Chapter 14
After a few hours of tree decorating and hot chocolate drinking, we wrap up warm and go for a wintery walk along the coastal path, and then come home where Maisie insists that we all make paper chains and fold-and-cut snowflakes, and then she helps me with making bows for the ribbon-wrapped baluster posts along the stairs and upper balconies, while Ollie and Rory are busy coming up with the rules for the annual Hollybrae Castle slinky races, which we apparently do every year as a family.
Hamish is outside, sweeping up winter-soaked remains of autumn leaves to make sure the paths around the grounds are clear for the guests, and Nancy is refusing any help with dusting or hoovering, which she seems able to do simultaneously, like a multi-armed octopus of the housekeeping world.
We stuff ourselves on the halloumi and veg traybake and the Christmas pudding cheesecake that Nancy’s made, and all six of us spend the evening playing board games in the living room, in front of the crackling fire with the rainbow of tree lights twinkling in the background.
The kids with hot chocolate and the adults with the mulled wine Nancy has been making, and when it’s time for bed, Ollie volunteers us to clear up the carnage after the last game of Monopoly.
‘There’s plenty of that mulled wine left on the stove for you two,’ Nancy whispers as she herds the kids up to bed, and Hamish takes himself back to their cottage. ‘It’d be a shame to waste the last embers of that fire. It won’t crackle to itself, you know.’
Ollie and I catch each other’s eyes across the room and he gives me a wink.
Maisie and Rory’s choice of Christmas music has been on all evening, which involves a lot of animal honking in tune to ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’, and he changes the channel for one playing Christmas music that doesn’t include the sounds children think geese make when they lay eggs or the French-accented clucking that European hens might make.
He picks up our empty glasses. ‘Another one?’
I nod because I’ve never had homemade mulled wine until tonight and it’s really good, as is everything Nancy makes, and sitting here on the faux-fur rug in front of the woodburning fire is really not a bad way to spend an evening.
‘Ah, this is the life.’ Ollie turns the big light off when he comes back and hands me a refilled glass. He sits crossed-legged on the rug beside me and holds his glass up so I can clink mine against it. ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘It’s only the thirteenth of December!’
‘I know, but it’s going to get more stressful when our guests arrive. Right now, it’s the best Christmas ever so I’m enjoying it while I still can.’
‘The best bit about Christmas has always been the build-up for me. It’s not about the one big day, it’s about all of December, and I’m glad I’m getting to spend that with you.’
He flashes his eyebrows and my cheeks burn. ‘And Maisie and Rory, obviously, and Nancy and Hamish, of course.’
‘Of course.’ He stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back on the hand not holding his glass. ‘I’ve eaten too much. I’ve drunk too much. I’ve had too much fun today.’
‘Same.’ I take another sip of the warm wine to distract myself from how much I mean that. I wish every day could be like this.
He takes another big gulp from his glass. ‘And I’d forgotten how lethal Nancy’s mulled wine is.’
‘Same,’ I repeat, even though it doesn’t quite make sense because it’s my first time trying it, but it definitely is strong stuff, although I think Ollie’s closeness and proximity to his aftershave might be partially responsible for the flush I’m currently feeling.
‘The Christmas Song’ comes on and he flops onto his back and fidgets to get comfortable on the faux-fur rug. He shifts until he can see the Christmas tree lights and meets my eyes upside down from the floor with a butterfly-inducing wink.
‘You’re a big guy, you’re not that tipsy yet.’
He laughs, even though his cheeks are flushed too. ‘I don’t think it’s just the wine.’
I love that he’s brave enough to voice those thoughts out loud.
The kids have spent most of the day shouting instructions at us for things like ‘Put your hand on her waist!’ and ‘Rub his arm!’, along with Rory quizzing us on everything we know about each other from how Ollie takes his tea to which side of the bed I sleep on, despite the fact it’s incredibly unlikely to come up in conversation over Christmas.
I haven’t been able to shake the intimacy I feel with him, like we’ll pull this off because we’re in this together.
He jerks his head to say that he wants me to join him in lying down, and after emptying my glass, it doesn’t seem like the worst idea.
The white faux fur of the rug is so thick that it’s like lying on a duvet, and I lie in the opposite direction to Ollie so we’re head-to-head, and he tilts his head to the side, openly inviting me to rest mine on his shoulder.
