Christmas Under the Stars Read online

  Meg smiled, shaking her head at their toing and froing. They were more like a married couple than she and Mitch were going to be! She tipped her head to the side and held out the skirt again, taking in her reflection. She had never looked like this before. Princess dress, crown – well, ‘tiaaahra’ – it even sounded grand . . .

  The hairdresser had tonged her long, chestnut hair into soft ringlets, pulling up tendrils at the side so that a half-ponytail tumbled from the crown of her head. The boutique had given her a bouquet of cream silk roses to hold; her actual flowers were going to be freesias – her mother’s favourites – but they were out of season and therefore too expensive to get in especially for today so these would have to do. But other than that, this was it, she was good to go. The dress fit her perfectly now and this was all how it was going to be, two weeks today . . .

  She whisked the curtain back and with her breath held, turned for Dolores and Barbara to see her.

  Both women – knee to knee on the gold-thread sofa – stopped their bickering instantly, Barbara’s hands flying to her mouth, speechless for once, as she took in the vision Meg presented to them – Meg, who was usually never to be found out of her beloved dungarees, hiking boots and Schoffel fleeces.

  Dolores sat as still as if she’d been struck by the gods, but her orange-brown eyes were shining, her thin, weathered-brown face as softened as if she were butter in the sun.

  ‘Oh, you precious child!’ Barbara gasped, standing up and clapping her fingertips together. ‘Where have you been hiding your light all this time?’

  Meg smiled shyly. ‘So you like it? You don’t think it’s too—?’ She fiddled with the off-the-shoulder neckline that was delicately scooped and made a feature of her neck.

  ‘Absolutely not. Give us a twirl,’ Barbara ordered by circling her finger in the air.

  Meg did as she was told, her face shining with delight as the sumptuous satin fabric billowed, Barbara fanning it outwards for extra effect. ‘Oh, Meggy! You are the most beautiful bride I think I have ever seen!’ she breathed.

  ‘Hey!’ Lucy protested loudly from behind her own curtain. ‘What about me?’

  ‘Well, of course alongside you, darling!’ Barbara said, rolling her eyes at Meg, before tutting. ‘What are you doing in there anyway? You can’t take this long on the actual day, you know. It’s bad form to keep your bride waiting.’

  ‘I know that, Mom! But you try doing up all these buttons.’

  ‘Honestly . . .’ Barbara muttered, disappearing into the changing room to help.

  Meg smiled, turning towards Dolores. She bit her lip. ‘So?’

  Dolores stood, her iron-grey, poker-straight ‘schoolboy-cut’ hair and leonine eyes a counterpoint to all the hyper-feminine froth and decoration in the boutique. ‘If your mother could only see you now . . .’ she said, taking Meg’s hands in her own.

  Meg looked down, feeling a rush of emotion, like a heat, rise through her. Both her parents were dead – her mother first from breast cancer when Meg was eighteen, her father three years later, slipping on a rock while out fishing and hitting his head as he went into the water – and there still wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t find it profoundly shocking that she was an orphan now. Of course, she had Ronnie, her little sister by eighteen months; they had been close once, back when they’d still lived in England, Ronnie forever the practical joker leaving fart cushions under the seats or positioning fake dog poos on the carpets just as their mother welcomed guests at the front door . . . But that had all changed when they’d emigrated here, Ronnie struggling to make friends whilst Meg had found Lucy on the very first day. Something about Ronnie’s clipped, frank manner and undeniable intellect hadn’t travelled well and she had only become more isolated when their mother fell sick so soon afterwards. Perhaps if their father had lived, she might have hung around and stuck it out, but life hadn’t panned out that way and she had fled for medical school the first chance she got, leaving Meg behind – though she would never see it like that. Now they communicated mainly via Likes on each other’s Instagrams. Modern sisterhood.

  Dolores squeezed her hands and she looked back up.

  ‘Even though I was almost old enough to have been her mother, she and I were friends for a reason, Meg – we shared the same values, the same sense of humour. We both loved tacos. But more than any of that, we both saw you through the same prism – and I know she couldn’t possibly have been prouder than I am right now. That old woman over there is right for once, you are the most beautiful bride—’

  ‘Hey!’ both Lucy and Barbara protested this time, albeit for different reasons, from behind the curtain.

