Christmas at the Edge of the World Page 2

  That was another thing she had no idea about, Laurel reflected as she drove the massive SUV down London’s streets, wincing every time a car veered too close. Phones. Did Zac have screen time rules? Should she take his phone away at night? She’d suggested it, rather tentatively, the first night, and Zac hadn’t even deigned to reply. Laurel had left it, as she had so many other things to deal with.

  The trouble was, she thought, far from the first time, was that she had no sense of authority with her nephew; they’d had no relationship before ten days ago, and they still had no relationship as far as she could tell, despite her initial, admittedly rather paltry, efforts.

  Besides that, she had no idea how long this whole surreal limbo was going to last. In a little less than three weeks, would Abby stroll back into her flat and take up her life as if she had been on an extended holiday? Laurel didn’t know, because she didn’t know Abby.

  From sleeping in the same bed and plaiting each other’s hair—well, Abby plaiting hers, at least—they’d become these strangers who could barely manage to keep the chitchat going for half an hour, and who both felt a treacherous relief when they said goodbye.

  It saddened Laurel too much to think about it, and so she generally didn’t…which meant she’d stopped trying with Abby a while ago, and the visits and phone calls, already sporadic, had become more and more infrequent as well as strained.

  Laurel pulled into the underground car park of the high-end luxury building where her sister had a glamorous, if rather sterile, flat in South London. Laurel hated its bland, empty rooms, the cream leather furniture all looking like it shouldn’t ever be touched never mind sat on, the highlights of chrome and glass so stark and unfriendly.

  She didn’t know how her sister had managed to raise a child in that place, although there was very little evidence that she actually had. No toys, no photos, no crayoned pictures on the fridge, although admittedly Zac was fourteen and not five, so perhaps the days of homemade drawings were long gone. Judging by her nephew’s current behaviour, they most certainly were.

  Still, it was a far cry from Laurel’s cosy terraced cottage back in York, crammed with junk she liked to think of as antiques, the overstuffed sofa covered with colourful knitted throws, the walls lined with paintings she picked up in charity shops and car boot sales.

  With a pang, Laurel pushed away thoughts of the home she missed with a fierce ache. She’d asked Helen to water her plants and take care of her cat. Helen had been most obliging, and sent Laurel away with assurances that everything would be looked after, and she knew it would be. She just wanted to be the one to look after it.

  She wanted to be home, not in this awful, elegant flat with a fourteen-year-old boy who acted as if he either hated or couldn’t care less about her, and who, Laurel thought now, was capable of setting a room on fire. No joke.

  To spend Christmas, her absolutely favourite time of year, in such a place felt awful, impossible. She didn’t want to do it. She couldn’t.

  “Zac, this can’t go on.” She hadn’t realised the words were out of her mouth until she said them, standing in her sister’s sleek galley kitchen while Zac walked away from her towards her bedroom, eyes glued to his iPhone’s screen. He kept walking as if she hadn’t spoken. “Zac.”

  Still nothing. After ten days of this kind of behaviour, Laurel was used to it, but for once she had no more patience or understanding to draw on, and she strode forward, clamping one hand on his shoulder. “Zac, listen to me.”

  He jerked away from her, causing her hand to fly up, and she took a stumbling step backward, staring at him in surprise even though she supposed, considering his actions today, she shouldn’t be.

  “Zac,” she said again, trying to keep her voice even, “this can’t go on.”

  He rolled his eyes. “So, go.”

  “Go?” She stared at him in confusion. “I’m not going.”

  “I don’t care if you do.”

  The snarl sounded genuine, but Laurel reminded herself of the uncertainty that surely had to lie beneath it. “I know that,” she said as patiently as she could. “Trust me, but that’s not the answer here. I’m trying to help…”

  “Whatever.”

  Deep breath. Reminder that Zac had a right to be angry, and she was big enough not to take it personally. “Look,” she said, trying to sound both friendly and practical, “we have nearly three more weeks before your mum comes home, and I don’t want to struggle through them all, especially at Christmas—”

  “I don’t care about Christmas.”

