‘Give us a chance,’ said Izzy, rubbing her hands together. She wanted a large mug of tea and a hot mince pie. Ignoring her mother, who was exclaiming over the size of the trees and their bushiness and exhorting Jim to put the tree into the waiting heavy duty stand, she put a tray of mince pies into the Rayburn. They all deserved a reward after their efforts this morning and she had a feeling they were going to need sustenance to survive Xanthe’s pursuit of perfectionism. It had once taken her over an hour to select a suitable tree.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Jim, slumping into one of the kitchen chairs ten minutes later. ‘The woman’s a termagant. We’ve done our bit, it’s all over.’
Ross didn’t say a word, just grabbed a mince pie.
Izzy grinned. ‘Not yet, it isn’t.’
Both men narrowed their eyes and stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’ asked Jim. ‘Three trees is plenty, isn’t it?’
‘They need to be decorated,’ said Izzy. ‘There’ll be the decorating party later.’
Jim shrugged as if to say he’d made his contribution and was now out of it.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Izzy, with a smile. Her mother wouldn’t let anyone off the hook. ‘It’s a McBride tradition.’ She lifted her chin, remembering past Christmases. She and her mother had always been together to do the tree. There might only have been two of them but they had their family rituals and she decided there and then from now on, it was going to be a Kinlochleven Castle tradition. ‘Everyone is to meet at six in the hall to decorate the tree. There’ll be whisky cocktails to help make an occasion of it.’ She gave them all a stern look to emphasise that she meant it and there’d be no abstentions, although her eyes softened when they met Ross’s. ‘It’s the official start of Christmas and everyone in the house has to join in.’
‘That sounds like fun.’ Jeanette looked at Jim. ‘We need to start making traditions of our own now we’re married.’
‘I quite like the one where we cut down a tree in the woods and…’
Jeanette blushed a rosy red, snatched up the nearest tea towel, and slapped him with it.
‘Too much information,’ said Ross with the air of a man who was entirely innocent. Only Izzy saw the wicked smile he shot her way.
‘I’ll never go walking in the woods again,’ said Duncan with a visible shudder.
Jim helped himself to a third mince pie and Jeanette shook her head in disapproval.
‘A man’s got to keep his strength up,’ he said with a big grin.
At six o’clock, with everyone assembled in the hall, Izzy handed round a tray of Edinburgh Crystal glasses filled with a winter whisky sour.
‘Izzy, these look amazing! So festive. I love the gold.’ As always, Xanthe’s voice was at full volume. She wore a scarlet satin dress with a plunging neckline and a long skirt trimmed along the hem with a froth of white marabou feathers. It was Mary Claus meets festive tart with a heart.
‘They do look very pretty,’ said Jeanette, noticeably forcing her attention from Xanthe’s dress to focus on the edible gold glitter that circled the top of the glass.
Thanks to a well-timed piece of advice from Fliss a few weeks ago on the WhatsApp chat, Izzy had ordered in the glitter, which she attached to the glass by first dipping the rim of each glass into honey. The cocktail itself was very easy to make, a tablespoon each of fresh orange and lemon juice, some whisky and half a tablespoon of sugar syrup, which she’d boiled up in two minutes.
‘Mmm, that’s good,’ said Ross, taking a mouthful, the tone of his voice suggesting a little more as his eyes lingered on Izzy’s face. A fizz of emotion flashed inside her as she remembered theirkiss.
She sent him a private smile, hoping they might get a moment together again soon. She’d caught herself dreamily touching her lips four times since they’d returned to the castle.
He smiled back, the sight of the quick curve of his lips warming her as much as her first sip of whisky.
‘Right,’ Xanthe announced. ‘Lights first. Ross, I want you up the ladder, here. Duncan, you’d better go halfway up the stairs, we don’t want you falling.’ With the exacting demands and bark of a sergeant major she launched into delivering orders, thrusting a long string of fairy lights into Jim’s hands. ‘No higher than that. No, Duncan, not there. On that branch, Ross. This way. No! No, don’t put them there.’
Jeanette and Izzy exchanged amused looks as Xanthe chided, cajoled and yelled at the three men as if they were small boys in kindergarten that needed organising. She’d have made a fearsome commander because when she wanted something done, she was nothing if not single-minded about it.
As Izzy watched Ross stretch and lean this way and that, she itched to feel his warm skin under her fingers, to feel his muscles relax and contract beneath her hands. She prayed that no one could read her thoughts or saw how often her eyes strayed his way.
After a good twenty minutes, Xanthe finally deemed that Izzy could switch the lights on. Everyone turned to look at Xanthe as the lights flickered into life. She took a couple of steps back to inspect the tree, tilting her head this way and then that way, her lips as pursed as a small prune.
The tension in the room grew as her guarded gaze roved over the tree.
‘Izzy,’ her mother snapped. ‘What do you think?’ There was a petulance to her tone, which Izzy knew from long experience did not bode well.
‘It looks great,’ she said with a healthy helping of fake enthusiasm. As far as she was concerned it looked absolutely fine but then she didn’t have Xanthe’s picky standards. For good measure, she added. ‘Really great.’
‘Hmm,’ said Xanthe, prowling around the tree and looking it up and down like some haute couture designer eying up their creation before the model is sent down the catwalk.
