The Christmas Sisters

She put her arms round his neck. “So what do we do now?”

He tilted his head and listened to the announcement. “I just officially missed my flight, so I guess I’m going to need somewhere to stay tonight. And tomorrow is Christmas Eve, so I doubt I’ll be able to get a flight then, either. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

“I might have some ideas.” She kept hold of him, too afraid of letting him go. “Can you handle my family, or would you rather stay at the inn?”

“That depends,” he said. “Do you think your father will punch me for making you pregnant?”

“I think he’s more likely to pour you a whiskey and shake your hand.”

“In that case what are we waiting for?” He took her hand and picked up his suitcase. “How did you get here? Did you drive on those lethal roads?”

“Posy drove. She’s the adrenaline junkie of the family. She could definitely have a career as a racing driver. I was so afraid I might have missed you. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d already left.”

He lifted his head and smiled. “I have a suspicion you would have been all right.”

She followed his gaze and saw Posy and Beth standing a discreet distance away. Their arms were linked and they both looked anxious.

When Hannah smiled, they both whooped and ran across to them.

“There is no way Posy is driving us home,” Beth said. “I’ve been given a second chance at life, and I’d like to take it. And that is not catastrophizing.”

29

Suzanne

On Christmas morning Suzanne was up early to make pancakes for breakfast with her grandchildren.

The storm had passed. Fresh snow layered the paths and loaded the trees, the surface glistening in the sunlight. Until Stewart had time to clear it, they were snowed in. Which was, she thought, a perfect way to spend Christmas.

She rinsed fresh berries and took a moment to enjoy the view from her window. It was a picture-book day, the tops of the mountains sharp and clear in the early-morning sunshine. The sky was a rich Mediterranean blue, although she knew the temperatures would be Arctic.

It was a day for wearing thick socks and soft sweaters, for gathering round the Christmas tree and sipping hot drinks in front of the flickering fire.

This morning she’d woken feeling better. Her headache had gone, her limbs no longer ached and she finally felt energetic again.

Better still, the tension that was so often a part of Christmas was absent.

She’d finished knitting the Christmas stockings, but there were things on her list she hadn’t done. Normally that would have stressed her, but this year it didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t made the extra puddings as planned, or that she hadn’t had time to roast chestnuts.

“Grandma?” Ruby’s voice came from behind her. “The mixture is lumpy.”

She turned her attention back to her grandchildren.

Ruby wore a sweater and socks over her pajamas, and her hair was caught up in bunches that Melly had carefully secured with tartan ribbon.

She looked so much like Posy at the same age that Suzanne caught her breath.

“Keep whisking. These pancakes are going to be delicious.”

They’d come a long way. Such a long way.

She heated the pan and Melly climbed onto a chair to help with the cooking.

Suzanne stood close enough to intervene at the first sign of danger, but Melly was careful, her tongue caught between her teeth as she concentrated and flipped each one carefully.

The pile of soft, fluffy pancakes on the plate grew. When the mixture was finished, they put the plate on the table, along with the berries and a jar of the Scottish heather honey that Suzanne sold in the café, and Melly ran out of the room to call everyone to the table.

The wind had stopped howling the day before and there was a stillness and calm.