  Which made her feel sad, because Laurel loved Christmas. And York was magical at Christmas, with the lights strung through the narrow, medieval streets, the Christmas fairs and markets, the big, bushy tree she got every year and the homemade decorations…for a second, Laurel considered going back to York. She had a spare bedroom; she and Zac could stay there until Abby returned. But even as she thought about it, she knew it wouldn’t work.

  Her house was absolutely tiny and crammed with precious junk; Zac would knock into things every time he turned around. In any case, the problems she was facing with Zac would be just as present in York as they were in London—the hostility, his phone, the feeling that she couldn’t do anything right.

  Yet she meant what she said. This couldn’t go on. She couldn’t let it. Something had to change.

  “Look, I’m sorry I got excluded, okay?” Zac said, surprising her. “I hated that snobby school anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way.” His lip curled in a sneer as he raised his eyebrows. “So it’s cool, right?”

  “No, it’s not cool. And that’s not what I meant.” She stared at him in growing frustration. “Can’t we please just…” Get along? She swallowed down the words, knowing they weren’t the right ones. Unfortunately, she had no idea which ones were. “I want things to be better,” she said a bit desperately, and Zac just rolled his eyes. Again.

  Laurel watched him saunter to his room and slam the door, feeling completely powerless as well as out of her depth. Three more weeks. But Christmas…

  She thought about ringing her dad up in Yorkshire, maybe even going up there for a visit, but she knew that wouldn’t work either. Her father had retired from the police force five years ago, and he took a dim view of any kind of misbehaviour, especially surly boys he’d class as juvenile delinquents.

  Besides, he hadn’t spoken to Abby since before Zac’s birth, and he’d never even met his grandson, something Laurel didn’t understand but had accepted as just the way it—and he—was. Tom West was an old-school kind of father; he’d never been hands-on, never said much at all, but she’d always known he loved her. Still, Laurel didn’t think now was the time for a family reunion.

  And yet the thought of staying in this modern flat, all sleek surfaces and high-tech gadgets, where she knew no one, and where Christmas couldn’t happen, made her want to scream. She couldn’t spend the holidays here. She needed to get away, and so did Zac, find some kind of fresh start, even if it was only a temporary one.

  But where? Where could they go that was both comforting and different, preferably without phone signal or even Wi-Fi, somewhere they could actually get to know one another and leave all this aggro behind? Assuming they even wanted to get to know one another, which Laurel wasn’t sure she did, never mind Zac.

  But, still. A second chance, even if just for a little while. A break, of sorts, for them both, while they waited out Abby’s treatment. A silver lining.

  The answer, when it came, seemed so obvious Laurel was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course, she hadn’t been there since she’d been eight years old, so it was understandable that it didn’t spring immediately to mind. But it was lovely and welcoming and there was definitely no phone signal.

  Orkney.

  The word alone conjured up all sorts of images—midnight walks on the beach, as the sun finally began to set, and rainy afternoons by the fire playing Ludo and Chinese chequers. The salty s
ting of the wind, the air so fresh she could feel it fill her lungs, cleaning her from the inside out. Biking down narrow lanes, drippy ice cream cones by the harbour side, gulls wheeling and crying overhead, playing cards at the tiny table in Bayview Cottage’s window…magic. All of it magic.

  Before she could think about all the pros and the inevitable, undoubted cons, Laurel grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, pressing the number for her Great-Aunt Eilidh, praying that she’d pick up, and more importantly, that she’d welcome two very unexpected guests for Christmas at this late date.

  “Laurel? How lovely for you to ring.” Her great-aunt’s voice was as warm and welcoming as ever, filled with genuine delight at hearing from her. It had been too long, Laurel knew. It always was.

  When had she last seen her aunt? Two or three years ago, at least, when Eilidh had come for a weekend in York, and before that it had probably been even longer.

  “I’m afraid I’m ringing to ask you a favour,” Laurel said in apology. “A rather desperate one.”

  “If I can help, I will.”

