Chapter 11
After a surprisingly good night’s sleep because pretend parenthood is exhausting, it’s Sunday morning and Nancy and Hamish have come over for breakfast, and afterwards, we meet in the entrance hall, and Hamish has given me a hint about what to suggest.
‘Anyone know where we can source a Christmas tree around here?’
‘I might…’ Ollie says.
‘How about nine Christmas trees?’
Maisie and Rory’s mouths fall open, and when I glance at Ollie, his isn’t far behind.
‘Nine?’ the kids both repeat in wonder.
‘Nine?’ Ollie echoes, looking slightly horrified.
‘One for the entrance hall, one for the guest hall upstairs by the tower, one for the library, one for each of the guest rooms, one each for Maisie and Rory’s rooms, and one for… somewhere else.’
‘Somewhere else?’
‘You’ll see.’ I flash my eyebrows at him, and he laughs.
‘It’s a good job I trust you entirely and I’m not even going to question your vision. If my fake wife wants nine Christmas trees, then nine Christmas trees she shall have. Let me get the axe.’
‘Axe?’ I assumed it would be a drive to a Christmas tree farm and Mira’s face flashes in front of my eyes again. I am never telling her that an actual axe is about to come into play.
‘We’ve got our own tree lot on the property,’ Hamish explains. ‘Ollie’s grandfather started it the year he bought the place. For every Christmas tree he cut down, he planted a new one each year, and taught his son and grandson to do the same.’
‘Then there’s no way I’m taking nine. Artificial ones will do for the guest roo—’
‘Absolutely not.’ Ollie doesn’t let me finish. ‘It wouldn’t be Christmas at a castle in Scotland without real trees in every place you want them. Can someone add nine Christmas tree saplings to one of the lists for replanting?’
Hamish assures him that he will.
‘And one for our house, and one for Granny and Grandad’s!’ Even Rory is letting his excitement show, and I can feel it bubbling inside me too. Seriously, who has their own Christmas tree patch?
‘I can’t believe you have your own tree lot,’ I say to Ollie as we stomp across the grassy ground behind the castle.
‘Hold hands!’ Maisie bellows from somewhere behind us where the kids are walking with Nancy and Hamish.
Ollie transfers the axe and saw he’s carrying into his right hand and holds his left out to me. I slip my fingers into his, glad of the warmth because I’ve forgotten my gloves. He lifts our joined hands and waves them in the air, and both the kids cheer.
‘It used to provide my family with a tree every year, and now it provides one for Nancy and Hamish and Maisie and Rory’s parents.’
‘And we’re actually going to walk out into the woods and chop down our own tree?’
Our joined hands jiggle between us as he nods. ‘You can even swing the axe if you want.’
‘What is this – a Hallmark movie? All we need now is a perfectly timed snowfall and a flour fight when we get back to the kitchen,’ I say, making him laugh, but this is the dream Christmas.
‘Seriously, Ol. You could sell this as the perfect festive experience. People would pay to come here and do this. Like those bookshops where you can book a week to take over the running of the bookshop. Burnt-out city dwellers would flock to experience this. Decorate your own castle for Christmas. I meant what I said the other day – I should be paying you for letting me spend December here.’
‘It’s a nice thought, but I’ve got other things to worry about, I can’t take on any more.’ He ends the sentence with a shiver, even though I don’t think it’s anything to do with the chill of the early December day.
Before I can push it any further, Rory calls out, ‘Where did you go for your first date?’
‘Where did we go on our first date, Lu?’ Ollie tugs me closer so we can whisper without being overheard.
I look around for inspiration. I can hear the sea in the distance and think about the cliffs I can see from the tower window. ‘How about for a walk down to the famous Mull of Kintyre lighthouse? And this city girl underestimated how steep the path was and you had to carry me half the way back?’
He laughs, even though I daresay that if I was to attempt the winding path down to the lighthouse, I would definitely need assistance in getting back up.
‘Why is it always here? The castle, the library, the lighthouse. Everything we’ve ever fictionally done has taken place right here…’
I look at him for a long moment and I see the vulnerability in his eyes, like he wants to hear an answer different to the one I have.
‘Because this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.
If you’re lucky enough to live somewhere like this, you don’t take people on dates somewhere else. It’s like a living storybook.’
‘Reall—’ He was intending to question me further, but Rory interrupts again.
‘Where was your first kiss?’
Ollie pulls us to a halt and waits for them to catch up.
He gives me a playful look that means he’s up to something, and then lifts our joined hands until his lips brush gently over the back of my hand.
His mouth is blisteringly hot and he hasn’t shaved since Friday morning before work, so the scratch of stubble is really, unfairly delicious and makes my hand flex involuntarily in his grip.
Until now, I’d been admonishing myself for forgetting my gloves, but I’m suddenly really glad I did.
It doesn’t last anywhere near long enough, and when he lets our hands drop, my knees feel decidedly unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the grassy ground we’re walking across.
‘At Christmas, on the walk to the tree lot. How’s that?’ The unsteady knees and inexplicable blush are worth it for his look of defiant amusement as he gives Maisie and Rory a satisfied nod.
Maisie looks so happy that she might be about to explode in a burst of pink glitter. ‘Soooo romantic!’
‘Sorry,’ he whispers as we carry on walking. ‘Didn’t mean to overstep.’
His hand squeezes mine, and he looks over at me nervously and I squeeze his hand in return to make sure he knows that was more than okay.
‘I see you two have been putting them through their paces,’ Nancy observes.
‘They needed all the help they could get,’ Rory tells her. ‘Honestly, it was so cringe! Thank God we came when we did. We might have to come back next weekend to make sure though!’
Ollie and I catch each other’s eyes again and smile. Somehow, I’d be remarkably okay with that.
