Magic Under the Mistletoe Read online

  There speaks a seasoned traveller who understands what really matters after a lengthy flight, in the early hours of a new day. As we approach the entrance to the lounge it’s exactly what I would expect from this sleek and modern airport. Flanked by two very tall ceramic pots on plinths and with a sign you can easily spot at a distance, it certainly looks promising.

  We follow the queue of people inside and wait our turn to check in. Then Cary and I head off in the direction of the showers. Agreeing to meet back in the lounge area, which is almost full already, it’s pretty optimistic to assume we will be able to find a couple of unoccupied seats. We might have to sit separately, which would be a relief in one respect. At least it will mean not having to make polite conversation.

  *

  Standing beneath the steady stream of hot water without the overhead shower wetting my hair isn’t easy but it’s so refreshing. By the time I’ve dried, changed my underwear and donned the crease-resistant, long-sleeved top rolled up in my hand luggage, I at least have a bit of my sparkle back. A quick brush of my hair, a squirt of deodorant and then perfume, and I’m done.

  Making my way back into the open area of the lounge and scanning around the sea of occupied seats, I look for Cary. His head appears above the crowded masses as he stands to wave at me and I head in his direction. He, too, is looking a little more refreshed, I notice as I sink down very gratefully into the squishy leather seat next to him.

  ‘I was hoping to grab four seats so we could put our feet up and lay out as some have already done but it’s just too busy at the moment. If you want, I’ll stay here with the bags and you go and have a look at the buffet. Water and soft drinks are off to the side in the fridge. Coffee is at the far end, over there. It’s all a bit calorie-laden but it will keep us going until we board.’

  Sauntering off, I resist the temptation to turn around to see if Cary is watching me as I walk away. His brisk business manner and hmm… how can I describe it? That almost uptight, driven vibe I’d come to expect from him is diminishing by the second. I don’t recognise the much more relaxed and normal human being he’s turning into. Even his tone of voice is beginning to lose that slightly caustic, haughty edge.

  The buffet is immaculately presented but it is all rather stodgy food. There are little cakes and pastries, sandwiches and wraps, with a few bowls of different types of salad. But there is also a platter of dates, which I love. The coffee machine is the push button sort, but the cups are on the small side and it seems to only dispense what looks like a double espresso or a smaller Americano.

  Looking around as I walk back to Cary, I see predominantly Westerners surrounding us. There are several men dressed in thawbs, the long white shirt over loose pants. I can’t see any women in the traditional long, black abayas at all. Most travellers are flying out to the UK or European destinations, no doubt eagerly heading home for Christmas.

  As I sit down to savour the dark, pleasingly bitter coffee, Cary heads off in the direction of the buffet area. When he returns he’s bearing a plate piled high with food.

  ‘I know I’ve passed over the healthy stuff, but I need carbs,’ he comments as he settles down next to me.

  I watch as he stuffs a whole mini croissant into his mouth in one and I guess a look of surprise flickers over my face.

  ‘Sorry. I really am starving,’ he admits.

  I nibble on a vegetable wrap rather daintily as he watches me.

  ‘You’re obviously a lot more relaxed now the exhibition is over,’ I say as soon as my mouth is empty.

  ‘Am I?’ He seems surprised by my remark. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve seemed a bit… uptight but it’s been the year from hell. I guess I didn’t realise just how wound-up I’ve been and I’m sorry if you’ve felt the effects of that. It wasn’t my intention, I can assure you, and I value your opinion and your professionalism.’ The look he gives me is genuine. For some stupid reason it makes my stomach flutter. An apology and a genuine look of remorse – I’m overcome.

  In an attempt to move on rather quickly, I say the first innocuous thing that comes into my head.

  ‘What are your plans for Christmas?’

  He frowns. ‘Taking part in the obligatory family festivities. And you?’

  I nod. ‘I wish I could say I was looking forward to a wonderfully relaxing break, but I’d be lying.’

  He shoots me an apprehensive look. Eek! I didn’t mean to be quite so blunt, or to sound so depressingly negative, even though that’s the truth.