It’s not the distance I was intending to keep, but it’s impossible not to wriggle nearer and we end up lying in a sort of yin-yang position – my head on his shoulder and his head on mine which is deceptively comfortable.
I turn slightly until the side of my face presses against his. ‘I think I’ve got a little red hotel digging into my back.’
He bursts into laughter and returns the gesture. ‘You’re lucky. I’ve got a Scottie dog in my hip.’
I let my right hand come up and stroke through the longer front parts of his hair, and he reaches for my left hand and holds it with both of his, spinning the ring on my wedding finger, and… we simply stay like that.
I don’t know how much time passes. The fire on one side, the tree twinkling with every rainbow colour on the other, and Ollie’s weight, warmth, and spicy aftershave surrounding me from all angles, along with the Christmas music that’s cycled around to ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’.
I know he’s not asleep because he’s still playing mindlessly with my fingers, and the wine makes me brave enough to ask something that’s intrigued me from the first day I got here. ‘Was Lucy a real person once?’
‘She was.’ He sounds unsurprised by the question.
‘I was dating her when I went for the interview at Galligan & Brenton. We’d been together for over a year, we were happy, so she was who I had in mind when I told that lie.
I honestly thought it wouldn’t always be a lie – I thought I was just telling them in advance to help me get the job. ’
‘But you didn’t marry her?’
He shakes his head gently, knowing I’ll feel the movement.
‘What happened?’
‘I got the job. I wasn’t good enough to get the job but I got it because of my father’s name, and I had to work so hard to make sure they didn’t regret it.
Lucy lived in Glasgow, she travelled back and forth to spend time with me, but I prioritised the job.
I’d crash at her flat in the city and do nothing but work.
She’d come here and I’d have so much prep to do that if I wasn’t doing it, I was thinking about it.
We held on for a while, but she rightfully got sick of it, and we had to admit it wasn’t working out. ’
‘I’m sorry.’ I close the fingers of my left hand around his and give them a squeeze.
‘It was my fault. I should have tried to find a better work–life balance, but I couldn’t let my father down. I finally had a way to make him proud and I had to prioritise that. It was just… bad timing.’
I chew my lower lip. That must’ve been five-ish years ago, and he’s still just as insecure in his job. ‘No one since?’
‘Work. Work since. It’s all I’ve done for years now.’ He turns until his nose rubs against my cheek, probably unintentionally. ‘You’ve seen enough of my life to know that, yes, I really am that boring.’
I go to tell him he’s the furthest thing from boring, but he doesn’t let me finish the sentence.
‘How about you?’ He uses the grip on my left hand to jiggle my arm around like he’s trying to shake an answer out. ‘The men of London must be absolute idiots not to have snapped you up by now.’
I smile at his sweetness, even though he doesn’t need to lay on the charm quite that thick.
‘I don’t know. When you get to our age and you’re still single, people expect some great romantic tragedy of cheating exes and sad sob stories, but it’s nothing like that for me.
I’ve just never found “the one”. I’ve never felt that forever connection.
I’ve dated, been in short relationships, but there’s always been something that didn’t feel right.
Some people find their perfect partners and some don’t, and that’s just the way it is.
I guess I’ve just never been in the right place at the right time. ’
‘Why does it feel like we’re in the right place at the right time now?’ His voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear it, despite how close we’re lying, and I’m unsure of what to do with those words because they feel important in a way that neither of us should even be considering.
‘I don’t know, but I’d place the blame squarely on Nancy’s mulled wine.’
He creases up into a fit of giggles. ‘I concur.’
‘I also want that ridiculous love,’ I continue.
‘The kind where you’re full of butterflies and walking on clouds and you can’t wait to see them again.
The Hallmark movie love where you know they’re meant for each other from the first moment, and it’s all going to work out and they’re going to overcome every obstacle in their path because their love will conquer all. ’
‘So, realistic then?’
‘Yeah, very.’ I can’t help laughing at his sarcasm. ‘There should always be an element of magic to falling in love. Realism can come later. Everyone deserves that magical, fairytale feeling when they first find each other.’
‘It’s a nice thought. I’m too sensible for things like that.’
‘No one’s too sensible to fall in love.’
‘The fact I’m forty and paying someone to be my fake wife suggests otherwise.’
‘I’d do it for free, you know. Anyone would be lucky to have you, Ol.’