Page 6 of A Scottish Christmas Hideaway
As she walked into the vestibule, she kicked off her shoes and felt the rough texture of the seagrass carpet dig into her feet. It was scratchy but comfortingly familiar. Then she slipped off her coat and hung it on the row of pegs by the door. She took a deep breath in. She had forgotten how comforting the smell of home was. It was a mixture of laundry powder, freshly baked cake and nutmeg. It felt exactly how it always had done. She sighed with relief, so glad to be back.
‘Do you fancy a nice cuppa?’ Mum said, bustling into the kitchen and filling the kettle.
‘That would be great. Thank you.’ She followed her mum and sat down at the pine table that was pushed against the wall. On it were various piles of Christmas cards, written and to be written,unopened mail and her mum’s to-do list which was as lengthy as a loo roll. She refused to make lists on her phone, claiming she liked the sense of being able to physically cross things out with a pen.
‘It’s so nice to have you here,’ said her mum, setting a mug down next to her and opening a large tin of fruit scones. ‘Help yourself. I made these fresh this morning. I’ll just get the butter.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Jessica took a sip of tea and then reached for a scone and spread it with butter then added a dod of jam.
‘Now, you make yourself at home and just come and go as you please. We added you on to the car insurance in case you want to head to Glasgow to do some shopping. I expect you’ll be wanting to do your own thing and have made your own plans.’
Jessica shook her head thoughtfully. ‘Not really,’ she said. It had been ages since she’d caught up with anyone from her childhood home. Especially as most of her friends had moved away elsewhere. She had no idea who would be around over the festive period. ‘I’m just looking forward to catching up on some sleep and reading.’ The thought of Christmas shopping in Glasgow held no appeal whatsoever even though it used to be a highlight when she was younger. Watching the carol singers at Princes Square used to be an annual tradition.
Her mum sat back in her chair and eyed her suspiciously but didn’t say anything.
‘How areyou?’ Jessica said, quick to avoid one of her mum’s interrogations.
‘I’m very happy to have you home, and the fact your brother is coming, too, is an added bonus. It will be wonderful to have the family all together again. Christmas is such a magical time anyway and it will be extra special this year with you all here and wee Lexi.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Jessica. The thought of Lexi being around was making her feel slightly more enthusiastic about Christmas.
‘Your dad was waiting for you to come back so you could come with us to get the tree at the farm.’
She forced a bright smile. ‘Sounds good.’ She bit into the scone. It was crumbly and buttery. ‘This is so delicious,’ she said between mouthfuls.
Her mum raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying. Tuck in.’
‘Am I allowed one?’ said her dad, wandering into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of tea and then sat in the chair opposite Jessica. ‘You know your mum doesn’t really bake any more. When I had the tin open this morning, I got a row. You would have thought I was stealing the crown jewels.’
‘Hmm, that’s not entirely true, Gus.’
‘It is so. If you do bake, then you’re usually doing it for someone else. So I can smell all these lovely things being made and then you tell me they’re not for me . . . they’re for the village hall or Jeannie down the road or the book club.’
‘That’s because you need to watch your cholesterol levels,’ she said firmly.
‘That’s so tragic, Dad,’ said Jessica with a smile. ‘By the way, your jam is delicious.’
He beamed proudly. ‘All made from the raspberries grown in the garden too. I was lucky and had a bumper crop this summer.’
The thought of actually growing anything and then making jam from it left Jessica bemused. She couldn’t ever imagine having that much time. It was far easier to pick up a jar at Waitrose. Though she knew it wouldn’t be as nice as the home-made stuff.
‘Are you still baking your bread?’ enquired her dad.
Jessica shook her head, remembering the joy that baking bread used to bring her. She had stopped just around the time she met Tim and then things changed. She hadn’t baked any bread since. ‘Nope. Not any more. I haven’t made bread forages.’Or eaten it either, she contemplated. The thought of eating carbs at work was abhorrent, especially as everyone seemed to be on some type of ketogenic diet where bread and pasta were viewed as the food of the devil.
‘Well, you are welcome to make some while you’re here,’ said her mum. ‘There’s nothing better than a freshly baked loaf.’ Catriona finished her tea and then stood up. ‘Sorry to dash, but I promised to go and help decorate the village hall. It’s the Christmas fair at the weekend.’ She looked sheepish. ‘I didn’t want to crowd you by breathing down your neck and being around all the time,’ she explained. ‘And I thought you might be tired and want a wee nap.’
As though on cue, Jessica yawned. ‘I will go and have a lie down if you don’t mind.’
Angus reached for his glasses and unfolded the newspaper. ‘You make yourself at home. I’ll be down here reading the paper and then doing the crossword.’
‘Just make sure you don’t eat all those scones,’ said Catriona admonishingly as he sliced his in two and began spreading the two halves with butter.
Jessica laughed at the way her dad pretended not to hear what she was saying. ‘See you later, Mum, and thanks for coming to get me.’
Catriona gave her a smile and a wave and disappeared out the front door, closing it with a bang which caused Jessica to jump.
‘I do wish she wouldn’t do that,’ said her dad. ‘She does it every time. I keep telling her that the cottage will fall down one day. Makes no difference though.’ He reached into the tin for another scone and lined it up next to the buttered one on his plate. He was clearly making the most of Catriona being out.