  I’m dreading Christmas and once I’m on the plane my fate is sealed. But I’ve surprised myself, as I don’t usually let down my guard like that with a stranger. And especially not someone who is a client. It’s the tiredness taking over and for a moment I forgot who I was with.

  ‘Would you like to talk about it?’ Cary has demolished everything on his plate in record time and he looks at me in earnest. What is he? A professional counsellor all of a sudden? Now I have to explain away my momentary lapse. A lapse inspired by the way Cary’s eyes connected with mine for a second. The sincerity reflected in his words made me regret having been so harsh in judging him.

  ‘Umm, that sort of tripped off the tongue. I’m not usually a person who sounds off easily but there’s something about Christmas, isn’t there? I guess it can bring out the best and the worst in families.’

  He glances at me, his eyes sparkling with the merest hint of amusement at my sidestepping response. Suddenly seeing him in a different light, am I finally glimpsing the man beneath the armour?

  ‘Amen to that. Coming from a dysfunctional family myself, I quite understand.’

  I can’t hide my surprise as our eyes meet once more. I find myself, unwittingly, growing a little hot and bothered by his attention.

  ‘Oh, I’m not being unduly critical, or unfair here,’ he clarifies. ‘I’m just as much to blame. It’s simply a statement that happens to be true.’

  Sensing a little discomfort coming from my direction he settles himself back into his seat, extending his legs out in front of him. ‘Guess we’d better try to get a little sleep, then,’ he remarks, thankfully drawing the conversation to a close.

  3

  Cold Comfort

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Wilson speaking. I have a further update on the adverse weather conditions currently being experienced on the western side of the UK.

  ‘The snowstorm continues, but I’m informed by Cardiff flight control that they are managing to keep the runways clear at this time. We are approximately an hour away. Forecasts indicate that the storm is worsening and it’s very likely we will experience some turbulence ahead. Please buckle up and make sure all hand luggage is stowed safely in the overhead lockers. Thank you for your cooperation and let’s get you all home safely for Christmas.’

  There’s a steely determination in his voice. Please God let it be safe to land when we do get there. Inwardly I groan. That damned Cary Anderson has a lot to answer for; it’s his fault for delaying my departure. I could have avoided what is now threatening to become a potentially nightmarish situation.

  ‘Not the best news, is it?’ the elderly lady sitting next to me declares. But I notice she doesn’t seem overly concerned about the problems we’re facing. ‘I hate flying anyway and for me this storm is my absolute worst nightmare come true, I’m afraid. Even if we don’t end up having to divert, if they can’t keep the roads clear, onward travel will be impossible. Adding to all of that it’s a Sunday and the day before Christmas Eve.’

  Why would Cary choose to cut it this fine? Unless he, too, isn’t relishing the thought of the Christmas break. Perhaps he was secretly hoping the plane would be diverted, delaying his return.

  ‘The timing of this storm couldn’t have been more unfortunate. It’s going to be chaos with so many people affected. We’re all in the same boat, though, so there’s no point in stressing, I suppose. I guess the main concern is a safe landing at this point,’ the woman admits. ‘Don’t worry, try to
relax because I’m sure it will all be fine.’ A brave smile accompanies her words.

  If that’s supposed to calm me down, it isn’t working and my heart thuds loudly in my chest.

  A huge shudder ricocheting through the body of the plane has me grasping both armrests in alarm, dispersing all other thoughts.

  ‘It’s only an air pocket. Nothing to worry about,’ my companion informs me with the calm voice of a frequent flyer.

  ‘Thank you and sorry to be such a wimp but my stomach is in knots.’ My knuckles are now white, as the bouncing continues. The rising fear level has my heart racing inside my chest. Then the cockpit intercom kicks into life.

  ‘This is Captain Wilson speaking, again. We’ll shortly be climbing to get above the current turbulence we’re encountering. We will continue at that altitude until the final descent, once we have been cleared for approach and landing. Conditions are worsening as expected and road conditions around the airport are not good, I’m afraid. No further updates will be issued at this point, but I can confirm that it’s looking good for arrival at our scheduled time.’