The tree lot is both spectacular and ordinary when we reach it.
Grassy paths between Christmas trees of varying sizes and unkemptness.
Not uniform ones like you’d see at a Christmas tree farm, but that makes it better somehow.
These are trees that have mattered to this family over the years, and I love the thought of Ollie’s grandfather, or his father and Hamish, replanting a tree for every one they took going back decades.
It’s a place that makes you want to throw your arms out wide and frolic.
‘What are you looking for, Auntie Lula?’ Maisie asks as I mooch around the small patch, searching for one that’s right for what I envision.
‘A grand tree for the grand entrance hall. It can’t just be any tree, it has to say something.’
‘Christmas trees can’t speak, silly!’
‘Metaphorically. It has to be so big and majestic that it silently conveys “hello, and welcome to the most Christmassy Christmas you’re ever going to have”.’ I look over at Ollie and then add, ‘“With the best investment accountant you’ve ever known who you’re definitely going to promote”.’
‘That is a very chatty tree,’ he murmurs.
‘And that’s it!’ I squeak excitedly when I spot the perfect tree. It’s about eight foot tall and could do with a trim to make it more symmetrical, but it’s a beauty and my fingers smell of pine when I rub the branches.
‘I can hear it nattering already,’ Nancy says, and Maisie puts her ear to the trunk to see if she can hear it too, then gives a thumbs-up of approval, even though I’m reasonably sure the tree hasn’t said anything at all.
Ollie marks up where the axe needs to hit the trunk, and I have a go at swinging it, and then Maisie and Rory do the same, although we all hit it in three different places. When we’ve had our fun, we stand back while he and Hamish take the saw and cut it down in the proper way between them.
There’s something about this rugged, outdoorsy side of my fake husband. In a knitted bobble hat, jeans and workboots, he’s a million miles away from the briefcase-carrying suited banker type who comes home every evening, and this version seems to agree with him a lot more.
‘He’s in his element doing this.’ Nancy has obviously noticed the way I’m watching him.
‘We always thought he’d follow in his grandfather’s footsteps and get hands-on with everything that needs work around here, not take over his father’s office job and never have time to do anything he actually enjoys. ’
Maisie bounces over before I have a chance to ask any questions, but Nancy’s words ring in my head for a long time afterwards.
It feels like a hint, like she’s letting me know I’m not imagining it.
Ollie isn’t suited to the job he does, and he is suited to this castle and everything it could be, if only he had time to let himself see that.
It takes all six of us to drag the huge tree back to the castle and get it upright, and then we return for the other much smaller trees, and for the kids to choose the trees for their house and for Nancy and Hamish’s too.
By the time we’ve hauled all of them to their respective places, it’s long past lunchtime and Maisie and Rory are due back to their parents.
‘Don’t decorate the big one without us!’ Maisie tells me sternly as we say goodbye at the tree patch.
‘I have to decorate it without you, you have school and I’m on the clock here!’ I laugh as I hug her goodbye and she clings on. ‘There will be one in each of your bedrooms for you guys to decorate yourselves, and you can bring some ornaments to put on the big one if you like.’
Rory and Maisie both give us multiple hugs goodbye and I don’t expect the sting of sadness I feel.
I’m glad I’ll get to see them again next weekend and then spend Christmas with them, but after that…
I’ll be going back to the other end of the country.
I’m not really ‘Auntie Lula’ and none of them will have any reason to stay in touch with me when this pretence ends.
At the end of the tree patch, there’s the haphazard stone wall of the property boundary, looking out across craggy cliffs that tumble downwards to the turbulent ocean below, and after I’ve waved to the others until they’re out of sight, Ollie’s gone to lean on the wall, and I make my way through the Christmas trees until I’m standing next to him.
He looks shattered, but in a different way than usual.
More like the right kind of tired – happy and exhausted, rather than simply drained from work, and I feel it too.
A weekend of entertaining kids, after a week of decorating is knackering, but I am nowhere near as knackered as I feel making my way back to Mira’s house on the tube after a day at Calloways, even though the work there isn’t as physical as this.
The view is spectacular from the edge of the estate, overlooking the sea. The outline of a tanker on the horizon to the north. The coast of Northern Ireland in the distance. It’s a place of freedom and true wildness, somewhere you can get really, truly lost, but the good kind of lost.
‘You okay?’ I ask after a few minutes of silence.
Ollie makes an affirmative noise. ‘Haven’t been out here for a while. I always used to cut down the entrance hall tree with my dad, but since… Well, now Hamish acquires any trees I’ve seen since then.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I reach over and rub his arm.
‘No, it’s good.’ He breathes out. ‘I haven’t done this for a while.
Looked at the view. Appreciated this place.
Felt my feelings. Even spent a weekend not staring at some bloody spreadsheet or other.
Thanks for…’ He shakes his head like he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. ‘Thanks for being here, I guess.’
His hand covers mine on his arm and he mumbles something about my fingers being freezing, and we stay like that for endless minutes. It’s a view you could never get tired of, and I’m starting to think that Ollie’s hand on mine is a feeling I could never get tired of either.
When we walk back towards the castle, he holds his arm out, inviting me to hold on.
‘No one’s watching now.’
‘I know.’ His smile makes me feel decidedly light-headed and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and he pulls it in, tucking my fingers against his ribs and giving them a gentle squeeze.
‘Kids are exhausting, right? I don’t know how real parents do it.’ I scrunch my fingers into the fabric of his jacket.
‘I have no idea, but that was the best weekend I can remember in years.’
‘Me too.’ I grin up at him.
I’ve never wanted a family in that sense, but this… I could get used to weekends like this, even if it is just for a little while.