Free A Highland Christmas by M.C. Beaton Page B

Patel’s to share sweets and talk about what they hoped to get from Santa Claus. A red-haired
little boy called Sean Morrison said, ‘Folks say Morag has been visiting Mrs Gallagher.’
    There was an amazed chorus, ‘That old witch! Maybe she’ll put a spell on her.’
    Then Kirsty Taylor, a blonde who already had a flirtatious eye heralding trouble to come, said, ‘I bet you, Sean, you wouldn’t have the guts to go out there and ask for
Morag.’
    ‘Bet you I could.’
    ‘Bet you can’t.’
    ‘I’ll go if you all come wi’ me,’ said Sean.
    Kirsty danced around him, singing, ‘Cowardy, cowardy custard.’
    ‘If you don’t come,’ shouted Sean, ‘you won’t know I’ve been there!’
    So it was decided they would all go. Sean would knock at the door and they would hide.
    ‘Who can that be?’ asked Mrs Gallagher as she heard the knock at the door.
    ‘I’ll go if you like,’ said Morag.
    ‘No, it’s all right.’ Mrs Gallagher opened the door and looked down at the trembling figure of Sean. ‘Is Morag here?’ he asked.
    ‘Come in,’ said Mrs Gallagher.
    ‘He hasnae come out,’ whispered Kirsty. ‘Maybe she’s putting them both in the pot to boil them for her supper. I’ll creep up and peek in the
window.’
    The others clutched one another as Kirsty crept up to the window. At last she came running back, blonde hair flying, cheeks red in the frosty air. ‘They’re sitting at the fire eating
fruitcake,’ she gasped. ‘Fruitcake with icing on top.’
    Mrs Gallagher opened the door and saw the group of schoolchildren, all professing to be friends of Morag. Mrs Gallagher knew from Morag that the girl craved friends and was shrewd enough to know
why this lot had come round. She knew her local reputation.
    ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty of cake and lemonade. But first, you’ve got to give me your phone numbers and I’ll phone your parents and let them know
where you are.’ She wrote down the phone numbers and names and went to the phone in her parlour. When she returned to the kitchen, Morag was surrounded by chattering children.
    ‘I’ll give you all some cake,’ said Mrs Gallagher, ‘and then you can all help me to put up the Christmas decorations. I’m a bit late this year.’
    When had she last put up decorations? she wondered, looking back down the years. She cut generous slices of fruitcake while Smoky purred on Morag’s lap.
    Hamish phoned Maisie Pease. ‘I’ll be setting off from the war memorial tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Pick you up at one-thirty.’
    ‘Grand, Hamish, I’ll see you there.’
    She rang off and then stared at the phone. How odd? Why wasn’t he picking her up at the school-house? She looked through to her neat kitchen where a large turkey lay waiting to be roasted.
She had bought a large one to make it look really Christmassy in a Dickensian way. It was too large, she thought. She would be eating turkey for a month.
    Jessie and Nessie Currie set out arm in arm for their usual tour of the village. They liked to keep an eye on everything that was going on. As they passed Chisholm’s
garage, Ian was hosing down the minibus.
    ‘It’ll freeze in this weather,’ said Nessie.
    ‘Freeze in this weather,’ echoed the Greek chorus that was her twin sister.
    ‘Just getting it ready for Macbeth,’ said Ian.
    ‘And why would he want a bus?’ asked Nessie.
    ‘Don’t know. But he’s booked it for Christmas Day.’
    The sisters headed for the police station, eyes gleaming with curiosity. Then Nessie grabbed her sister’s arm. ‘Look at that!’
    Angela Brodie was pushing a pram along the waterfront. ‘Herself is past having the babies,’ exclaimed Nessie.
    ‘Herself has never been able to have the babies, the babies,’ said Jessie.
    They crossed the road and stood in front of Angela. ‘Who does the little one belong to?’ asked Nessie.
    ‘Me!’ said Angela with a smile, and pushing the pram around them, headed for home.
    ‘It is the