RudyKing: Sorry. We’re on our way over. I’ll explain then.
“Rudy’s on his way over with his brother,” Trevor said after he had removed his boots and followed Karl into the kitchen. “Or his parents. Not sure which.”
“Good,” said Mrs M, looking up from the kitchen counter. “In which case, we may as well have an early lunch, as everyone seems to be up now. Rudy and his folks can join us, if they wish. Mary put together a spectacular curry sauce this morning, so apart from the leftovers and salad in the fridge, we’re having turkey curry, aubergine masala and aloo gobi, with pilau rice, bubble and squeak and chunks of French bread. Hope you’re all hungry. Frank and Johnny can set the kitchen table. Antoni and Jessica, put the kettle on and make pots of tea. Trevor and Karl are excused because they’ve been doing manual labour digging us out. Actually, Trevor, can you go and check on Cheryl?”
Trevor found Cheryl in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the single bed by the window, hugging a pillow. When he looked closer, he noticed her staring down at her phone.
“Everything okay?” he asked, waiting for her to acknowledge him before coming any farther into the room.
“Message from Hannah,” she said simply, peering up.
“What’s she done now?”
“She’s miserable. Ever since they arrived, she’s had nonstop disagreements with the new friend’s family, especially the mother, who, apparently, hates her. She probably doesn’t, but you know what Hannah’s like. Now the new friend’s not talking to her. They’ve all driven to the beach today, and left her alone in the villa. Didn’t even ask her if she wanted to tag along. On Boxing Day. All she wants to do is get on a plane and come home. Says it’s her worst Christmas ever.”
“Uh-huh,” said Trevor, coming over and perching on the side of the bed. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Oh God, Mac.” She sighed and pushed a handful of hair across her ear. “I don’t know what to think. I know I should be mad at her, should be feeling vindicated that she got what she deserved, but the truth is I feel sorry for her. Does that make me an idiot?”
“Of course not. They say Christmas is a time of forgiveness. Have you said anything to your mum?”
“No. Not yet. Because I know what she’ll say. That I’d be a fool to even think about taking her back. But honestly, Mac, women aren’t exactly falling over themselves to date me right now.”
“You can’t think like that, Cheryl. We have to be patient. Knights in shining armour and angels falling from the skies are the stuff of fairy tales. They don’t happen in real life.”
“Unless you count a certain lodge owner’s son who appeared on horseback and seems to have rescued you.”
Trevor couldn’t help the smile that came so easily to his lips.
“Okay, sometimes they happen in real life.”
“Seriously though, Mac. Do you think I’d be a fool to take her back?”
“I’m not sure you want to hear my opinion, Cheryl, because I might not tell you what you want to hear. It’s a decision you need to make alone. But whatever you decide, I’ll support you. I’ll only say that if I was talking to Hannah right now, I’d be telling her exactly how much she hurt my best friend.”
“I love you, Trevor McTavish,” said Cheryl, after a moment of reflection, as a glimmer of a smile finally lifting her lips.
“We’ve always looked out for each other, Cheryl. That’s something you can always rely on,” said Trevor, just as Frank poked his head around the door.
“Sorry, Mac. Mrs M told me to come and fetch you. Rudy just pulled up in a bloody great Range Rover.”
As soon as Rudy entered the kitchen and spied Trevor, his face lit up with a smile, his eyes softened and he mouthed the word ‘sorry’. And just like that, Trevor’s world fell back into place.
Behind him, two figures came in wearing winter coats, clearly too young to be his parents. His brother and sister-in-law, perhaps? Even though small in stature, the woman’s comportment and appearance spoke of confidence and competence. With a tightly bound ponytail of blonde hair and natural classical beauty—not a trace of makeup—she could have seemed austere, but her expression held humour and composure. When the man behind her stepped forward and spoke, Mary dropped the cutlery she had been drying.
“Something smells friggin’ amazing in here.”
Instantly recognisable, even to Trevor, who was by no means a rugby fan, Damian Ingram smiled broadly at the group, his Northern accent catching everyone’s attention and making them laugh. Ingram, with his mop of unruly brown hair, had a killer combination of incredible looks and muscular physique, as well as being a star on the field and a celebrity off. Lucrative modelling contracts for a famous national underwear chain and men’s cologne brand kept his face on the pages of lifestyle magazines and posters nationwide. Not to mention being the primary reason for the phenomenal sales of the Bulls’ semi-naked team calendar. Women and gay men—and, no doubt, a few straight ones—dreamed of getting into his designer underpants.
After the laughter died down and was replaced by a stunned silence, Rudy stepped forward to explain.
“Damian and Helen are here for my parents’ Hogmanay ball. Some roads have been closed off, hence the somewhat dramatic seaplane entrance. We’re putting them up at the house with other guests who manage to get through. Unfortunately, the house boiler took this moment to stop working—”
“Place is like a bloody morgue. Froze my ass off last night,” added Ingram.
“—but the Fort William repair man’s been called and he’s coming tomorrow, if he can get through. So for tonight I’m going to put them up in one of the two-bedroom cottages we have down by the loch—”
“Why can’t they stay here?” asked Frank, the diehard Bulls fan.
