Christmas on the Island Read online

  ‘Oh,’ said Luke, thinking about this for a second. Then he put on a terrible American accent. ‘Can ah do thit?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Joel, and led the boy off to what Jan called the mess tent.

  He managed to remember to apologise and offer his congratulations to Jan on his way.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, pushing up his glasses, and she’d smiled smugly and said that kind of little fuss didn’t bother you when you were pregnant because you knew something much more important was happening and as usual she’d completely bamboozled him so he’d gone back to the team.

  The boys were starting relay races over the snowy meadow, and the shouting and breaths in the air sounded nice to him. Once he’d organised the lunches, he joined as a team leader, realising as he did so that running flat out oddly reminded him of horrible sterile gyms he’d wasted so much time in when he’d stayed in city hotels – they were all the same, with all the same drawn-looking people staring at themselves in mirrors, obsessed with themselves, everything about them and how they would look on Instagram and in their selfies; hard-eyed, self-obsessed, looking for abs and perfection. It had been him too, he supposed, once upon a time. Plenty of times he’d work out and catch some girl’s eye and take her out for lunch where she’d talk about diets and being vegan and juicing and oats and he’d just be figuring out how to sleep with her, and both of them would be exhibitionists, still trying to look in mirrors the entire time.

  He tried to imagine Flora in a gym and the thought made his lips twitch. He simply couldn’t; the two things didn’t go together at all. Flora with her soft curves, her skin so pale, elastic would mark it like a bruise . . .

  But this was better than hotel gyms in every way: pushing his body hard, with the boys laughing, and Charlie falling behind, good-naturedly putting a hand up – there wasn’t a doubtful, mean bone in that man’s body, Joel had thought many times. Flora could have ended up with him, and would have been completely fine.

  Maybe she should have. Maybe that should have been Charlie’s baby – or Teàrlach as she called him, in that old tongue. It shouldn’t be Jan grinning like a circus clown. It should be Flora happy.

  It absolutely shouldn’t, he knew, be Flora crying alone at home. He absolutely knew it. He did. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. And so he ran faster and faster in the frosty air, feeling it burn in his lungs – a good burn – even as the boys jeered at him for not giving them a chance and his team leaped for joy. He would have run beyond the campground, if he could, kept on running till he got to the top of the mountain, then leapt in one bound to the outer isles, or the mainland, run from hill to hill because something was chasing him, something was always chasing him, and he didn’t know what it was or how to stop it.

  And so the day went and the late winter sun was already setting. He glanced around. Luke, the dark-haired boy, was standing, stock-still, watching it sink down over the sea, his face at peace.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lorna and Flora were starting to resemble two survivors of a war.

  Flora, Lorna noticed, looked so tired. Really drawn actually – it wasn’t hard for shadow to appear on her pale skin, but the colour under her eyes was dark and violet, and her stunning pale hair was dry and wispy-looking even as her waist continued to thicken underneath her apron.

  ‘Flores!’ she said, hugging her with real concern. ‘Have the boys not noticed? Really?’

  ‘You know what they’re like,’ said Flora wearily. They were propping each other up at the Harbour’s Rest where Lorna had insisted Flora have a bowl of soup, even though they made good soup in the Seaside Kitchen, of course – a good hearty cock-a-leekie and vegetable. But she knew Inge-Britt bought it in wholesale and it would be Heinz, and sometimes a bowl of Heinz tomato soup can absolutely restore the soul. And anyway, she wanted some.

  ‘Fintan’s head is elsewhere, and Innes is trying to work something . . . Well,’ she said. ‘I think Eilidh is coming for Christmas.’

  ‘Oooh,’ said Lorna, surprised. Innes’s estranged wife had hated living on the island, which was why they had separated in the first place, and she had moved towards the bright lights of Inverness. ‘Do you think . . . ?’

  ‘I think Agot has her heart set on Mure,’ said Flora. ‘Can you even imagine what a pain in the arse she is at her mother’s house?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Lorna. ‘You know, every time I see her she says, “HELLO, MISS LORNA, I HAS DONE MY HOMEWORK FOR MY SCHOOL”.’

