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‘Better with strangers than alone,’ Heather said sadly.
‘I’m used to being alone,’ I insisted. ‘Anyway, Christmas Day is like any other day to me, really.’
They all looked at me in horror and Dylan laughed. ‘You have just uttered blasphemy in the McClusky household. Look,’ he said as he gazed at his family. ‘Cole’s right, if Gwyneth wants to go, we can’t stop her.’ He stood with me. ‘I’ll walk you to your car, Gwyneth.’
‘Thank you. And thank you again, everyone else,’ I added, looking around the table. ‘You’ve been so welcoming and so generous.’
I felt myself getting choked up, Jesus! I quickly turned away and walked out, catching a glimpse of everyone exchanging looks as Dylan strode after me.
I expected it to be pitch black when we got outside ten minutes later, but instead the moon, large and patient above the mountains, shed enough light to illuminate the narrow road ahead, my car a white blip at the end of it. It was cold though, so bitter I thought my eyelashes might freeze off right then and there.
‘You have such a great family,’ I said to Dylan as walked towards my car together.
‘They have their moments.’ He was quiet for a few moments then smiled. ‘So, what are your plans for tomorrow?’
‘I’ll probably go through my reels.’
‘Christmas Day really is just another day for you, isn’t it?’
I laughed. ‘Not everyone has this idyllic family life, Dylan.’ I got a glimpse of the colourful Christmas tree I used to have as a kid, red, blue and golden tinsel, baubles that kept falling off, my mother’s laughter. ‘Some of us are quite happy in our own skin, alone but not lonely.’
He put his gloved hands up. ‘No, I get it, you don’t need to explain yourself to me! In fact, I’m jealous.’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘Jealous?’
He pulled a grey woolly hat from his coat pocket and put it on. ‘I’ve thought about it once or twice, just getting away for Christmas.’
‘But you have a lovely family.’
His jaw tensed. ‘It can be overwhelming at times.’
We walked in silence until we got to the gate. Dylan opened the padlock with a key that hung from a heavy collection of them, then pushed the gate open, letting me through. As I passed him, I caught a hint of his musky aftershave and the whisky he’d been drinking. It made my breath stutter. I quickened my stride towards my car, opened the boot and put my camera inside as Dylan leant against the fence, watching me with his arms crossed.
‘Which hotel are you staying at then?’ he asked.
‘The Heighton.’
‘That’s a good two-hour drive.’
I felt in my pocket for the new updated map Cole had lent me and lifted the flask of coffee the maid had made me. ‘This will fuel me.’
Dylan stepped away from the fence, took his gloves off and put out his hand. ‘It’s been good to meet you, Gwyneth.’
I took his hand, felt it warm and calloused. It was double the size of mine. I looked up into his handsome face, the moonlight highlighting his distinctive cheekbones, the feline curve of his dark eyes. It felt like he’d walked in from another century, that he didn’t belong in the real world I knew, and suddenly I felt a surge of regret. Was I making a mistake leaving like this?
Ridiculous!
I quickly slipped my hand from his before I begged him to take me back to the lodge. ‘Good to meet you too, Dylan,’ I said. ‘And thank you for saving me.’ I walked around to the driver’s side and smiled at him over the car’s roof. ‘Have a good day celebrating baby Jesus’s birth, okay?’
He cracked a smile. ‘I sure will. You take care, Gwyneth.’
We held each other’s gaze for a few moments then I got into the car. I paused a moment, taking a few deep breaths in the safety of the car’s darkness. My hands were trembling slightly, my heart pounding. There was a voice inside me screaming Stay! Stay! Stay! but I’d promised myself a long time ago I’d carry on moving, not stopping, no people to tie me down, to disappoint me, to have me disappoint them. Only Reg had got through that. And now this man, this bearded giant who made me feel as warm as the whisky he drank. What was wrong with me? I barely knew him.
I quickly turned the key in the ignition before I changed my mind.
The car spluttered then died.
I turned the key again but, still, nothing.
‘You have to be kidding me,’ I hissed.
Dylan knocked on the car window and I unrolled it, ice cracking.
‘Won’t start?’ he asked.
‘Doesn’t look like it. I think it might be the fuel line, as it is turning over.’
‘You know your stuff.’
