about the window calamity that you’d have responded even if the ad had read, “Hello, please line up to be brutally murdered. Will pay well!”’
‘Of course I wouldn’t.’ I root around for the long-sleeved tops that I layer under my work clothes on cold nights spent putting window designs into place.
I don’t know how cold it gets on the Mull of Kintyre, but judging by the Paul McCartney and Wings music video, it looks like it might be cold, damp, and misty.
Although with excellent pipe bands, so that’s something.
‘Lula, please, listen to sense. You can skip the rent for however many months you need to. Brian and I will cover all the bills, as long as you’re alive. You don’t need to do something so impulsive.’
‘That’s lovely of you, really it is, but I want to do this.
It’s… exciting. It’s new. It’s a chance to get away and do something that’s not installing corporate window designs on one of the busiest streets in the country and having them scrutinised by Head Office in case you’ve put an item one inch out of place from the template they sent you.
My absence won’t even be noticed at Calloways.
My opposable thumbs are the only thing that gives me an edge over some random mammal there, but this is a chance to do something personal – something meaningful. ’
‘Then go and stay with Mum and Dad and decorate their house for Christmas while this all blows over. Not with some stranger in a remote place where you’re unlikely to ever be seen again. I bet they won’t even find your body.’
‘You’re being overdramatic.’ I pick up my umbrella and hold it in front of me like a sword. ‘And I’ll be ready if he does try to murder me.’
‘It’s not funny!’
‘I know, but I know, okay? I know it could be dodgy, and I’ll be careful. I liked him, Mira. He seemed like me, but male and Scottish and castle-owning. Everyone has told a little white lie at work that’s come back to bite them in the backside, and—’
‘Most people deal with it themselves and don’t employ strangers to make it worse! It’s such a ridiculous idea that it must surely be a cover for something more sinister.’
The earlier thoughts of the Paul McCartney and Wings music video make me remember that the Mull of Kintyre also looks windy, so I go back to the wardrobe to get out my big coat while Mira sighs again. ‘You can’t seriously be doing this.’
‘I’m excited, Mira. You know I’ve always wanted to see Scotland, and I’ve been wanting a break from window dressing, but you can’t do that when you have a job at somewhere as prestigious as Calloways.
The perfect opportunity has fallen into my lap.
Be happy for me, and enjoy Christmas with Brian and Rocco without me getting in the way. ’
‘We don’t mind having you here. We always said we’d live together when we were older.’
‘Yeah, not with your husband and son though. I mind being here, and I need to make a change. What this Oliver Bracewell is promising for a month’s work is ridiculously generous. It’ll give me a chance to turn things around and figure out if I’m heading in the right direction.’
Mira sighs in resignation as she pulls her phone out and types his name into her notes app.
‘I want every bit of info you’ve got about this man.
Tell everyone where you’re going. His name, address, map coordinates, even that What Three Words app.
And make sure he knows that everyone knows where you are.
I expect a proof-of-life check-in at least twice a day, and if I don’t get it, I will be sending the police immediately.
No one’s going to murder my little sister on my watch! ’
I promise her that I’ll check in regularly and send photos, and that I’ve already phoned Mum and Dad to tell them I won’t be coming for Christmas this year.
I’ve left out the sideline in pretending to be married to a stranger and just told them I’ve got a job decorating a castle, and Mum got terribly overexcited when I told her where it was in relation to her favourite Christmas song, and her excitement has seeped into me too.
I am excited. A little bit daunted too, but nothing truly wonderful happens without making you excited and nervous in equal measure, does it?