  ‘Less of the “old”, thank you,’ Barbara called. ‘You’ve got a good decade on me.’

  But Dolores didn’t hear. Meg was the sole focus of her attention. ‘What a wonderful young woman you’ve grown to be.’

  Meg stepped forward and threw her arms around Dolores’s neck. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Dolores might be her boss, but she was also the closest thing Meg had to a mother now.

  ‘Although, did I see . . . ?’ Dolores stepped back and lifted the netted skirt slightly to check her hunch. Brown leather-booted feet peeped back at her. ‘Meg!’

  Meg laughed. ‘I will on the day, I promise, but those are so uncomfortable!’ She frowned, glaring at the tossed-aside stilettoes on the dressing-room floor.

  Dolores laughed too. ‘You’re not to wear thermals either,’ she chuckled, shaking her head in despair. ‘Or Mitch is going to have my guts for garters!’

  The other curtain was whisked back suddenly and Lucy came out, daintily holding up the front of the full skirt and high-stepping on her tiptoes like a bona-fide princess. ‘Ta-da,’ she smiled, dropping into a low curtsey.

  ‘Brava!’ Barbara cried, her blonde bob shining under the lights.

  ‘Luce, you look stunning,’ Meg sighed, watching as her bridesmaid did an extravagant twirl that suggested she had been practising in the mirror. Her blonde hair swung, the tonged ringlets keeping their hold better than in Meg’s hair.

  ‘So do you!’ Lucy gushed, throwing her arms around her best friend’s neck so that their netted skirts squashed together.

  Meg had asked for the bridesmaid dresses to be made as echoes of her own – scoop-necked, three-quarter sleeves, full-skirted with a V-waist – the only differences being that hers had the embroidery and faux-seed pearls across the top, and the bridesmaids’ versions were in a plum colour, not ivory, although if Meg could have had them identical, she would have done; she’d never liked to stand out.

  ‘They’ve done such a good job,’ Meg said admiringly, a small frown puckering her brow as she saw how Lucy’s last few buttons hadn’t been done up, the delicate fabric pulling at the seams.

  ‘What? They won’t have to take it out that much,’ Lucy said defensively, seeing Meg’s expression.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m sure—’

  ‘Ignore my daughter,’ Barbara said, dismissing her with a haughty hand wave. ‘She’s just jealous because whatever weight you’ve lost, she’s put on.’ She looked at Lucy. ‘I did tell you not to finish those Oreos. Honestly, when did you ever hear of a bridesmaid’s dress having to be let out!’

  Meg winced as she caught sight of Lucy’s expression. Tact wasn’t Barbara’s forte. ‘You look gorgeous,’ she said quickly. ‘And the colour’s perfect on you.’

  ‘Don’t go swelling her head now,’ Barbara tutted. ‘No one will be looking at Lucy anyway. She’s had her special day. This is all about you. You and Mitch.’

  Meg smiled at the very mention of his name and turned to look in the mirror again. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. Would he like it? Would he even recognize her? She might have to tell him to look out for the girl in white, she looked so transformed.

  ‘Well, at least I’m here. How are you going to know if Ronnie’s dress still fits her?’ Lucy asked peevishly, perching on the side of the sofa as she watched Meg preen and turn, just a peek of her b
oots visible as she swished her skirts side to side.

  ‘Oh, that’s OK, Ronnie’s weight is pretty steady,’ Meg said dismissively, rather liking the way her hair was relaxing into soft waves. It looked more natural, more ‘her’.

  ‘Still, it’s a shame she couldn’t be here. I mean, it is your final fitting. If she does fluctuate for any reason, it’s going to be too late to do anything about it on the day.’

  Meg sighed. She’d had exactly the same concern herself. ‘I know, but you know what her job’s like. I’ll just be happy if she gets here for the actual wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s paged just as I’m halfway down the aisle.’

  ‘Well, don’t you worry, I’ll sit on her if that happens,’ Barbara said protectively, making everyone smile at the image. ‘I’m not having you without your maid of honour on your big day. That wedding day shall be perfect or God help me, I’ll die trying.’