  Her aunt’s certain tone made Laurel’s eyes sting. Aunt Eilidh had been lovely when she’d been younger, always welcoming her and Abby to her tiny stone cottage on the windswept island of Orkney off the north coast of Scotland.

  Laurel’s mum Isla used to bring them there in the summer, two long, lazy, wonderful weeks of doing nothing much and loving every minute. Her mother had loved it too; Laurel remembered her saying they were her favourite two weeks of the year.

  One summer, it had rained every day for the entire two weeks, and yet it had still felt magical. Tucked up by the fireplace in Eilidh’s cosy sitting room, with mugs of hot cocoa and endless card games…there had been no other place Laurel had wanted to be.

  It had all ended when Laurel’s mum had died when she’d been just eight. Cervical cancer, just six weeks from diagnosis to death. Her father had never been to Orkney, even though Isla grew up there, and he hadn’t wanted to go then, or ever.

  Eilidh had come to Scarborough to visit them a few times, but those visits had tapered off in Laurel’s teen years, and somehow Laurel had never made it all the way up to Orkney again, even though she’d always said she would, and had told herself to plan a trip one day soon. Somehow it had never happened.

  But she wanted to go now.

  “What do you need, Laurel?” Eilidh asked gently.

  “I want to invite myself for Christmas,” Laurel said in an embarrassed rush. “Zac and me…I don’t even know if you’ve met Zac…”

  “Abby’s son,” Eilidh said quietly. “Only once, when he was a baby.”

  “I’m taking care of him for a bit, which I can explain later, but…we need a break from, well, from real life, I suppose. And I thought of your cottage in Orkney…I have such wonderful memories from there.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “You do still have it, don’t you? I don’t even know…” She was ashamed to admit the depth of her ignorance. Maybe Eilidh had sold it years ago, and never told her.

  “Yes, I still have it,” Eilidh said with a smile in her voice. “But I’m afraid I’m not there right now. I’m spending the winter in Spain…my joints, you know. I’m not as young as I once was.”

  “Oh…” Disappointment swamped her, tasting thick and sour in her mouth. “It was a long shot,” Laurel said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. She was feeling rather ridiculously bereft, considering how sudden and mad her idea had been. Going to Orkney wouldn’t have been some sort of cure-all, anyway. “I shouldn’t have even…”

  “There’s no reason why you and Zac can’t go on your own,” Eilidh interjected. “If you want to. I know it might not be quite the same, but the place is empty, and the key is under the flower pot. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. I won’t be back until February.”

  “Oh…” Eilidh made it sound so simple. Just get in the car and go. Yet Orkney had to be over seven hundred miles from London, plus the ferry…it would take well over twelve hours to get there. It really had been a mad idea.

  “Just let me know,” Eilidh continued. “And I’ll make sure my neighbour Archie MacDougall looks out for you. He minds the place while I’m gone. I can send him an email tonight.”

  “Are you sure…”

  “It’s as simple as that.”

  “Right.” Laurel’s mind spun. She couldn’t really hare off to Orkney Island for Christmas, could she, no matter what she’d been thinking a few moments ago, when the thought of Eilidh’s cosy welcome had loomed, bright and hopeful, a mumsy figure for both her and Zac, someone to take care of everything?

  What if Abby needed to get in touch? What if she minded? What if Zac refused?

  And yet…Orkney. A memory of sitting curled up in front of Eilidh’s fire while the sun set over the beach outside, sending golden rays slanting through the sashed window…feeling entirely at peace, as if all was right with the world. Knowing there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

  “Let me work on a few things here,” Laurel said impulsively. “And then I’ll ring you back. Thank you so much for the offer, Aunt Eilidh. You’re brilliant.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Laurel,” Eilidh answered, a trace of sorrow in her voice. “I hope you always know that.”

  “I do,” Laurel answered, and she heard the same sorrow in her voice too, like a whisper from the past. She wished she’d kept in better touch with her aunt over the years. She wished her father had taken them to Orkney when they were children, and those magical summers had continued, stretching on to a golden horizon, shared memories that might have knit her and Abby, Eilidh, and her father, together all those years ago.