  Lorna’s imitation was spot on and Flora laughed. ‘What’s she actually done?’

  Lorna rolled her eyes. ‘She brought me a dead bee once.’

  ‘Grade A student,’ said Flora automatically.

  ‘Are things . . . ? How are things?’ said Lorna, not wanting to dive in unless Flora was willing to talk about it.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ said Flora. ‘Because I get more pregnant every single second of the day and we still aren’t speaking and I absolutely can’t bear it.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lorna.

  ‘But you!’ said Flora. ‘You’re having gorgeous sex with the second most gorgeous man on this island, and the first one is a nobber so you totally win!’

  Lorna immediately did what she had promised not to do and burst into tears.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Flora. ‘This is worse than last year when neither of us could get any for love or money. Now we’ve got some and it’s making everything worse.’

  Lorna shook her head.

  ‘Flora . . . don’t. You can’t tell anyone. But . . .’

  ‘What?’

  Lorna swallowed hard. ‘He’s leaving.’

  ‘What do you mean, he’s leaving? He can’t leave! He was sent here!’

  ‘No, he was sent to Scotland,’ said Lorna. ‘There’s loads of places they can use him on the mainland. They’re short of doctors all over. They’re sending him somewhere else.’

  Flora shook her head.

  ‘I don’t understand. We still need a doctor here. If they take him away, we’ll still be short.’

  The two girls looked at one another. And Lorna realised, with a sinking sense of horror, that Saif had lied to her.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Oh shit. He told me . . . he told me he has to go.’

  Flora held her friend’s arm.

  ‘Maybe he does.’

  Lorna rubbed her head.

  ‘Look,’ said Flora. ‘You saw the nativity play. Maybe it’s not you. Maybe he doesn’t think . . . he doesn’t think it’s the best environment for the boys.’

  ‘What? It’s a perfect environment for the boys!’

  ‘He wants to be somewhere . . . There’s a mosque. Maybe more Middle-Eastern kids.’

  ‘Bute has a mosque,’ said Lorna sadly. ‘Well, a very wee one I think.’

  Flora looked at Lorna.

  ‘But I thought the kids were happy here! Ash is at the farmhouse all the time.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s about the kids,’ said Lorna miserably. ‘Is it?’

  Flora shook her head.

  ‘That sucks. I am so, so sorry.’

  Lorna let the tears flow.

  ‘At least you got a baby,’ she said, sobbing into her drink. ‘The best, the most gorgeous man I have ever met in my entire life – he’s going to leave. And I’ll be stuck here. For ever. On my own. Getting older and greyer and more stuck in my ways. And I will always know that the perfect guy for me was close and . . . and . . .’

  Big bits of snot were coming out now. Flora dug in Lorna’s pockets for her tissues and handed them over.

  ‘Here,’ she said. Lorna blew into one.

  ‘Oh God, look at the pair of us,’ she said. ‘What on earth is the matter with us?’

  ‘I always wanted to fall in love,’ agreed Flora. ‘And now I have and it is absolutely bloody rubbish.’

  They put their arms around each other.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Flora.

  ‘I
know,’ said Lorna. ‘I don’t think there’s anything to say.’

  Flora hugged her tightly.

  ‘But you’ve always got me.’

  ‘And you’ve always got me,’ said Lorna.

  ‘Oh good,’ said Flora. ‘Can you babysit?’

  Chapter Forty

  ‘So what are your plans for Christmas, Dr Hassan?’

  Mrs Laird was talking but Saif wasn’t listening, just staring out of the window. He’d had an email that morning asking him in for a chat with a large corporate GP group in Glasgow, which had mentioned that as well as having vacancies, there were plenty of Arabic speakers who would really do well from having an Arabic speaker in the practice.

  Good. Maybe this was the answer. He couldn’t deal with what was happening; the ups and downs of an emotional life. At night his dreams were dreadful so he was terrified of falling asleep. A writhing, glorious Lorna would transmogrify into the terrible, pathetic shape of the woman in the video, and then into Amena, and he would wake up in a sweat, pulling Ash to him, using the child for comfort even though the little one slept in his bed because he was still in desperate need of reassurance that a parent was still there.

