Seacliff

Chapter eighty-seven: Christmas miracle

1948

A snowstorm raged outside, but logs crackled in the hearth and warm firelight engulfed the lovers sprawled on the sofa. Pauline sat up.

"What do you mean," she began as she braided her hair, "you don't do Christmas in Scotland?"

Aidan chuckled. "We do, just not like you do it in New York."

She frowned.

"It's not a national holiday in Scotland," he clarified. "Got banned centuries ago and it kind of stuck. So, my parents often worked at Christmas. But my mum's Irish and my grandparents are English, so us, kids, grew up with it, anyway."

"Huh." Pauline finished her plait and lowered herself beside Aidan. "Is that why your family is coming over for Christmas this year?"

The flames in the fireplace flared briefly, lighting sparks in her eyes of topaz.

"No..." Aidan twisted sideways, to lie face to face with her. "No, it's because eight years ago, I promised my sister she could visit me, and now the time is finally right. The war is over. America prospers. And my mum is dying to meet you."

Pauline giggled, biting her lip. "You've told her about me?"

Aidan was grinning. "I tell her everything."

"Aren't you such a good mamma's boy!"

Their mouths closed in like magnets irresistibly drawn to each other.

"Naturally," he whispered.

Her gaze softened in the dim glow, twinkling. "I think that's really sweet."

Aidan brushed stray hairs from her cheek. "You won't find it so sweet once she starts playing matchmaker. Brace yourself for the barrage of questions."

Pauline nestled at his chest and hooked one leg over his hips, arms clinging to his neck.

"I like to think my mum's fairly decent, though," Aidan added. "I don't think she'll go out of her way to make you uncomfortable, but she's nearly sixty by now and ready to be a grandmother."

"Humans." Pauline sighed and, pushing Aidan on his back, rose to straddle him. "Should we make your mom a grandkid for Christmas?"

As cool as he tried to keep, the question still drove a jolt through Aidan's heart. "Pauline – "

"Shh, relax," she murmured over his lips, "I'm just kidding."

Strangely enough, he realised he wasn't sure whether he wanted her to be kidding at all.

*

"Do you think your mother will recognise me?" Sorley asked his son, adjusting the fedora on his head.

"Fully dressed? Unlikely."

Pauline laughed on Aidan's arm, and Sorley fidgeted in his big coat and winter boots. It baffled Aidan how, after nearly a century of existence, his da still couldn't bear human clothes.

"I genuinely don't understand why it's so hard for you to wear pants," Aidan said. "Is it because you're too warm, or what?"

Sorley pursed his lips and didn't answer. Fat, fluffy snowflakes danced around them, blanketing the ground. Tireless travellers traipsed in and out of New York Harbour, turning the fresh pelt of snow into dirty mush.

It reminded Aidan of the white Christmases at Seacliff Lodge, the roads and the fields and the woods pristine as far as the eye could see, save for the occasional foot trail or paw print. Christmas in the city had its own charm, of course, and he used to dream of New York's bright lights and busy streets as a child.