  But he hadn’t, and they hadn’t, and here they were, all of them separate and isolated in their own ways.

  “Thank you for the offer,” Laurel said, meaning every word. “Let me see if I can make it happen.”

  Chapter Two

  “This is it?”

  Zac’s lip curled as he stared out at the twinkling lights of the tiny town of Stromness, obscured both by both darkness and a steadily falling rain as the ferry pulled into the choppy harbour.

  Laurel’s stomach had been roiling since they’d got on the boat over an hour ago; ferry crossings in the North Sea in December were not, she’d realised, altogether advisable. She’d nearly lost her lunch more than once, and a cold sweat dotted her hairline and prickled between her shoulder blades as she said a silent prayer of thanks that the wretched ferry trip was nearly over.

  “Yes, this is it,” she managed, trying desperately to inject a cheerful note into her voice despite her churning stomach. “Aunt Eilidh’s cottage is right on the coast, with a garden that leads straight onto the beach. It’s amazing.”

  Of course, at half past eight at night in the middle of winter, it was also pitch dark and freezing cold. Somehow, when she’d been painting her magical picture of Orkney for Zac’s dubious benefit, Laurel had forgotten that they would be here in the dead of winter, rather than the endless, hazy days of July. A man on the ferry had cheerfully informed them that at this, the darkest time of the year, the island enjoyed just six hours of daylight. It was a bleak thought.

  Zac had been nonplussed, to say the least, when Laurel had rather airily informed him last night that they were heading to Orkney for Christmas.

  “Where?” He’d stared at her incredulously while Laurel had wittered on determinedly.

  “My great-aunt’s cottage, in the north of Scotland. Your great-great-aunt’s, you know. She’s lovely.” And she wouldn’t be there. “It’s a wonderful place, full of charm.” As if fourteen-year-old boys cared about charm. “I thought we could use a change of scenery,” Laurel finished a bit desperately, and to her surprise, Zac had stared at her for a long moment and then merely shrugged.

  “Fine. Whatever,” he said, and walked off.

  Laurel decided to take it as a win. She wasn’t going to have to drag him there kicking and screaming, at least, and once they got
to Eilidh’s cottage…well, things would get better. A lot better. They would start to make sense. Or so she was desperately hoping—that the magic of Eilidh’s cottage was still there, still worked.

  Now, after nine hours of driving through Christmas traffic and the hour-long ferry from Scrabster, Laurel was still clinging onto that hope, more out of sheer, bloody-minded determination than actual belief, but still. Good things were going to happen.

  Zac had barely spoken to her all day, immersed as usual in his phone, although the signal had become patchy on the ferry, and he’d resorted to staring moodily out at the darkened sea instead. Conversation was clearly not an option, and Laurel decided to wait until they were settled in the cottage, cosy and warm, before she attempted to crack his cold veneer.

  The ship began to creak and clank like Marley’s ghost as it drew up to the quay, and Laurel climbed back into the Rover. “The cottage is only a few minutes away,” she said brightly. “Right on the beach. We’ll be there in no time.”

  Zac did not reply. What a surprise.

  Soon they were driving off the boat into Stromness, a town Laurel remembered as quaint and charming, with steep, narrow streets, some of them cobbled, and terraced cottages rising above on the hillside. She couldn’t see any of it in the impenetrable darkness of a midwinter’s night, and as she followed the traffic off the ferry, she wished she’d thought to print out some directions to Bayview Cottage.

  For some inexplicable reason, she’d thought she’d be able to find her way instinctively—take a right off the boat, follow the street to the edge of town, the cottage was on the right. She remembered her mother calling back to them, saying how they were almost there, as she and Abby pressed their noses to the back window and watched the town’s main street wind its way along the harbour, thrilled to be back on the island and soon out of the car.

  Only everything looked different now; there was even a Tesco Superstore in Kirkwall, Laurel had seen online, and Stromness seemed bigger too, more buildings along the narrow harbour side street, ones she didn’t recognise or remember, and had the street really been this long? In her memory it had been a few seconds between the ferry and Bayview, but clearly that hadn’t been the case.