  It was no good, it was not going to last and it was hurting him. A fresh start was what he needed. He had not been on his guard here. It had never even occurred to him, after everything he had been through to try and help and safeguard his family, through all the miles, through the hardships, the terrors of the boats and the checkpoints and the Mediterranean and the guards and the dogs and the inspections.

  He had thought and planned and worked, made his way, found a job. Everything he had planned for. And then there was the one thing he didn’t and could not have planned: falling in love.

  ‘The boys must be looking forward to it?’

  Jeannie had said the same thing at the surgery and Saif hadn’t really paid much attention then either. This had not gone unnoticed, nor had the fact that there wasn’t a Christmas tree in the window or a wreath on the door. Opinions were divided between whether it was inappropriate to mention it, as not everyone wanted to celebrate Christmas, and the absolute sense that the boys were fully expecting to participate. But Saif didn’t say anything now. Mrs Laird pursed her lips and got on with things. She was going to buy the boy’s gifts, even if Saif didn’t want to. She could pretend it was for something else.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Saif. ‘Can you look after them on Thursday? I have to fly to Glasgow.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Busy time of year.’

  ‘Well, make sure you go to a toyshop,’ said Mrs Laird, but it fell on deaf ears.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Dr Mehta regarded the potential new practice member carefully. She’d read his file, and had been amazed at what he’d managed to achieve in the short time he’d been in the UK. Her own grandparents had fled partition, so she knew a little bit about the emotional costs. She leaned forward.

  ‘You know, in this area we have a lot of issues,’ she said. ‘Separated and broken families. Social problems. Do you get much of that in Mure?’

  Saif shook his head.

  ‘No. Lots of sheep.’

  Dr Mehta nodded.

  ‘Do you feel – and apologies if this is delicate – do you feel emotionally equipped to deal with, for example, abused children?’

  Saif blinked. ‘As well as anyone. Perhaps better.’

  Dr Mehta nodded.

  ‘And why are you leaving Mure?’

  For the first time, Saif hesitated. The truth . . . it sounded so weak. So pathetic. He took a deep breath.

  ‘I just felt there were places my skills could be more useful.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Dr Mehta, marking something on a piece of paper.

  ‘And I thought it might be a better place to integrate my sons.’

  At this, she took off her glasses.

  ‘Is that the word you meant? Are people excluding them?’

  Saif blinked again.

  ‘No. I mean, find more people like them.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Saif left not knowing how it had gone. Dr Mehta spent the rest of the morning meddling with her conscience. She felt the island probably needed Saif more than he knew. And that it was probably the best place to raise a family – here they had gang problems and sectarian issues. If there was remaining PTSD – his notes didn’t show it but on the other hand not many people fled a civil war unscathed and Christ knows what the boys had been through – then it might be a triggering situation.

  On the other hand, you didn’t pass up a good doctor, whatever his reasons. And he was clearly that. She sighed.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Even flying nice class, as they had, and changing at Reykjavik then hopping down, the journey to Mure was still quite tiring, so Mark and Marsha were both jet-lagged and trepidatious when they arrived on Mure. Mark was annoyed and concerned that Joel might be stumbling; Marsha was more sanguine that Mark could fix anything; both were desperate to see ‘their’ boy.

  There was no sign of Flora at the tiny landing hut they used as an airport. It had been a bumpy trip and they deplaned in pitch darkness to a howling gale. ‘Isn’t it awesome!’ Mark had announced loudly as they descended, and Marsha had done her best to agree even though they appeared to have arrived in Mordor.

  Joel was looking thin again, Mark noticed worriedly. It was always a bad sign. He did his best to smile when he saw them though. Marsha noticed he was wearing a blue shirt and heavy Burberry twill overcoat, which was most unlike him, and smiled happily through her exhaustion.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, opening her arms, and Joel was ashamed to show how desperate he was for her to encircle him in a hug, despite the fact that he was nearly twice her size.

  ‘Hey, Marsha,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  ‘Yadda yadda yadda,’ she said. ‘We’re here to sort you out.’