  Looking good? We’re flying in blizzard conditions by the sound of it and they’re about to close the airport. In my book that isn’t reassuring. My breathing is out of control and a feeling of lightheadedness comes over me.

  ‘This really is nothing out of the ordinary given the weather conditions and if he didn’t think it was safe the pilot wouldn’t even attempt to land. So, sit back, take a few deep breaths and try not to fret, my dear.’

  Fret? I know she means well but I’m on the verge of having a full-on panic attack. The last place I want to be is inside a huge chunk of metal with snow no doubt pitching on the wings and obscuring the pilot’s view as we land. Okay, so maybe they don’t even need to see where they’re going because it’s all done electronically, but it’s still deeply concerning.

  Sucking in a huge breath, out of the corner of my left eye I see that her hand is tentatively hovering over mine. I’m gripping the arm rest between us for dear life. I stay rigid, focusing on my breathing and she withdraws it after a couple of moments. I know I must look like a total idiot, but a quick glance around reveals more than a few anxious looks. I close my eyes and start counting backwards from one hundred. Why, I don’t know exactly, but it helps. A little.

  *

  The joy of having my feet planted firmly on solid ground is so great I could weep. After surviving the bumpiest landing I could ever imagine, any other worries and concerns simply fade away. However, it’s pandemonium inside the airport terminal as the roads have all ground to a halt. People are clamouring around customer service desks trying to arrange overnight accommodation.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Cary asks and I glare at him.

  ‘There’s little point in joining one of these ever-growing queues. I need to sit down while I think; that was harrowing to say the least and my legs are still shaky.’

  He shrugs, as if this is nothing at all to do with him and wheels his luggage over to a quiet corner. I follow on behind, feeling exhausted and almost too tired to care.

  Even though my nerves are now much calmer, my head is in a spin. Suddenly, I spot a man wearing a supervisor’s badge walking past and I jump up out of my seat to hurry over to him.

  ‘I’m really sorry to waylay you but it’s the first time I’ve flown into Cardiff International airport. I had a hire car booked to take me to Caerphilly. Is there any movement at all on the roads at the moment?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Nothing except for the gritter lorries and they can’t keep up. You’d best prepare to settle down for the night, I’m afraid. All of the local hotels are already fully booked and struggling, anyway, as the staff can’t get in. Even those with rooms they’ve previously booked will probably end up having to sleep here overnight. There are abandoned cars everywhere and it’s a fair trek on foot to the closest hotel, for those brave enough to venture out. There’s a lot more snow to come I’m afraid, and the advice is to stay off the roads.’

  Walking back to Cary, I can see by his face he overheard every word and he’s not happy. I collapse down onto the seat next to him, tiredness washing over me in waves.

  ‘Where were you hoping to stay tonight?’ I ask, out of interest.

  It wasn’t a trick question but it’s thrown him. He pauses for a moment as if considering his response.

  ‘About a mile away; my grandmother’s house.’ He runs a hand over his chin, his mind elsewhere. His phone buzzes and he focuses on the screen.

  Even a mile is hard-going on foot, I reflect, if there’s nothing on the roads because of the amount of snow on the ground. And dragging a suitcase wouldn’t even be an option. We all know the UK grinds to an eerie halt if we get more than an inch of that dratted white stuff and the man said there’s more to come.

  ‘I’m thinking that the floor is going to be a better option than this plastic seat. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if it was padded.’ I cast my eye over the weary throng of people, many now sitting huddled next to their luggage as the queues aren’t moving. They seem unwilling to accept the inevitable but it’s only a matter of time. Those with children are already using whatever they can from their suitcases to snuggle them up.

  Cary looks up, giving me an uncomfortable glance. ‘I’m getting a lift back.’

  ‘Really, in this? I thought the roads were virtually impassable.’

  He breathes out rather sharply, then heaves a sigh. ‘Look, this isn’t ideal for reasons I don’t really want to go into, but I can’t let you sleep on the floor. You’d better come with me and we’ll sort something out.’

