My musings about Bailey’s love life are interrupted by my phone vibrating in my jeans pocket.
‘Hello?’
‘Is this Holly Driver? You made a booking today for a four-night stay at the Cumberfeldy Inn. I’m ringing tae see if yer actually coming.’ The man I spoke to earlier sounds disgruntled, but it could be just his personality.
‘Oh. Uh, thanks. I had train trouble, so I’m staying with a ... friend tonight. Sorry, I should’ve called earlier.’
He sniffs. ‘So you still want the room then? Otherwise, I’ll have tae cancel it.’
‘No, I still want it. I’m coming tomorrow.’ However, after this comfy room, the thought of the Inverness guest house makes me shrink a little. It doesn’t seem like much fun. But everything else is booked up. ‘I’ll still pay for tonight, of course.’
‘Aye, good to hear. And t’ breakfast too.’
‘But I thought it was free?’
‘I had to go t’ shops, specially for a can o’ beans and bacon. So I’ve added it to yer room cost. Plus a service charge for ma trouble,’ he says.
Wonderful, now I’m paying for a room and food at a shitty guest house, and I’m not actually even there!
After talking to the man, my headache returns, so I close my eyes to rest them. I must fall asleep as I’m woken by a snuffling noise. Crumpet has nosed the door open and jumped onto the bed. I put up a hand to stroke his silky ears.
‘Hey, buddy. Have they been looking after you?’
My hand touches his collar, and I discover someone has tied a green tinsel bow on it. That’s annoying. I pull it off and find a folded note tucked underneath with a message:
Come down to the kitchen, your apron awaits. B
‘Cute, very cute. He’s sending you to do his dirty work for him, I see.’ Crumpet is exhausted from all the people making a fuss of him, so I leave him curled up on the quilt to have a snooze.
On my way back to the kitchen, I pass a lounge off the downstairs hallway and peer in. Children are involved in various activities: A boy is huddled over an iPad. A few more are playing board games. A slightly older girl is sitting on a window seat, reading a book. The feral children I’ve been saved from, I assume. They seem reasonably well behaved to me.
Next to the kitchen, another open door reveals a dining room with an oval table with a snow-white linen cloth and silver candlesticks. To my mind, it doesn’t look big enough to fit eighteen people. Even twelve is too much. I hate crowds. Before entering the kitchen, which is emitting a steady hum of chatter, I take a deep breath.It’s a free bed and a free meal.
I push open the kitchen door; and a thrum of warmth, light, and energy envelops me. To my relief, it’s only Bailey’s brother Kirk and sister Hazel and Sarah’s girls, Sasha and Susie, whom I did meet previously, but I forgot who was who since they’re identical twins. Bailey’s sister-in-law, Kate, waves at me from a corner chair over by the window, where she’s breastfeeding a child. There’s no sign of Jennifer, Allan or Sarah.
‘Um, hi?’ I venture.
There’s a general commotion of welcome. Hazel and Kirk have been talking and drinking cups of tea in chairs in front of the Aga while the girls are colouring in books at their feet on the mat. Cast-iron saucepans simmer on the cook top, and a pie with golden brown pastry and bubbling edges is giving off a delicious aroma from the oven.
Ignoring my rumbling tummy, I head over to Bailey, who has his hands in a bowl at the kitchen table.
As I approach, he smiles. ‘Hey, you’re awake. Did you get my note?’
‘Yes, I did.’ I blink at his hands, which are covered in red stuff. ‘Did you murder someone?’
He laughs. ‘Not yet. I’m just washing these berries. They’ve collapsed a bit.’
I slip a nearby black apron over my head, and he looks approving. I glance down and sigh. There’s a giant pink-and-white candy cane appliquéd on the front. Of course he would like it.
A few of the kids from the other room come running in to ask when dinner’s ready and get shooed out again with promises of ‘soon’. I feel something grabbing my leg and look down to see a miniature version of Bailey staring back up at me with wide brown eyes.
‘Mamma?’ he asks.
‘No, I’m not your mamma,’ I say, giving my leg a shake.
‘Mamma!’ he says more insistently. I jerk my leg harder, trying to remove him, but he won’t budge. He has an iron grip.
‘Er ... who’s this kid’s mamma?’ I ask in general to the room, which causes the twins to giggle. Hazel gently pries his fingers from my jeans.
