Christmas on the Island Read online

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I thought you knew everything?’

  ‘Took a guess. Your face though.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Lorna in a panic. ‘I could lose my job. So could he. Oh God, Flora, please’

  Flora shook her head. ‘I only guessed. I’m sorry. Pregnancy intuition, I think. As in everyone else managed to get absolutely steaming in about half an hour and I’m the only one with a clear head.’

  As if to prove this, Ranald MacRanald’s dad, Ranald, came lurching up and shook Lorna’s hand, pumping it up and down and telling her she was the best teacher in the world, from a grand total of the two teachers he had ever met before, having been born and bred on the island, then staggered back inside again.

  The girls stared at one another, Flora’s jolly mood dissipating as she saw Lorna’s face.

  ‘Is it not okay?’ she said.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Lorna, turning bright pink and trying not to cry. ‘Oh God, Flora, you can’t imagine. It was amazing; incredible. It was . . . it was different to anything . . . I can’t explain.’

  Flora thought of Joel, his ferocity and hard body in bed, and thought she did understand.

  ‘So what’s the problem? People will get used to the idea. I mean, it’ll be weird to start with, but . . .’

  Lorna shook her head.

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t know if he . . . if I . . .’

  Flora hugged her.

  ‘Was it worth it?’ she whispered in Lorna’s ear.

  ‘Oh God, yes,’ said Lorna fervently.

  ‘Well then.’

  They went back in out of the cold, where Lorna meant to say quick goodbyes to the other parents then head back home – alone, she supposed, but who could say? – having put in the requisite appearance.

  Instead she found Ash, with his best friend Agot not far behind him.

  ‘MISS LORNA,’ he hollered cheerily. Her heart fluttered. Oh God. What she’d done with his father . . . She glanced around. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against the larder door, half in half out of a conversation with Colin the local policeman and Alan who ran the RNLI as they discussed winter survival exercises. Only he clearly wasn’t listening. He was staring at her in a way that burned right through her; in a way she thought must be immediately clear to everyone else in the room, as if there were heat lines coming off them both. She met his burning gaze and flushed and immediately wanted to drag him off to the nearest bedroom and . . .

  ‘MISS LORNA!’

  ‘Yes, Ash,’ she said reluctantly, kneeling down. The little boy’s eyes were wide; he was still obviously slightly overexcited from the nativity play, and the whole of Christmas happening around him. She knew that Mrs Cook had been gently trying to elicit from Ib where they had been the Christmas before without any particular success so far. It felt all sorts of wrong to be talking to the child of the man she’d just been naked and utterly shameless with. Coupled with the fact that if she was talking to Ash, Saif would be watching them. She felt herself flush bright pink. Saif caught it too and almost swore, his desire for her was so strong. He wanted to tear across the room, grab her away from Ash, whisk her off . . . These were terrible thoughts, he knew. But he had them nonetheless.

  ‘So he said, if you need an extra man . . .’ Alan was saying hopefully, and Saif nodded vaguely, which Alan took as an agreement to do what he’d been talking about for the last half hour, namely for Saif to join the RNLI crew, which was to surprise Saif utterly when he started to get the letters about it as he didn’t recall a single word of the conversation.

  It tells you everything you need to know about Saif that he attended the courses, took the exam, joined the local lifeboat crew and proved a brave and stalwart member of the team as long as he lived there, without ever letting on that he hadn’t remotely wanted to do it in the first place.

  ‘They has a tree inside!’ Ash whispered to Lorna.

  At first Lorna couldn’t work out what he meant. She glanced around. Of course he must have meant the fir, which arrived on the overnight boats from Norway without fail every year. It took up half the kitchen, being miles too large for the space, but was a wonderful tree nonetheless (Lorna’s own tree was small and chic and had tangerines and real candles). No designer nonsense for the MacKenzies’ tree. It was covered in terrible old angels and baubles, obviously made by various MacKenzie offspring down the years – none of whom had ever been notably burdened with artistic talent – strands of multicoloured lights Lorna was sure she remembered from the nineties, the occasional real trinket – carved driftwood boats and Celtic symbols from years gone past – and mounds and mounds of gaudy tinsel.

  ‘Lots of people do, Ash,’ she said.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, eyes wide.

  Lorna smiled.

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said.

  He turned to look at her.

  ‘I thought tree was for school? And TV?’

  Lorna blinked at him.

  ‘Don’t you have a tree . . . ?’

  She realised instantly how thoughtless and ridiculous she was being. Why would they have a tree? Why would they have been in anyone else’s house to see them? Her heart melted for him and she took his outstretched hand.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Some people like to have trees in their houses.’

  ‘I would like tree in my house,’ he said dreamily.

  ‘Well, speak to your father,’ she said. Ash turned to wave at his dad, who was still staring at them, and Lorna felt her heart lurch. She couldn’t help it. She had to get Ash out of the way. Just for the moment. She couldn’t deal with him right then, fond of him as she was.

  ‘Come here,’ she said to Ash, who had turned his attention back to the tree and was looking at it like he couldn’t believe it existed in real life.