  ‘Marsha!’ said Mark crossly, shaking Joel’s hand, squeezing it tightly in both of his. ‘Nobody can fix anything for other people. Basic rule of thumb. Sorry, Joel.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Joel.

  Mark looked around.

  ‘She’s not . . . ?’

  Joel’s face was bright red.

  ‘I haven’t . . .’

  Marsha rolled her eyes.

  ‘Well, can I just get to bed please?’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  Joel drove them up to the Rock even though he was slightly anxious that at any moment Colton was going to kick him out as soon as he heard how he was treating Flora. However, the fires were lit and a small dinner had been prepared, and the beautiful tartan and deep reds of the small lounge were so cosy and delightful that even exhausted Marsha was charmed.

  ‘Well,’ she said after tea. ‘What have you decided?’

  Joel’s face was a picture of misery.

  ‘Marsha,’ he said. ‘I’m just not ready.’

  ‘You’re never ready,’ said Mark. ‘Well . . .’ He put a steadying hand on Marsha’s shoulder. ‘We were ready. But we weren’t lucky.’

  Marsha took her husband’s hand in her own tiny claw and squeezed it. The sadness had diminished but it had never vanished entirely.

  ‘That makes it worse,’ said Joel. ‘I mean, of course I’ll support it. Anything Flora wants . . . She won’t have to work if she doesn’t have to.’

  ‘She loves to work!’ exclaimed Marsha.

  ‘Well, whatever . . . whatever she needs. But I think . . . I think they’d be better off without me. She’s got all her brothers and, well, an entire island. I can fly in and out. I think that’d be best, don’t you?’

  He looked up hopefully at Mark and Marsha, his face like the anxious twelve-year-old of so, so long ago.

  Mark put his hand on Joel’s shoulder.

  ‘I think there’s more in you than that,’ he said gravely. ‘I think you can be a man and face up to your responsibilities
. I think it’s in you. I think you might even enjoy it.’

  ‘But what use is that,’ said Joel, ‘if I was resentful and bitter at everything I’d been made to do?’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Following the party, Flora was doing the Christmas planning with very, very bad grace.

  Fintan would be up at the Manse of course, but they couldn’t all go there: it would tire Colton out. The boys obviously thought she liked doing it, when hanging over a stove was what she did all day. Eilidh was coming over so Agot could be with her dad at Christmas, which was lovely but it did rather add a layer of complications to things, plus Innes had assumed she’d be at the Rock with Joel so had commandeered her bedroom for his ex-wife. Then obviously she was planning for Marsha and Mark, but that excluded Joel. Who had chosen to exclude himself, of course. He could go where the hell he wanted. Which, she knew, probably meant to Jan and Charlie’s, which annoyed her even more.

  So they would be: her, Lorna, Lorna’s brother Iain, who only came back from the rigs occasionally and didn’t really have anywhere else to go, Innes, Eilidh and Agot, Hamish, Hamish’s girlfriend, who could be literally anyone on any given week, Eck, Fintan possibly but he didn’t know what time, Mark and Marsha, who didn’t eat bacon or sausages which was slightly problematic for stuffing and chipolatas, and Saif whom she’d invited but hadn’t heard from (in fact, he’d been invited to nine separate Christmas lunches and hadn’t known what to do with any of the invitations so had ignored them all) but was now concerned about that because she’d asked him before she’d found out about him and Lorna and now wanted to disinvite him but as he hadn’t replied to the first invitation she didn’t feel she could automatically retract it, but it was no guarantee he wouldn’t just appear. (Lorna was no help on this issue as she was half desperate to see him – possibly believing a fair amount of bonhomie and Christmas spirit might actually change his mind about going – and half desperately teary at the prospect.)

  And Flora had a horrible, horrible feeling she might have to cater for that horrible Tripp as well who had shown absolutely no sign of moving on, and might start talking about American politics and then they were really in trouble. So anywhere between eleven and sixteen people, depending. And a great big empty chair. A great big hole in the middle of everything. Well, two big empty chairs, because even though she sat in her mother’s seat now, it never felt quite like hers. She had never looked forward to Christmas less.