Silence fell across the table. Cheryl stared down at her hands. Mrs M stayed at the sink, looking fierce but saying nothing more. Frank, who had been quiet all this time, was the first to speak, far too calmly for Trevor’s liking.
“Well ain’t that a kick in the nuts? Yours was the first gay wedding we ever attended. Was the little bastard stringing you along all this time? Because next time I see him, mark my words, I’m going to break his nose. After I’ve given him a piece of my mind. See if I don’t, the traitorous little—”
“That’s why I didn’t want to say anything,” Trevor interrupted, squeezing the bridge of his nose in sympathy for Karl. “He wasn’t stringing me along. He simply identifies as bisexual now, among the lower scores of the Kinsey scale I’m guessing, and that’s not something any of us can change. He’s clearly taken with this new girl and, more importantly, they are probably going to show up here tomorrow. So can I ask you—can I beg you all—to please not start any trouble?”
Once again, an awkward silence descended on the table. Despite Johnny’s angry glare, Trevor noticed him stifle a yawn behind his hand. Trevor had begun to feel the same creeping tiredness.
“For the love of Jesus,” said Johnny, folding his arms. “I thought the whole point of this Christmas tradition was that we shared the place exclusively with our own fabulous people. Had a chill time together.”
“Times change,” said Cheryl.
“You can bleeding well say that again.” said Frank, getting up from the table and placing a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
After nodding and taking one of the candles, Johnny’s words came back from the corridor, his voice carrying clearly.
“Ah well, Frankie boy, if there’s one thing us gay boys love more than a good time with old friends, it’s the promise of a bit of drama.”
Trevor lowered his face into his hands.
Chapter Three
Deck The Hall
The central heating kicked in early the next morning—without the luxury of hot water. When the group reconvened in the kitchen for breakfast, Frank informed them that neither the electric showers nor the central boiler was working, both most likely on the same circuit. Everyone but Mrs M and Frank cursed the owner then grumbled about having to wash in cold water. Trevor assumed Mrs M’s camping days had hardened her to the idea of a cold shower. Frank would happily bathe naked in the loch if only Johnny would let him.
Having the room closest to the kitchen, Trevor had woken early to the sound of Mrs M moving around next door, opening and closing kitchen cupboards. She appeared to be the most resourceful. Cheryl had been the one to remark on her mother’s success in getting the gas-fired Aga going. All morning he’d noticed a calm contentedness about Mrs M, especially when she’d turned the morning moans into murmurs of delight by producing a breakfast of mugs of hot tea accompanied by scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on wedges of buttered golden toast.
At ten o’clock, leaving their dishes on the table at Mrs M’s insistence, Cheryl, Frank and Johnny went off to change for their trip into Fort William. Even though his pride had taken a beating, Frank had eventually been dragged away from trying to locate the man fuse box in cupboards and wardrobes. Before heading off to change, he told Trevor he suspected the box had been artfully hidden behind a secret panel somewhere during the lodge’s renovations.
When the front door closed and the engine started up, Trevor waited for Mrs M to meet his gaze. They sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around mugs, listening as the engine faded off down the lane.
“Okay, Mrs M. Spill the beans. You know something, don’t you? Did you manage to find the fuse box?”
“No, dear, I have no idea about those kinds of things. I’m just a clueless old lady,” she replied before levelling her gaze at him. “But I do know a thing or two about Aga cookers.”
“And?”
“And how some are set up to provide hot water for a house, although I think this one only serves the kitchen. The owners kindly left me a laminated instruction sheet—very nicely done, too—showing me how to start the old girl up. So if you want some hot water for the bathroom, you can fill up a saucepan or a bucket from the hot water tap in the kitchen sink. Water’s piping hot.”
Trevor tipped back his head and laughed.
“If I’d told my Cheryl, I know I’d never have gotten rid of her. She would have spent the morning going back and forth from the kitchen, filling a bath, then the rest of the day getting under my feet.”
“I wondered why you told them to leave their dishes. On all our other holidays, you’ve ordered us to clean up after ourselves.”
“On all the other holidays there’s been a working dishwasher.”
“In which case, let me do the honour of washing up. I don’t have an adjoining bathroom, so I might just wash my face at the sink once I’m done.”
“Let me fill up a saucepan, and I’ll leave you alone.”
They had always worked well together, Trevor mused as she headed off into the lodge. Left alone to wash dishes in hot water felt like a special treat and he had everything completed, including all surfaces cleaned and cleared and himself flannel-washed, by the time she reappeared.
“Now the Aga’s heated up, I’m going to start baking. Having no electricity doesn’t affect that, but the electric appliances like the toaster and coffee machine are more convenient than using the Aga each time. Might be good if you could call your contact again and get the power switched on.”
Trevor closed his eyes in frustration.
“My phone died last night. And I couldn’t plug in my charger. I know you don’t have a mobile phone, so I meant to ask Cheryl for hers before she left, but completely forgot—”
