Highland Christmas - A HIGHLAND BOOKS SHORT STORY

An unlikely coupling

 Zac's panicky question coincides with the return of Ashley, shuffling in weighed down by bags and boxes. He dumps them on the floor and eyes Zac up and down.

"Aye, aye, posh boy. What d'ye want?"

Murderer, too, I think. 'Posh boy' runs a hand through floppy blonde hair and lets out a sigh. "We were expecting a delivery yesterday and then today. I've got plenty of meat and cheese from the local suppliers but I'm out of fish, flour and vegetables."

One of Ashley's bags tips over, spilling out onions that roll across the floor.

"How many folks are you expecting for Christmas?"

The thirty figure is knocked down to twenty. The Royal George, a boutique hotel where Zac is the executive chef/manager, promised an exclusive Highland Christmas getaway package. Those with more money than sense paid for a two-night break where they ate Michelin-star quality food, drank champagne until it came out of their ears and were entertained by a string quartet, an opera singer and a Broadway star fandango-ing in front of them. (I made the last bit up.)

Ten people had cancelled—despite the non-refundable deposit £250—because they weren't able to get through thanks to the landslide. But the others had confirmed. They were flying into Inverness today.

Jack, having delivered pizzas to customers who fell on them as if they hadn't eaten for weeks, returns to my side.

"How much alcohol have you got?" he asks Zac, eyeing Ashley's bags and boxes. They didn't contain much booze.

"Tonnes," Zac replies. "We didn't get that many guests at the murder mystery weekend and no-one drank that much."

I shuffle. Okay, we were sort of responsible for that. The long story about Caitlin's wedding? Jack and I were meant to marry that day in the Lochside Welcome to mess up the official launch of the refurbished Royal George. Instead, we married the day before and Caitlin wed her Irishman on the twenty-first instead. A riotous party ensued. But nowhere near as big a wedding as it would have been had her mum/agent/publicist been allowed to get their way.

Still, it mucked up the Royal George's official launch. It was meant to, but I feel guilty now, and as Ashley and Jack look shame-faced too, I guess they feel the same.

"Why not double up?" Jack says, "swap some of this food for your alcohol?" Ashley nods. His Christmas day offering is far more low-key but he's still short of drink.

"I could get ye some fish?" Lachlan stands up. One of Jack's dodgier friends, Lachlan knows every river where you can fish illegally and not get caught. He's also a dab hand at poaching and tells Ashley and Zac he can supply them with pheasant and guinea fowl.

Both of them agree.

"I'll help ye cook if that helps?" Jack makes the offer diffidently. I know what a big deal this is. Tacit acknowledgement he is grateful Zac didn't press charges when Jack broke his nose, and acceptance that there is enough room in the village for a five-star hotel and a pub/hotel that targets different customers.

"What about our Christmas?" I ask. The door opens and Caroline, my new mother-in-law, walks in, catching the end of my question.

"Aye, what about it? Ye're coming to the farm tae spend the day wi' me and Ranald. I bought a new Trivial Pursuits 'specially."

Dear oh dear. Caroline is fearfully competitive. And a cheat as well. She'll have read most of those cards and memorised the answers, all the better to trounce us on Christmas day. Doesn't matter anyway. My general knowledge is zilch.

She takes in the scene. "And what's he doin' here?"

Jack explains, shushing his mother when she says, "Serves him right!" loudly. He then throws in that he's volunteered his services as sous chef on Christmas day.