Highland Christmas-a heart-warming, laugh out loud book (SAMPLE ONLY)

Missing the avuncular uncle gene

Miracle of miracles, my brother was waiting for me in Arrivals, waving half-heartedly as soon as he caught sight of us. Mum must have bullied him into taking me straight to the hospital.

My child-hating fellow passenger bumped into me as we exited the corridor into the arrivals hall, him too busy staring at his mobile phone. He jumped back from us as if he'd been given an electric shock. To be fair to him, Evie had thrown up just as we were coming into land, a tiny bit of milky vomit splattering onto his jeans.

I waved back at Dylan, whose eyes had darted from me to Mr Designer Shirt and back again.

"Do you know him?" I asked once I'd reached his side, the two of us watching the man as he hurried away, desperate to put distance between him and the vomit machine.

Dylan's eyes flickered once more. "No."

Did you cut all the hair off Gaby's Barbie doll, Dylan? Okay, which one of you nabbed the £20 note sitting on the coffee table? Dylan, your teacher tells me you turned up to your English class, stoned. Is that true?

The years had given me expertise on Dylan's truth-telling. No point pushing him, however, as he'd only repeat the denial.

We hadn't seen each other since the time Dylan visited me in Lochalshie not long after Evie was born. Oh, my mistake. He didn't visit. My brother took after our long-absent father—tall, wiry, olive-skinned, a big believer in double denim and a non-believer in keeping in touch with your nearest and dearest. In dire need of a haircut, too. In best sisterly fashion, I made the point, getting in an insult before he could.

"D'you want to give your gorgeous niece a cuddle?" I asked, and he shook his head, mouth curling up in a grimace. "Gimme your rucksack."

Safe to say, the avuncular uncle gene had body-swerved Dylan so far. Evie was strapped to my torso and fast asleep once more. I kissed the top of her head; glad she wasn't awake to discover there was a relative who didn't think she was the Bees Knees.

We headed out of the building towards the NCP carpark with its black and yellow signage, Dylan grumbling about the amount of money he'd needed to pay to leave his car for what amounted to less than 15 minutes.

"How's Nanna today?" I asked, the words sticking in my throat. Dylan had volunteered no information. A bad sign, right?

"Better, according to the doctors," he said, pinging open the boot of Mum's ancient Ford Fiesta. As luck would have it, Mr Designer Shirt I Hate Babies on Planes, also appeared. A gleaming silver Land Rover, its windows blacked out, pulled up ahead of the taxis waiting in rank. They beeped in annoyance. The man leapt in, though he managed a quick eye meet with my brother once more, Dylan's face statue still as he watched the door slam and the car roar away.

"You do know him!" I said, shutting the boot. Mum must have prepped the car as there was a baby seat strapped on the front seat. Dylan wouldn't have remembered or known. I put Evie in it, her sleeping so soundly she only grunted a little as I did so.

Dylan shook his head. "No, I don't. Anyway, get in. Visiting hours are 2-4pm and if we don't hurry, we'll be late."

At the hospital, they ummed and ah-ed at the desk when the three of us showed up. Two visitors at a time was the rule in case we all brought in germs, and my mum was already there. When I threatened a melt-down of epic proportions, the stress of the last 24 hours kicking in, the nurse at the desk relented. Permission granted for me and Evie to go in, Dylan to remain in reception.

Nanna Cooper was in a room all to herself. Was that positive or negative? I pushed open the door and braced myself.

My mum got up straight away—the bags under her eyes all too heightened and her skin the white of someone who'd spent too long indoors. She perked up when she saw Evie, holding her arms out wide. "Give granny a big cuddle!"