  ‘I COME,’ shouted Agot, grabbing her other hand. And Lorna led them both over to the tree.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Lie on your backs and put your heads underneath the branches.’

  They both obeyed her unquestioningly, their little feet poking out from under the ends of the branches as they gazed upwards through the fir’s thick foliage, the lights glimmering and dazzling their vision. She could tell by their ooohs and aaahs that this had been a good idea and left them to it as more and more little ones were coming over to do exactly the same thing until there was a little line of boots sticking out in a perfect circle underneath the tree and a fair amount of giggling and whispering. Lorna started to worry that they’d knock it over, though old Eck was watching them all from the fireside with a smile of genuine happiness on his face.

  Then, heart thudding, she looked up again. She realised that somewhere inside she had told her heart a lie: she had promised herself somehow that if she had one chance – one hour spent with him – then that would be okay; that it would somehow be enough. She could get him out of her system; get on with her life.

  Now she saw quite clearly that that was an absolute load of nonsense. That in fact the smallest taste had made her absolutely starving for more.

  Flora was there, refilling her glass but actually pulling her on the sleeve.

  ‘I just . . . Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said. ‘But I just wanted to say, if you guys want to keep this secret, you have to stop ignoring everyone else to stare at each other like you want to eat each other up. I mean it, honestly, it’s gross. It’s putting people off their mince pies.’

  Lorna nodded.

  ‘There’s a million parents here and I’m only telling you this out of kindness, but I think they would all like you to tell them how awesome their child was as a sheep.’

  Lorna sighed.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘God,’ said Flora.

  ‘I know,’ said Lorna. ‘It’s such a mess. Such a gorgeous mess.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Flora. ‘I was thinking about how in a few years this is going to be me.’

  * * *

  Flora looked rou
nd. The village did – it was true – look happy. Everyone was there. Well, almost everyone. Jan was in the corner ostentatiously rubbing her stomach and holding court to the old ladies. Hamish was trying to start a conga line as always. Even Tripp was here, furiously apologising to Inge-Britt who, Flora knew, wouldn’t be able to be angry with him for long; there were men on the island who’d been banned from the Harbour’s Rest half a dozen times. Fintan had popped in, then whisked off again. She wished for a selfish moment that he wasn’t so distracted. They were the closest in age and she would have liked his advice about now. Or her mum’s, of course . . . She quickly grabbed another plate of warm vol-au-vents and went to offer them round. Tripp swooped in and grabbed them.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said.

  ‘Oh no, I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Good way to meet everyone.’

  Flora eyed him narrowly. He must be trying to butter them up to try and influence Colton. Well. It wasn’t going to work on her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said nonetheless, handing them off and turning round.

  * * *

  Lorna did just about manage to get around all the parents. And it wasn’t until everything was winding down as the very little children, buzzed up on far too much sugar, were starting to get very fretful – that people began to drift away. Ash of course never wanted to leave Agot, who was staying there, and they were soon ensconced in the front parlour, watching Moana at full volume, as apparently Frozen was only for babies now.

  Lorna knew she should go. She couldn’t bear to leave alone, but she’d have to. She watched Saif trying to chivvy Ash out and wanted to go to him . . . but there were still parents circling. On one hand, it was perfectly natural to chat to the parents of the schoolchildren. On the other hand, how could she stop herself from grabbing him . . . ? Though it was normal for the local doctor and the local teacher to talk about what was going on in their community. But she wasn’t entirely sure she could stop herself from simply sinking into his arms; whether she could even be close without going completely crazy.

  She hugged Flora, kindly didn’t ask about Joel as everyone else had done and didn’t have to listen to Flora lie that he was working, and retreated to her car. She couldn’t be around him, and she couldn’t be around anybody who wasn’t him, that was for sure. She would go home, and curl back up in the bed they had both been in, and hold the sheets he’d coiled her in, and hope and dream of it happening again. Because it would happen again, wouldn’t it? Mustn’t it?

  The cold air was freezing and hurt all the way down to her lungs as she fumbled towards the car. He caught up with her just outside.

  ‘Lorenah.’

  He never could pronounce her name. She flashed back suddenly to the first time she’d ever met him. It had never crossed her mind that he was attractive – he had been so thin, in desperate need of a haircut, so broken down and timid. She had said, ‘Hi, I’m Lorna,’ and he hadn’t been able to pronounce it, which was slightly ironic given all the Eilidhs and Tadgs he was about to meet, and said ‘Lorenah?’ and she had felt so awkward and sorry for him then that she couldn’t bear to correct him and had smiled and said, ‘Yes, exactly,’ and he had called her that for evermore, and now she liked it more than her actual name.

  She turned; he was very close to her at the car. She fought the impulse to pull him to her, right there, with people in the house behind her. But it was hard.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have to . . . I don’t know . . .’

  His confusion was so obvious she felt better immediately: she wasn’t the only one who felt in consternation about the whole thing. She wasn’t some passing fancy.

  ‘Can you . . . ?’ she started urgently.

  ‘I will . . .’

  Lorna glanced around.

