Christmas at the Edge of the World

He shrugged her words aside. “Should keep you warm, at any rate.”

Laurel came into the kitchen, thankful to hear the comforting rumble of the Rayburn. “That’s a lovely sound,” she said with a little laugh. “I remember it from when I was little. It used to make me feel safe.”

Archie turned to her, his eyes crinkling in a smile. “Eilidh always said how much you and your sister loved it here. She missed it when you’d gone.”

“Yes…” Laurel bit her lip. “I don’t know why we stopped, to tell you the truth.”

Archie frowned. “It was your mother, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I mean, she died.” To her surprise, Laurel felt a lump form in her throat. That didn’t usually happen. Her mother had been gone so long, Laurel had become quite matter-of-fact about it…or so she’d thought. “I suppose my father wasn’t very close to Eilidh,” she said. “I never really knew why.”

“Jealousy, I’d think,” Archie said succinctly, and Laurel blinked in surprise.

“Sorry…”

He shrugged. “Stands to reason. Your mother was an Orkney lass. Your da took her down to Yorkshire or somewhere, as I recall…”

“Scarborough,” Laurel said a bit stiffly. Archie’s air of knowledgeability unsettled her. “But what does that matter?”

“Isla always loved and missed it here. That’s what Eilidh said, any road. I don’t remember her from before. She left when I was a bairn.”

“I don’t think she missed it, exactly…” Laurel began, but the truth was, she had no idea. Her mother had died when she’d been a child. She hadn’t known anything about what she’d wanted, or what hardships she might have faced. She didn’t even know what kind of marriage her parents had had, although she knew her dad still missed her. At least, she thought he did. “How do you know all this?” she asked.

He shrugged in something like an apology. “Eilidh’s told me bits. And I was around, you know, back then, even if you don’t recall.” He gave her a crooked smile.

She’d never said she didn’t remember him, but she supposed she hadn’t had to. “How old were you then?” she asked, hoping the question didn’t seem too nosy.

Archie shrugged. “Fifteen, sixteen?”

What? That meant he was only in his mid-forties now…only a little older than Laurel herself. Somehow she hadn’t expected that, although really, now that he was out of his plus-fours, Archie didn’t seem that old. An old soul, perhaps. There was a difference.

“I’m forty-three,” he said, as if he’d witnessed her entire thought process. Laurel blushed.

“Right…” A sudden, vague memory was surfacing in her mind like a bubble, from that last summer on Orkney; Abby, being boring, fluffing her hair in the mirror and peering out the window instead of going swimming or into town for ice creams like Laurel had wanted to, all because of some moody-looking boy. Had that been Archie?

“Did you have a long fringe back then?” she asked hesitantly. “It kept getting in your eyes?”

“Might have done.” Archie shrugged, grinning. “Hard to believe when you look at me now, but I went through a wee bit of a Goth phase one summer.”

“Yes, I can’t quite imagine it.” Archie as a Goth. Goodness gracious. Except, Laurel realised, she could imagine it, at least a little, because now she realised she remembered Archie, and she was gobsmacked. “I think my sister had a little bit of a crush on you.” As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t.

A sudden tension seemed to shimmer and twang in the air, an awareness that had definitely not been there before. This was a man who wore plus fours and sweet-talked to Rayburns, who had pointed a gun at her and was definitely more than a little bit eccentric, if not downright crazy. Why had Laurel mentioned crushes? It made it seem…well, she didn’t even know what it made it seem.

“Then she must have been daft,” Archie said after a moment. “I remember my hair back then.”

Laurel laughed, relieved that the moment—whatever it had been—seemed to have eased. Sort of. “Perhaps I’m remembering it wrong.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I didn’t realise you knew so much about Eilidh,” Laurel said slowly. “And even my mum. But then, I suppose you’ve been Eilidh’s neighbour for a long time.”

“My whole life. But I didn’t know your mum, not really. Like I said, she left when I was but a bairn. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you by mentioning her. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know aught, not really.”

“But you do.” Laurel swallowed hard, feeling weirdly vulnerable as she asked, “Do you…do you remember my mum? At all?”

Archie’s expression softened as he gazed at her. “A bit, from your visits. She had lovely long hair. And she liked to sing.”

“I’d forgotten that.” Her mother had sung lilting Scottish ballads as she’d hung up the washing. Laurel could picture her now, in a long skirt and loose top, hair blowing in the wind. “I’d completely forgotten that,” Laurel said again, and then, to her dismay, she felt tears crowding her eyes, too many to blink back. Archie was going to think she was an absolute nutter, falling to pieces over so little. “Sorry,” she muttered as she wiped her eyes. “Sorry.” She let out a choked, horrified laugh.