  ‘Thanks, Barbara,’ Meg smiled gratefully, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

  Linda, the boutique owner, walked back into the salon, carrying a selection of veils, some trailing behind her. Setting them down, she hurried over to inspect the latest alterations with her professional eye. ‘It’s not pulling anywhere, no creasing . . . ?’ she murmured, pressing her fingers on the seams and checking the neckline didn’t gape on Meg, frowning as she saw the two-centimetre gap along the top of Lucy’s buttons. ‘Sorry,’ Lucy mumbled, her cheeks flaming. ‘I’m a fluctuator.’

  ‘Well, that’s what fittings are for,’ Linda replied with a diplomatic smile. ‘We’ll get this fixed by Wednesday if you can pop in again then.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I hope that Mitchell Sullivan knows how lucky he is,’ Dolores said, taking her seat on the sofa again and looking up at Meg with fiercely proud eyes as she continued to twirl in front of the mirror.

  Meg stared at her reflection, transfixed. Exactly this time in two weeks . . .

  ‘Now, are you quite sure you’re not rushing into this?’ Barbara asked, picking up a pearlescent hair comb from the accessories tray and examining it loosely. ‘Because after all, it has only been ten years.’

  Meg rolled her eyes and gave a groan as everyone chuckled. Together since they were seventeen, it had been the question on everyone’s lips from the time they turned twenty, their forever-ness seemingly eagerly anticipated by all Banff. But they’d been in no rush, even if everyone else had. They’d had to save up for this wedding, for one thing, which had been no easy feat what with Mitch ploughing all his earnings into trying to get his and Tuck’s snowboard business, Titch, off the ground; and all of her inheritance, when it had come several years later, had been eaten up by building the cabin and securing the Titch studio/shop in town.

  ‘Well, now you say that like it’s a joke,’ Lucy said sombrely, wincing as Linda accidentally jabbed her in the back with a pin. ‘But it’s a serious point. Just because you guys have been together for like . . . an ice age, already . . . it doesn’t necessarily figure that it’s meant to be for the rest of your lives. You’ve got to give Meg the space to be honest about her relationship with Mitch – if it’s not quite right, I mean. You hear all the time about people going through with it because it’s what everyone else expects or because it seems like the next thing to do on the list. And meanwhile, they don’t feel like they can put their hands up and say, “Actually, you know what? I’m not so sure . . .”’

  Meg, Barbara, Dolores and Linda all looked back at her in astonished silence – before bursting into laughter.

  ‘Lucy, you are what we used to call a card,’ Dolores said, holding her glass up and toasting her.

  ‘But—’ Lucy protested.

  ‘Oh, darling, you are a scream. Meg and Mitch not together? It’s just perverse! They look right together, they sound right . . .’ Barbara wrapped an arm round her daughter’s waist and squeezed tightly. ‘Besides, you are not the maid of honour, missy. If anyone’s going to have that conversation with Meggy, it’ll be her sister.’

  ‘Why?’ Lucy asked hotly. ‘I know Megs better than she does. Ronnie’s never even here. She took off for Toronto the first chance she got, and look – surprise, surprise! She couldn’t make it here tonight, she didn’t make the bachelorette party . . .’

  Meg cleared her throat and held up her glass, eager to stop Lucy from going on. ‘Well, I’m happy to assure you all that I have no doubts whatsoever that Mitch is my perfect match. And I’m not saying that because it’s a habit, or because I feel duty-bound in some way after so many years invested in him,’ she said, smiling at Lucy, knowing she was only trying to be protective. ‘I’m saying it because you are the most important people in my life and I want to share my happiness with you. You’re my family and I love you all, and it means absolutely everything to me that you’ll be there to see me marry the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.’

  ‘Oh!’ Barbara sobbed, a hand over her heart, head tilted as she held her glass up. ‘We love you too, chicky.’ And she embraced Meg in a cloud of Coco perfume and McCall’s finest own-brand cashmere. Dolores stepped in too, layering her arms atop Barbara’s.

  Meg closed her eyes, feeling their warmth, their love.