‘Don’t look so surprised! I have to when I’m in the middle of nowhere filming and a car is my only getaway.’ I grabbed the torch I always took with me when I travelled, got out of the car and opened the bonnet. I aimed the light at the fuel filter as Dylan stood next to me, leaning close to have a look too.
‘Looks like it is the fuel filter,’ he said, gesturing to the fuel seeping out of one of the pipes.
I sighed. ‘Yep. Not easily fixed. No flow, no go.’
‘Well, that’s decided. I’m not saying this place doesn’t make a great bedroom,’ Dylan said, gesturing to the backseat of the car. ‘God knows I’ve spent a few nights out here staring up at the stars, but I wouldn’t recommend it in the winter. And I’d offer to give you a lift but I’ve had a few drinks, as have the others.’
‘Taxi?’ I asked half-heartedly. Truth was, I wasn’t disappointed the car wouldn’t start. Something inside me was yearning to stay and anyway, my fate had been decided by a faulty fuel filter.
Dylan laughed. ‘On Christmas Eve? You have to be kidding.’
I stared up the road. There was a bell of excitement ringing inside, one I was trying to stifle. I could feel this might be the beginning of something, and, truth was, it scared me. Christmases reminded me of a time I had a family to celebrate with, a time before the fracture that opened up between my parents and me. But Dylan, Dylan with his gorgeous face and huge hands and that smile, beaming at me in that moment, tantalising, teasing …
‘Okay,’ I said in an exhale of breath. ‘If your family won’t mind?’
‘Won’t mind? It’ll make their Christmas. Come on.’
He hauled my overnight bag over his shoulder and I followed him back to the house, the twinkle of its golden lights and the sound of laughter within warming me up. When we stepped inside the house, Oscar was walking through the hallway with a tray of steaming mulled wine.
He paused, his face lighting up. ‘You changed your mind?’
‘Her car wouldn’t start,’ Dylan explained.
‘Ah, well then, it’s fate!’ Oscar declared, approaching me with the tray and gesturing for me to take a glass.
‘If it’s okay though,’ I quickly said. ‘I don’t want to impose. It is Christmas, after all.’
‘What did Mairi say about the candles in the window?’ Oscar said, gesturing towards the triangle of candles that flickered in the living-room window. ‘It’s Christmas, a time for welcoming guests into the house. It’s the McClusky clan way and frankly, we’ve been sorely missing being able to fulfil that tradition in recent years, this place is so remote. And now we have the most wonderful of guests, a beautiful documentary-maker. So come in, make yourself at home. Consider yourself an honorary McClusky.’
Dylan gave me an embarrassed smile at his dad’s speech. But as I took a quick sip of the delicious mulled wine, I felt a bit overcome at the generosity of Oscar’s words. There had been so many Christmas Days spent alone, or working, over the years. Sad memories too of that first Christmas in the hotel, yearning for my parents as I served Christmas lunch to guests, the feel of the delicate bracelet they’d sent me upon my wrist. ‘Christmas is a religious festival, Gwyneth,’ my aunt had barked when she’d noticed me crying. ‘Are you religious? No. So it’s just another day, another day to work and make money. The sooner you wrap your head around that, the better you’ll feel.’ So from that moment, I had wrapped my head around it. And I thought I was okay with it.
Until now.
I smiled up at the two men. ‘Thank you.’ Then I looked out at the loch, glistening beneath the moonlight. How strange to think nearly losing my life in that frozen lake had brought me here.
Chapter Six (#ulink_08b9815d-8754-548d-b526-a1f13eb8f5c9)
Amber
Winterton Chine
13 December 2009
‘A lake. A frozen lake!’
Amber wakes with a start. She opens her eyes, pulling herself from her slumped position on the chair. A shard of sunlight slices through the blinds. She follows it towards the girl, who’s sitting up in her hospital bed, eyes wide. She looks even younger, pale lashes against her cheeks, which are flushed from sleep. Amber feels her heart contract at the sight of her. She’s such a bloody softie, even when she tries not to be. A total sucker. That’s why she’d ended up staying with the girl all night in hospital, unable to bear the thought of her being here alone.
‘What’s this about a lake?’ Amber asks, rubbing her eyes.
‘It was dream I had, of a lake,’ the girl replies. Her eyes drift towards the window and the sea outside. ‘It was frozen. There – there was a house too. Made of wood. It was huge, with massive windows.’
