Chapter 34

34

Shelley and Lena and Pearl huddle close together as the fire crackles and glows on the shore. Its fierce heat is welcome and the Sampsons have gathered at its other side. Niall is setting out sausages on a wire grill he found in the cottage’s utility room. However, it was Pearl who got the fire going at the lochside as Niall and Roger went off to scavenge for more wood.

‘Oh, you can build fires?’ Roger asked, surprised that it had leapt into life in their short absence. Pearl explained that she’d grown up in the Cheshire countryside where she and her father would go on walks and toast marshmallows on a fire. But she knew why he was taken aback. Because when the Sampsons arrived Pearl was her usual pulled-together self, with make-up immaculate and hair freshly styled.

Today though, the auburn curls that she usually insists on taming have been stuffed under a woolly hat. Her face is bare too. It wasn’t that she was too busy with breakfast to apply her face. More that it felt ridiculous to bother with make-up when surely she’d be out in the snow, just as she’d have been as a little girl. Something about being here in the Scottish winter – even the snowed-in part – is making Pearl feel young again, as if all her cares and stresses are falling away. It hardly seems possible that, just a week ago, she was crouched in her little north London flat peeing into a Celebrations tub.

And she has no need for make-up here, that’s clear to her now. Her cheeks are glowing and her green eyes are shining brightly in the firelight. Pearl doesn’t know it, but she looks beautiful. Niall thinks so, although he’s busying himself with arranging rocks to support the grill, so the sausages can be sizzled.

Pearl can’t help watching him. As she catches Niall’s eye across the fire, it occurs to her that she hasn’t felt like this since Dean died. That she is absolutely fine, just as she is. That she can be comfortable in her own skin. Amidst the chatter and laughter she closes her eyes briefly, enjoying the fire’s warmth on her face. What is happening to her up here in the Highlands? She isn’t devastated to be separated from Brandon for Christmas. She has accepted that she’ll be here at Shore Cottage and, just as startling to her right now – she isn’t wearing any mascara. She looks around the fire and thinks, I’m with my best friends and Niall, who I think is becoming a friend. And the Sampsons – well, they’re the Sampsons. They’re fine. We’ll all get through this together. Pearl can sense herself glowing tonight, as if something is wakening in her: the country girl she once was, and the younger woman who breezed down to London at twenty, when virtually nothing intimidated her.

She is unfazed now when a figure appears in the distance and plods heavily towards them. After all, they’re not doing anything wrong. Michael had mentioned that he often has fires here.

‘Hi!’ Pearl says, jumping up.

‘Hi there.’ Bar the small area around his eyes, the man is entirely bundled up in a thick hooded jacket and muffler.

‘We’re staying at Shore Cottage,’ Pearl starts. ‘D’you know Michael?’

‘Of course I know Michael,’ he says gruffly. ‘Thought I’d come down to meet you all…’ His gaze skims the group.

‘Oh,’ Lena says quickly. ‘We thought it’d be okay to light a fire here. But if it’s not we can put it out?—’

‘No, no, you’re fine,’ the man assures them. ‘I just wanted to see how you are. With the snow situation, I mean. I live on the farm over that way—’ He jabs a finger a little way inland. ‘We met, remember? When you’d just arrived?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Pearl says. ‘With the sheep?—’

‘Aye, that was it.’ The man tugs down his hood and muffler, exposing his weathered face now, and smiles. ‘I’m Harry.’ Pearl does a quick round of introductions, but more through politeness than any expectation that he will remember everyone’s names.

‘So how’s it been, managing the place by yourselves?’ Harry asks. ‘With Michael running off to London like Dick Whittington?’

Pearl laughs, realising that everyone must know everything around here. ‘We’re doing fine,’ she replies.

‘Well, that’s good to hear. So, I was thinking, what are your plans for Christmas Day?’

He looks around at them expectantly, nodding his thanks as Niall hands him a roll stuffed with a freshly grilled sausage. ‘We, er, don’t have any firm plans,’ Lena admits.

‘We don’t have a turkey either,’ Frida announces.

‘Or stockings or presents!’ Theo exclaims, as if he has only just realised this. He turns to his mother. ‘Father Christmas will go to our house and I won’t be there!’

