Any moment now, she’d gather her cartwheeling emotions and work out how.
* * *
Astrid and Alvin’s upset of the previous day had been put to the backs of their minds in the excitement of baking saffron buns and, under Gwen’s expert tuition, Scottish tablet – a traditional sweet that was made in trays and cut into cubes, a bit like fudge though less yielding. Astrid yodelled, ‘Next week Gwen’s going to show me how to make Scottish macaroons. And guess what they’re made of, Dad?’
Mats glanced at Gwen’s secretive smile and realised he wasn’t meant to guess correctly. ‘Dinosaurs?’ he asked solemnly.
Astrid planted her sugary little fists on her hips. ‘Silly, Daddy. Potato.’
‘Potato?’ He was genuinely surprised.
Gwen twinkled. ‘Aye. The centre’s made of potato and icing sugar, rolled in chocolate and coconut. Macaroons are grand.’
‘Can’t wait,’ he said, thinking that actually, he probably could.
Alvin, who’d been kneeling on a stool, scrambled down and ran to Mats. ‘We going in the lounge with the Christmas tree for advent, amember, Daddy?’
‘Remember,’ he corrected gently, swinging his little boy in the air. ‘But first I have to ask Gwen to throw you in the washing machine with the tablecloths, because you’re covered in sugar.’
Astrid pointed to the utility room where the washing machine stood. ‘Yes, do it.’
‘Nej, nooooo!’ Alvin squealed before dissolving into a gale of giggles.
Mats turned for the stairs, Alvin on his shoulder like a sack of coal. ‘OK, I’ll take you for a quick wash and change instead.’
Josefin fell in behind with Astrid, who was still jokily advocating for her brother to be put in the washing machine.
By the time the children were clean, Grete was waiting in the lounge where the twinkling Christmas tree dripped with baubles and tinsel and smelt of the woods. She’d taken trouble with her hair and applied make-up, which Mats took as signs she was feeling more herself. As nobody had thought to make the glögg ahead of time, Gwen had bought mulled wine from the supermarket, and it waited in a warming bowl over a tealight beside the fire.
At precisely three o’clock, a light knock sounded on the apartment door, and then Ezz appeared, stepping self-consciously down the hall. With her willowy frame, she reminded Mats of a beautiful stork, lifting her slender legs and carefully placing each foot.
‘Ezzie!’ Astrid shrieked like a whistle. ‘Do you want saffron buns or Scottish tablet? We helped Josefin and Gwen make them. And look how beautiful the Christmas tree is. We’ve lit the advent candle over here.’ She appropriated Ezz’s hand and towed her towards the window ledge beside the French doors that led into the private garden, where every twig dripped with moisture from the day’s mist and the swing and treehouse looked damp and unloved.
Ezz smiled and wished Mats and Grete, ‘Good afternoon,’ as she let Astrid drag her along, with Alvin bouncing like a ball beside them. The light from the Christmas tree haloed her head as she passed by. On the sill, four white candles stood on a wooden box decorated with artificial pine fronds, which Grete had found at Skye Market because no one had thought to bring one from Sweden. ‘It’s up high so Alvin can’t get it,’ the girl explained solemnly.
Mats and Grete joined them and, ushering the children back a step, Mats struck a match to light the first candle. ‘We’ll only let it burn for a little while. Next week we’ll light two, then three, and four on the final Sunday.’
‘Then the candles go up like this.’ Astrid drew a zigzag in the air.
Ezzie duly admired the candles and their stand. ‘What a lovely tradition.’
Hospitably, Grete said, ‘What would you like to drink, Ezzie? Mulled wine, soft drinks or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please,’ Ezzie said, but she looked unusually unsure of herself.
Mats put down his mulled wine and took a lemonade instead. Why did Ezzie look so weird? She was pale and distracted, her smiles for the kids wide but unconvincing. Surely she wasn’t thrown off-balance by her employer making her coffee? At this moment, Ezzie was a guest.
Grete passed Ezz a cup, asking conversationally, ‘Do we often get a white Christmas on Skye?’
Ezz gave that wide but unconvincing smile again. ‘I’m afraid the weather at Christmas is no more predictable than any other time of the year. I like it when it’s frosty or misty, but it looks even more amazing when we get snow – a real winter wonderland. When the mountains are white all over rather than just at the tops, they seem to be made from icing.’
‘That sounds fantastic.’ He kept an eye on the plate Astrid was now carrying. It bore two S-shaped saffron buns, their whorls studded by raisins, and two cubes of caramel-coloured Scottish tablet. Proudly, she presented the plate to Ezz.
‘Ooh, is that for me?’ Ezz was still smiling. ‘Thank you, Astrid.’
Alvin had settled on the floor near the table, his legs bracketing an empty plate. Scottish tablet was clutched in each of his chubby hands, and he smiled beatifically as he munched. ‘Tack så mycket.’
‘That’s “thanks so much”,’ Astrid told Ezzie. ‘Farmor, Farmor, you haven’t eaten any tablet.’ Astrid pulled her grandmother over to the table.