  Barbara lifted her head suddenly, as though feeling a draught. ‘And you, Lucy! What on Earth are you doing, standing there like a salt pillar? If even Dolores can bring herself to show a little emotion—’

  ‘Oh, hush, woman,’ Dolores muttered, lightly slapping Barbara on the hand and making Meg giggle.

  So Lucy stepped forward and added her arms to their overlapping, interweaving circle, like the outer petals of a flower. And in the middle stood Meg – feeling protected and safe from harm, ready for her Happy Ever After.

  Chapter Three

  Thursday 23 March 2017

  The pine wood crackled, spitting out fiery embers every few minutes that glowed orange against the stove’s hot glass doors before sizzling into black silence. Badger was unconcerned from his spot on the rug, one eyelid occasionally pulling up at the sudden noise before dropping closed again like a weighted screen. His furred belly was almost hot to the touch, Meg able to feel the fire’s reflected warmth through her sock as she stroked his woolly black-and-white coat with her foot.

  She rested her head back against the chair and looked out of the window again. Snowflakes pirouetted past the glass but it had long since stopped looking pretty. Snow was banked up along the sills in deep drifts, obscuring the lower panes and further reducing light. The storm had been sitting above them now for two days like a parked bus, the sky at knee height, the towering pine trees fatly padded with snow, Mitch’s deep footsteps around the cabin marking every desperate dash to the log store. Neither one of them had been able to make it to work again today, and there was seemingly no end in sight yet. If anything, the blizzard was strengthening by the hour, the worst still to come.

  She wondered if somewhere high overhead there was a spectacular sunset above the clouds this evening, a melange of coral oranges and pinks swirling in the sky like a painter’s water. She remembered their friend Dave, a pilot, once saying the best thing about his job was that it was always a sunny day at his desk. He got to soar above the clouds for a living, chasing sunsets and racing for the horizon. She sighed, unable even to see to the far pole of the washing line, no birds tonight lined up in a row and swaying in the breeze.

  Badger groaned, a deep, somnambulant sound that vibrated through her foot. Inactivity was exhausting for him. He wasn’t used to this confinement either, although the harsh weather was making it easier to keep him in.

  ‘You OK, old boy?’ she asked him, setting aside her crossword and ruffling his fur with her hand. ‘Are you bored?’

  He groaned again, revelling in the sympathy.

  ‘Mitch?’ she called. ‘You hungry yet?’

  No reply.

  ‘Mitch?’

  There was another long silence and she was about to get up and check on him – it wasn’t just the snow they h
ad to worry about, living in the middle of a nature reserve; there was the wildlife, too – when Mitch walked into the room in his Canada Goose parka and Sorel boots, a scowl on his face and snow in his hair.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she sighed. ‘What have you lost now?’ She knew that look too well. It was always the precursor to a question that began with Have you seen . . . ? Where have you put . . . ? What have you done with . . . ?

  ‘The monkey wrench?’ The up-flick in his tone suggested she must know, that she must have used it last, although that was about as likely as him wearing her underwear.

  ‘If it’s not in the shed, then it’s probably still in the loft from when you re-lagged the pipes last week. Why? What do you need it for?’

  ‘The starter motor on the snowmobile’s gone. I need to fix it up.’

  ‘Well, not right now, surely?’ she scoffed. ‘You can’t do anything in this. It’s a blizzard out there. Are you mad?’

  He looked scornfully at the white-out. ‘Beginning to go that way and I will be for sure if I can’t get into town anytime soon. We need supplies, Meg – the cupboard’s damn near empty.’

  Meg sighed. He’d been agitated for days now and she wasn’t convinced it was all down to the weather, although he was never good on an empty stomach and it was true the larder was emptier than it usually would be. But it wasn’t all her fault. With the Easter holidays beginning next week, she’d been working flat out with Dolores at the ski-rental store, fixing bindings, waxing skis and boards, sizing poles and helmets . . . She’d been starting at seven every morning and finishing as late as ten some nights and as a consequence, she and Mitch had eaten dinner in town every night – a few times ordering in pizzas with Lucy and Tuck at their bungalow behind the homestead, other times just getting a rib and fries at the steakhouse beside the studio. It had been the easy option at the time, meaning one of them (ergo, her) didn’t have to do a shop and, worse, lug it up the mountain on the back of the snowmobile to the cabin.