  ‘Can you come . . . ?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ he said, in a deeply regretful tone. ‘But I will find . . .’

  The ludicrous impossibility of the logistics threatened to overwhelm Lorna, but she was too relieved that he was keen to continue to discuss it. Talking was for another time.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Saif. ‘Because if I start . . .’

  ‘Start!’ It was an order.

  He moved closer, just as Lorna’s phone rang. She glanced at it. It was Flora and she didn’t have to pick it up to know exactly what her friend was going to say.

  ‘Go,’ said Saif, and she nodded. He briefly, very briefly took her chilled fingers in his hand and drew them to her lips, and even that was enough to make her shudder. She yearned to linger but knew she could not and, with the deepest regret, let him open the car door for her.

  ‘Go in,’ she hissed. ‘Someone will see. And you’ll get cold.’

  ‘You can warm me.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. Then to try and stop herself, she got into her car and drove away, back to the little apartment with the tangled sheets she could not bear to change. Instead, she wrapped herself in them, in the sense of him, full of utter joy, and drifted happily off to sleep trying to pretend he would be there when she woke up.

  * * *

  Back at the old manse, Ash stared up at Saif, who was miles away.

  ‘Abba?’

  ‘Mmm?’ said Saif, still in shock, truly, at how the night had unfolded. After so long . . . after so very long . . . it had been almost too much, too intense; the colours of her so bright. And something else creeping in too: deep guilt that he was refusing to allow to take a foothold. He did not believe, surely, that the universe could deny him a little happiness. But that was so selfish too. He sighed. Amena wasn’t the only women he’d ever slept with. But he had been married at twenty-two; a boy, truly. Now, as a man, knowing what he knew, with everything he’d been through . . .

  He hoped fervently that she had enjoyed it as much as he had. Then he remembered the thin trail of sweat that had run from her neck, all the way down- between her breasts, all the way down her stomach. The tears in her eyes; the colours that flushed her skin.

  No, he did not think it had been a disaster. But . . . but . . . how? How could he square this with everything he had to do; everything he needed to do? The fact – the absolute undeniable fact – that he was still married to someone he loved very much.

  Oh dear.

  ‘Abba!’ said Ash more insistently. ‘I want a tree.’

  Saif blinked.

  ‘What kind of a tree?’ There were almost no trees on Mure; the wind levels didn’t let them grow. Saif was completely bamboozled.

  Ash rolled his eyes.

  ‘A Christmas tree!’

  Saif realised he meant the things springing up around the place, but had absolutely no idea how to get hold of one.

  ‘All right, okay,’ he said to get Ash to settle down. ‘Now go to sleep, please.

  And for once, obligingly, both the boys did, worn out by the day, the play, the problems with the play, the party, which had mostly – but not quite – fixed it.

  Saif was worn out too, but he didn’t have a hope of sleeping. He wandered to the front, considered looking outside to see if he could crane his neck down into town all the way to Lorna’s little flat. But he couldn’t, of course; he knew that. He was being ridiculous. But being there . . . had made him so happy; happier than he could remember being since . . . Well. For a very, very long time. He wanted to be back there more than anything. If he closed his eyes, he could just about see her hair tumbling in the firelight.

  He glanced at his phone. He wasn’t on call that night – it was old Dr MacAllister’s turn – but it was a quiet night in general: no babies due, no complications expected; old Felix in the north recovering well from his heart surgery.

  His bravado of earlier had faded. He knew, just balancing slightly out of view, there were the doubts, the regret, the sadness, all waiting to pounce on every sleepless night.

  But he was not going to let them in. Not yet. He was going to revel for just a little longer in the memory
of her; how she had felt better than he could ever have imagined; how extraordinary it had been; how glorious she had looked, spread beneath him, every inch of her.

  The guilt could wait. But he knew it was out there in the shadows, waiting to pounce in the dark. That he had betrayed his wife; that he had betrayed his children, his family, his marriage – everything he had ever dreamed he stood for.

  He felt cross and defiant, and for the first time in fifteen years, he wanted a cigarette. Why did everything always have to be harder for him?

  Then he realised he was being self-pitying, and turned to go to bed.

  He had to take his life as he had had to take it for the last five years: to have no expectations as to what each day would bring. In fact, to expect nothing. To grab joy if he could. To hold fast. To try never to be surprised.

  In this latter aim, he was about to be proved very, very wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It wasn’t a notable phone call. Saif had not even realised that since the boys had returned to him, he had stopped jumping every single time the phone went off. Of course, it was always in the back of his mind. But somehow he hadn’t been able to be quite as desperate as he normally was to answer it now; he wasn’t running at quite so high a pitch. His guard was down.

  He should have known.

  ‘Abba very happy today,’ Ash observed at breakfast time as Saif had heated up the porridge they adored and, as usual, tried to ration the golden syrup, a mostly pointless exercise that generally ended up with Ash licking his sticky hands like a baby bear.

  Ib glanced up from the comic he was reading.

  ‘I’m happy every day,’ said Saif, emptying his coffee cup. But it was true: there was a little smile in the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t seem to get rid of, like a twitch.