  Why is he talking to me like I’m some sort of encumbrance that has been forced upon him?

  ‘I’ll be fine here, I can assure you.’

  He stands, slipping the phone into his pocket.

  ‘Leesa, I’m too tired to debate this, just grab your things and follow me.’

  I don’t know whether it’s shock, the effects of jetlag, or having reached the point of not caring less what happens next, that makes me give in.

  ‘Okay. But I have a phone call I need to make first.’

  He at least has the decency to move away a few feet while he waits – rather impatiently, I might add, and looking more than a little put out.

  The background noise is at least beginning to subside as people realise there’s no point in getting angry. I look around thinking that this is all so unexpected. I don’t even know how to react as I wait for my ex-mother-in-law to pick up.

  ‘Gwen, it’s Leesa.’

  ‘Hi darling. I’ve been worrying about you and watching the clock. I checked online and was relieved to see the plane had landed safely. The snow won’t delay you, will it?’ The hopeful note in her voice makes my heart plummet.

  ‘Yes, it will, I’m afraid. I’m sorry you’ve waited up for nothing. The roads around the airport are closed, apparently, and there’s a lot more snow to come in the next few hours. I hope to get out at some point tomorrow as I’m sure the snow ploughs will clear the main roads and then the gritters will be out in force.’

  ‘Oh dear, what a disaster! You are safe for tonight, though, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m safe. No need to worry. I’m been offered a bed for the night and I’ll get over to you tomorrow as soon as the roads are open again. This is a major airport so I’m sure they will work quickly. How are you doing?’

  There’s a telling pause. ‘Oh, you know. Up and down. Nothing feels quite right at the moment and I wish you were here.’

  Guilt kicks me in the gut, reminding me this is an emotional time of the year for so many different reasons. I can almost feel her anxiety and fear that I won’t make it. There are things we need to talk through but… well, I can’t dwell on that now.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow and don’t worry. I will get to you as soon as I can, I promise.’

  I don’t even wait for Gwen’s response before I end the call and walk over to Cary, who is n
ow easing on his thick jacket. I slip a jumper over my head, then undo my suitcase and pull out a slightly rumpled padded coat.

  ‘I nearly didn’t pack this as it takes up such a lot of room but it’s very lightweight and now I’m glad I did. I was expecting to come home to minus temperatures, but I really wasn’t expecting snow.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Cary agrees, ‘but we’ll need to cover up as best we can as our lift is an open-topped, rough-terrain vehicle. It’s one of the few forms of transport safe enough to venture out in during a snowstorm.’

  He pulls a beanie hat from his pocket and with the other hand grabs the handle of his suitcase.

  ‘Right, let’s head in the direction of the exit.’

  It isn’t easy navigating our way through the mass of stranded travellers and luggage trolleys. As we approach the exit, even in the darkness we can see the snow is falling fast and the flakes are large. It’s a sight to behold but rather intimidating.

  The strong wind is sculpting huge white mounds that are so powdery they change shape quickly. After only a couple of minutes the outline of the front of a vehicle suddenly appears out of the darkness and it looks suspiciously like an old army jeep. Considering the Arctic conditions, it’s approaching quite fast and I wonder how safe it can be as it looks rather basic.

  ‘Okay, let’s do this.’ Cary heads out through the door and I follow as best I can. Being buffeted by the wind is no joke and it’s a struggle to move forward. With each step I’m falling further behind and the eerie silence when the wind isn’t gusting is unsettling.

  A sudden change in the direction of the icy blast takes my breath away for a moment. I’m being pounded full-on and the intensity of the Arctic chill leaves me gasping. The jeep is only a couple of feet away now and a guy approaches; well wrapped up and wearing a ski mask and goggles, so not an inch of skin is showing.

  He holds up a gloved hand in acknowledgement and immediately takes my case from me with a nod and heads off to stow it in the rear of the open vehicle. Cary deposits his case next to mine and then takes my arm to help me climb into the back seat. He leans in to fasten my belt, double-checking it before giving me a thumbs-up. There’s little point in trying to talk as the wind would disperse our words as soon as we tried to speak.