Amber leans forward. ‘That’s good. Might be a memory. Anything else?’ The girl shakes her head and Amber pats her pale hand. ‘It’ll come.’
She stands up and stretches, the notepad that had been found with the girl slipping off her lap. She’d gone through it the night before, just as the hospital staff had, hoping to find some clues they might have missed. There was nothing of use though, just notes written about various wildlife by whoever owned it and some sketches too, delicate and detailed.
Amber leans down, picks the notepad up from the floor and lays it back on the table. She sniffs at her armpits. ‘I think I better go home for a shower.’
‘Don’t go yet,’ the girl says. She looks so lost, so scared.
‘Okay, as long as you can put up with my stinky pits,’ Amber replies.
‘You don’t smell.’
A trolley stops at the cubicle and a tired-looking porter peers in. ‘Breakfast, love.’
‘My head hurts,’ the girl says as the trolleys rolls in. ‘Can I have something for it?’
‘Don’t worry,’ the porter replies, ‘your painkillers are here.’
Amber helps the girl to sit up and pulls the makeshift table over the bed. The porter lays the breakfast on it: scrambled eggs, some streaky bacon and a sausage with a cup of tea and plastic tumbler of orange juice.
The girl wrinkles her nose at the smell, pushing the plate away. ‘Yuck. That meat smells awful.’
‘Smells fine to me. Maybe you’re a vegetarian?’
The girl nods. ‘Maybe I am!’
Amber turns to the porter. ‘Can we have a vegetarian breakfast, please?’
‘What about you?’ the girls asks Amber.
‘No food for visitors,’ the porter says. ‘There’s a café downstairs.’
‘She’s just spent the night looking after one of your patients,’ the girl says. ‘I think a coffee and a croissant or something is a small ask, right?’
Amber looks at the girl in surprise. She’s clearly a feisty one, whether she knows it or not.
‘This isn’t Starbucks,’ the porter retorts.
‘Fine, then just leave this breakfast here,’ the girl says, pushing the tray towards me. ‘You’ll only throw it away.’
The porter shakes his head in exasperation and walks away.
‘Now you’re going to tell me you’re a vegetarian too, aren’t you?’ the girl says.
Amber laughs. ‘No chance. That was impressive though.’ Amber picks a sausage up and bites into it.
‘What do you mean?’
‘How gutsy you just were. Though I think the blue streaks in your hair kind of give it away.’
The girl examines a blue strand of her hair. ‘Turns out I’m a rebellious pain in the butt, who knew?’
They both laugh.
‘Okay, how about we try to remember some stuff while we wait for your breakfast,’ Amber says. ‘Let’s focus on the lodge and the lake. Anything else? A road? Any landmarks?’
The girl thinks about it for a moment. ‘Do you have paper and a pen?’ she eventually asks.
Amber nods, digging a small notepad and pencil out of her bag. She doesn’t use it much. It’s a struggle to write. She was clearly meant to be left-handed.
The girl takes the pencil and stares at it. Then she suddenly bends her head over the pad, her blonde and blue hair trailing over the paper as she starts sketching. Over the next few minutes, Amber watches, amazed, as the girl draws the most beautiful sketch of a vast lodge overlooking a glistening lake. It wasn’t a classical type of drawing. It had a Manga feel to it.
The girl looks up when she’s finished. ‘I think I can draw.’
‘You bloody well can,’ Amber says with a laugh. ‘Let’s have a proper look. Is this the lodge you dreamt of?’
The girl nods as she hands the drawing over and Amber examines it. The lodge is made from wood with large windows that reflect the icy lake before it. A veranda leads out into it and behind the lodge are snow-topped mountains and hints of a forest. A bird glides over the lake, its wings wide and feathery.
‘I don’t remember the details,’ the girl remarks. ‘I improvised a few bits. I remember the bird in my dream though.’
‘There was a drawing of a bird like this in the notepad,’ Amber says, opening the notepad at the right page. ‘A ptarmigan.’
The girl looks over her shoulder at the page. ‘Oh, yes.’ She seems disappointed. ‘The dream probably means nothing then. I must’ve copied the bird from this notepad.’
‘Don’t discount it straight away. It’s no coincidence you have this notepad. Your dream, and this drawing, may well be based on reality. Your reality.’
‘Do you think the drawing could help then?’ the girl asks, looking hopeful.
