After a moment to check the effect, she turned to a cupboard concealed in the panelling that provided her with a stepstool, and soon she was hanging silver stars from each pendant lamp, the wordsstar of wonder, star of lightfrom the ‘We Three Kings’ Christmas carol wandering through her mind. Once down from the stool, she admired how each cluster glinted in the light from the windows. Next, she used the tartan ribbon on the red baubles to attach them to Christmas garlands of artificial greenery and pinecones, then arranged them carefully on windowsills and atop glass cabinets. She didn’t know the age of the beautiful old panelling, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you stuck pins into.
As she worked, she mulled over whether she could manage some days off by asking Orla to be available to the family when Ezzie wasn’t. She’d suggest it. Grete was approachable and Orla capable.
In the quiet, she caught a squeak, a whisper and a scuffing of feet, and she glanced up. A faint footstep, then the two little Larsson children stood on the threshold of the large room, holding hands and regarding her through sea-blue eyes. A smile took charge of her mouth. With their wavy hair, they were like sweet little pixies. ‘Hello,’ she said, putting down a garland and joining them near the doorway so she could cast a quick eye over the contents of her sack barrow and check there was nothing there that could hurt them. ‘How are you today?’
The little boy, Alvin, gazed at the stars hanging from the lamps. ‘Jul.Christmas.’
The eldest, the girl called Astrid, kept her solemn gaze on Ezz. ‘Alvin doesn’t like mash,’ she announced in her startlingly fluent English.
Oh-kay. Barnaby had accustomed Ezzie to gamely joining in conversation, no matter how apparently random, so she gave the subject due consideration. ‘Not even with gravy?’
Astrid asked her little brother a question in Swedish before turning back. ‘No. He likes fries.’
‘So do I,’ Ezz answered agreeably.
Alvin spoke up. ‘Chyckling. Andreece,’ he declared firmly.
Astrid giggled. ‘He’s trying to say chicken and rice, but he’s jumbling up Swedish and English words.’
‘Chicken and rice are good, too.’ Then, noticing that Alvin had a boot on one foot but only a sock on the other, Ezzie said, ‘You’re not going outside, are you? Because it’s frosty and your toes will turn to ice.’
Astrid shook her head. ‘We’re not allowed, unless someone takes us.’
‘That’s good.’ Even though the hall stood well back from the cliffs, there were woods and all kinds of places in the grounds for small children to get lost. Then she heard an exclamation and Mats Larsson loomed behind his children, tall, blond and fearsomely good-looking, his dishevelled hair just long enough to flop either side of his forehead. Ezz realised that his children’s eyes were the colour of a summer sea, whereas his were more of a match for the sea in winter. His self-assurance bore the gloss of money and education.
‘There you are, children.’ He sounded half annoyed andhalf relieved. ‘Do you remember what I said about not leaving the apartment without an adult?’
Astrid’s expression became self-righteous. ‘You said not to gooutside.We’re inside.’
One side of his mouth tugged up. ‘I suppose that’s true. But I meant not outside the apartment.’
Astrid considered this. ‘This isn’t an apartment. It’s a house. It has upstairses.’
The corner of the mouth twitched again. ‘I was using “apartment” in the sense of one section of a building being separated from … Never mind. What have you been talking to Ezzie about?’
He shot Ezzie an apologetic look.
Astrid nodded emphatically at her father. ‘That Alvin doesn’t like mash. You told Farmor that Alvin didn’t like mash, and you were going to speak to Ezzie about it.’
Mats’ fair skin flushed. He took his children’s hands and drew them away. ‘OK, you could have left this to me, but thanks for your help. Say goodbye to Ezzie.’
‘Bye,’ they chorused obediently.
The trio vanished, Alvin asking something in Swedish and Mats replying in English. ‘Perhaps you can make Christmas decorations with Josefin.’ Then came the sound of a door opening and Mats raised his voice. ‘Josefin?’
Ezzie remained where she was, rerunning the conversation in her head.You were going to speak to Ezzie about it.A complaint already? Crap.
She’d begun returning cardboard boxes to the sack barrow when Mats reappeared alone, and still flushed. ‘Sorry that my children took it upon themselves to bother you. It’s just that Alvin’s got this thing about only eating food that’s clearly identifiable.’
‘Of course,’ Ezzie said, feeling her own cheeks heat.‘Your mother requested neeps and tatties, but I should have asked if there were other requests.’ She paused. Then breaking the rule of not asking non-essential questions, because she really ought to be sure she understood what was being said, asked, ‘Sorry, but when Astrid said “Farmor”, did she mean your mother?’
When Mats smiled, his eyes creased and twinkled a bit like Grete’s. ‘Yes. Literally, it means father’s mother. In Sweden we differentiate between our grandparents – father’s mother, mother’s mother, mother’s father and father’s father. Farmor, mormor, morfar and farfar.’
Ezz followed this with interest. ‘Thank you. How incredibly practical. If you’d like to give me a list of favourite foods, I’ll make sure Gwen gets it.’
He’d resumed his usual complexion. ‘Mum had put plenty of Alvin-friendly foods on the shopping list, but didn’t think to tell Gwen about dinner. My children like most plain foods, really, especially fish.’ His thick sweater looked expensive, stretching over his chest as he thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘I think Skye has plenty of that? I’ve seen fishing boats chugging up and down the sound.’
‘Of course.’ She made a mental note ofplain foods, especially fishand suppressed the urge to tell him all about the fertile inner sea between the east side of the island and the mainland, the Sound of Sleat at the south and the Outer Hebrides to the west. She’d developed a deep love of Skye in the nine years she’d lived here, but she was here to fulfil his requests, not chatter.
