No one says anything, and I attempt to bridge the awkward silence with a flippant joke. ‘You know what they say—you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family, right?’
Jennifer leans forward like she’s curious to hear more, but Allan shakes his head slightly at her, so she sits back and nods. ‘Very true.’ But I can tell she feels sorry for me. People normally do, which is why I don’t tend to talk about it.
Time to change the subject. ‘This pie is delicious, by the way.’ It truly is. The flaky crust is buttery, and the steak and ale filling is warm melt-in-the-mouth goodness.
‘You have Bailey to thank for that. He made it while you were having a nap. He brought the ale up from Edinburgh because he knows I like it,’ says Allan.
‘Along with a ham, a black pudding, several cheeses, berries, and bread,’ contributes Jennifer.
‘Gosh,’ I say. ‘He’s like a travelling grocer.’
But Bailey doesn’t react to my subtle dig. He’s got his head down and is ploughing steadily through his food without looking at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His quietness makes me feel vulnerable at having shared that family snippet. But when he comes up for air, he rests his arm against mine briefly, and I feel a bit relieved that he’s not treating me like a pariah. Though I suppose if we were actually dating, he’d probably know about my history, so he can’t exactly overreact in front of his parents.
Jennifer has moved on and, under the impression that I know their last name, is telling me about their family tartan.
‘It’s similar to the Keighley, but it’s got a bolder streak of red. You might’ve seen Bailey’s couch cushions at his flat?’
I nod sagely, as if I’ve been there. I don’t even know where he lives. ‘Oh, yes, that’s a lovely one. Very, er, Christmassy,’ I say, taking a stab in the dark that if Bailey’s involved, it will be festive.
Jennifer smiles. ‘Yes, it is! That’s why I thought he’d like them. Such a rich shade of green too.’
Right, green-and-red tartan—that narrows it down.
‘You may have also heard of our famous distant cousin,’ says Bailey, and I assume he’s trying to help me out. ‘The Hollywood actress. She was in that movie with Ryan Gosling.’
I stare at him blankly. Emma Stone fromCrazy, Stupid, Love? But that’s not a Scottish name.
‘Also the one about time travel,’ he prompts. Then it clicks. Luckily, I’m a fan. Otherwise, this could get painful.
‘Oh, Rachel McAdams!’
I hear Bailey puff out a sigh of relief, and Jennifer beams. ‘Yes! We haven’t actually met her, but I believe she has a strong connection to this area.’
‘Either that, or she likes whisky,’ quips Allan.
I feel like doing a victory punch. Their last name is McAdams. We’re getting somewhere!
After the main course, there’s a cry of ‘Pudding!’ from one of the kids. This results in a general stampede towards the dining room table. Bailey and I join the back of the crowd. I’m curious as to what all the fuss is about. His sisters have cleared away dinner and strewn the white tablecloth with silver sequins, and there’s a whole range of desserts nestling on top: strawberries cut in half and joined with frosting to resemble mini Santas (complete with eyes and jacket buttons), scoops of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles and sparklers, red velvet cupcakes with chocolate reindeer antlers, gingerbread star cookies with snowflake icing decorations.
My eyes widen. It’s a festive sugar overload. Bailey is surveying the table with a pleased look on his face. ‘Did you do all this?’ I ask him.
‘Yes, while you were napping. Hazel and Kirk helped.’
‘I did some icing too!’ exclaims Susie, jumping up and down so emphatically her fluffy pink hairband flops down over her eyes.
‘Yes, you did,’ says Bailey, gently adjusting it for her. He holds her hand, as if to stop her from excitedly springing onto the table.
Jennifer comes out through the swinging door with Bailey’s sparkler trifle aloft and deposits it on the table, where it proudly takes centre stage. Everyone oohs and claps.
‘I thought the trifle was for Christmas?’ I say to him, surprised.
‘Nah, this is just the pre-Christmas line-up, to celebrate everyone being here.’
I nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed. I shouldn’t be surprised—Bailey’s over the top when it comes to Christmas, and so is his whole family, it seems.
‘Bails, do you want to do the honours?’ asks Sarah, holding out a clickable fire starter.
‘It’s all right. You can. I’ll keep Holly company. Make sure she doesn’t steal any cookies for a midnight feast.’