‘Hey, it’s okay, Theo,’ Pearl assures him. ‘He knows you’re here.’ She glances at Shelley and they exchange a silent message: Presents! What are we going to do?

‘So it’s going to be a pretty rubbishy Christmas,’ Frida adds, and Harry frowns.

‘It needn’t be. Come over to our place tonight, if you like. We always have a few people over on Christmas Eve.’

‘What people?’ Frida asks, and Harry laughs.

‘There are people around here, you know. We do socialise. Sometimes we even manage to have fun.’

Pearl chuckles and she sees Niall trying to suppress a laugh.

‘Even in this weather?’ Pearl asks. ‘I mean, people will come out in the snow?’

‘Aye, ’course they will.’ Harry nods and pulls a small silvery flask from a pocket and hands it to her. ‘Have a nip. It’ll warm you up.’ Tentatively, she takes a sip of whisky and senses its warmth spreading through her.

‘Mmm, that’s lovely.’

‘Ten-year-old malt, that. Pass it around, if you like?—’

‘I’m not drinking from that.’ Frida shudders. ‘ Hygiene ?—’

‘Maybe don’t give any to the kid.’ Harry chuckles. ‘But yeah, we’re used to walking in snow. You have torches, right?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Shelley asserts. So Harry gives them directions and later, when the fire has died down to its glowing embers, the entire Shore Cottage contingency tramps along the snowy lane with Stan trotting at their side. Soon they find the track that leads to Harry’s farm. They are all beckoned in, and Pearl’s heart seems to swell at the warmth of the welcome here. There is chatter and music and drinks appear miraculously in their hands. A fire is glowing in the hearth and tinsel has been tacked along the wooden ceiling beams. A real Christmas tree is an explosion of gaudy colour and there are people here – actual people , Pearl reflects with a smile as she catches Frida’s surprised expression. But soon, as more drinks are drunk and the music is cranked up, everyone – even Frida – seems to relax. Mince pies are abundant and Theo is handed a bowl of foil-wrapped chocolate coins.

Although they have no idea where these places might be, they meet Isla from the post office, Kevin from the bakery and Pam – Harry’s wife – who runs a cheese shop. ‘A cheese shop!’ Frida exclaims. ‘Where might that be?’ There’s the local taxi driver (it seems there’s just the one) and a small, elf-like man who runs a campsite and says they’re welcome to stay any time: ‘No charge for friends of Michael’s.’ There’s Jimmy from the next farm, and his long-haired twin boys, gangly and liberally tattooed and not what Pearl would have imagined as farmer’s sons.

Then Roger suggests that Theo – who so far has been remarkably pleasant – is looking terribly tired. And as the Sampsons are leaving, Shelley and Pearl and Lena decide to head home too (Shelley realises she has actually referred to Shore Cottage as ‘home’). And so, together with Niall and Stan, they all thank Harry and Pam, who insist that they take two frozen chickens plus some kind of peculiar ginger wine and a tub of Celebrations, which they insisted was ‘going spare’. ‘Handy for Pearl,’ Lena whispers, grinning, ‘if the bathrooms are all occupied?’

‘Chicken?’ Frida mutters as they make their way along the snow-covered lane. ‘Not turkey?’

Pearl chuckles, surprised at how happy she is that Niall is walking with her while the others march a little way ahead, laden with Harry and Pam’s gifts. ‘I actually prefer chicken,’ he admits with a smile.

‘Me too!’

They fall silent, a little fuzzy from whisky as their boots crunch into the snow. The moon hangs low over the faint black outline of the mountains. ‘I think Christmas is going to be perfect,’ Pearl announces suddenly, turning to look at Niall. At some point – she’s not quite sure when – she must have slipped her arm in his, just to steady herself in the snow.

‘I think it will be too,’ Niall says. And then they stop suddenly. His arms are round her now and they hug, and then kiss. It’s the briefest brush of the lips, as tender as a snowflake. Pearl’s heart seems to soar like a shooting star, and as he takes her arm again, and they trudge slowly back to Shore Cottage, everything feels just right.