Page 28 of Christmas Chaos
‘Well, not long to go now,’ said the sonographer with a beaming smile. ‘Next year you’ll have your answer.’
Fear swelled inside him, squeezing each breath. He knew Zoe would be the best mum, but could he avoid being like his father? He tried to banish the thoughts with logic, but they still followed him whether he was awake or asleep, pushing all his buttons with laser-pointed accuracy. He didn’t want to burden Zoe with his fears as she was exhausted and overwhelmed. Organising the perfect Christmas for the castle had stretched them to the limit and even though they’d brought in Duncan to help with running the estate, it still wasn’t enough.
At least the festival of light was now underway. The previous night the rain had held off and the gardens were packed as people wandered a trail through different light displays. Even though it was only late October, the local choir had sung carols, and everyone had been merry on mulled wine or hot chocolate.
‘Can we stop and get a copy ofThe Courierbefore we head home?’ Zoe asked as they left the hospital. ‘I want to see the pictures from last night.’
He nodded. Thank god it had gone off without a hitch.
Ten minutes later he knew he shouldn’t have counted his chickens.
‘No!’ cried Zoe. ‘No, no, no, no!’
His fingers clenched around the steering wheel. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘How did I miss this? Fuck! Rory, was this some kind of joke between you and Duncan?’
‘What? What’s a joke?’
She started crying.
Fuck!He scanned the road for a safe place to stop. ‘Hang on.’ He swerved into a layby, cut the engine and reached for her hand. ‘What’s happened?’
She passed him the paper.
The entirety of the front page was taken up with a report from the festival of light.
‘Earl balls up at family event!’ screamed the headline, and underneath, above the fold, was a photo of one of the displays. It was a small temple built by one of Rory’s ancestors after returning from his Grand Tour in the seventeenth century. Circular, with thick stone columns that supported the roof – at the base of each column were a pair of large granite balls. Rory had never noticed the phallic nature of the structure. It was just another part of the castle. So he’d wrapped the columns and balls in fairy lights with Duncan, too busy meeting the deadline for either of them to look at their work with a critical eye. But now, illuminated in the darkness, it was obvious what it looked like.
Once again, the Earl of Kinloch seems determined to display the alleged dimensions of his personal endowments in public… This event is marketed at families, but with the amount of alcohol present and this lewd and immature display, people should think twice before attending… Another cheap publicity stunt by a man who supported the historically inaccurate and culturally offensive film Braveheart 2… “It’s disgusting,” an anonymous witness stated. “I had to explain to my grandson exactly why people were laughing so much.”
He sighed.
The article didn’t mention the wreath-making workshops, the carol singing, the kiddies nose-deep in hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. He’d been there from opening to closing and all he’d seen were happy faces. He didn’t give two shits about the article, but he gave every shit about his wife’s happiness and, right now, she was still crying.
‘This is all my fault,’ she hiccupped. ‘I should have noticed. And now everything’s ruined.’
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. If this had happened when Zoe was less stressed and exhausted, she would have laughed it off, gleefully exclaiming about the extra publicity and putting a link to the article on the castle website. But now, she seemed devastated.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘It’s mine for not noticing. This article is bullshit. You saw how much everyone loved it. You’ve done something amazing.’
‘It’s a disaster. We need to take those lights down.’
‘Fuck, no. Remember when you told me that all publicity is good publicity? I’m going to get Duncan to help me rig up more lights at the top of the columns. I want it to look like they’re ejaculating onto the roof.’
Zoe snorted and his heart lifted.
‘Maybe we can put a giant inflatable baby on the top?’ he continued. ‘Say it’s an art installation celebrating your pregnancy?’
Her tears were turning into laughs. ‘Don’t you dare, Rory MacGinley.’
‘And how about we start serving those “earl sausages” the butcher created last year? We can get the bakery to produce a “Zoe roll” to go with them.’
She shrieked with laughter and his heart soared. If he could make her smile everything would be okay.
* * *
November
