CHAPTER NINE

      THE HUM OF conversation stopped. Even the small girls stopped skipping about and giggling.

      ‘Dr McAllister … What’s happened?’

      ‘Nothing’s happened. I’m just here to collect Poppy.’

      ‘Where’s Emma?’

      ‘She had to go to Edinburgh. She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.’

      ‘Oh … thank goodness for that.’ The young mothers shared relieved glances. ‘She’s not going to miss the performance, then. It wouldn’t be the same, would it, without her singing with the children?’

      ‘No.’

      The mothers turned their attention to getting their daughters to change their shoes and put coats and hats on before going out into the snow. Having got over the surprise of seeing him at the dance class, nobody seemed to expect Adam to say anything else. People drifted away, leaving him alone with Poppy as he helped her with the laces on her dancing shoes. Because they were so used to giving him the space he’d always demanded by keeping people at a distance? Odd that it felt a little … disappointing?

      At least the teacher came to talk to him.

      ‘Did ye get the note, Dr McAllister? About the kilt?’

      ‘Aye …’ There had been a note, hadn’t there? Weeks ago. Kylie had said something about needing to order a kilt for Poppy for her first dance performance but that had been about the time that his previous nanny had announced her pregnancy and intention of emigrating to Australia and life had suddenly become chaotic. He’d totally forgotten about it.

      The teacher gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s no’ essential,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Poppy’s got a skirt she could wear. We can give her a tartan sash.’

      ‘But I want a kilt,’ Poppy said. She tugged on her father’s sleeve. ‘I love kilts, Daddy.’

      ‘We’ll find you a kilt, pet, I promise.’

      How he was going to manage to keep that promise within the next forty-eight hours was beyond Adam at the moment but there were other things to deal with first. Like getting the children home and fed. Looking after the dogs and collecting the eggs from the hens and making sure Jemima had plenty of fresh hay. Poppy took the little donkey a carrot.

      ‘You’re going to be in our play,’ she said happily. ‘You have to be very good and then you’ll get more carrots.’

      ‘She will have to be very good,’ Adam agreed. He couldn’t help shaking his head as a wave of bemusement caught him off guard. Were they really going to transport Jemima into the village hall to star in the nativity play?

      Extraordinary.

      As astonishing as the person who’d made it happen, in fact.

      Emma’s absence in the house that evening was far more noticeable than Adam had expected. It wasn’t just that he had so much more that he needed to do. Everywhere he turned, he could see things that made him think of Emma. The paper chains hanging from the beams in the kitchen. The Christmas tree in the living room. The children asking for songs instead of a bedtime story.

      He did his best but it wasn’t the same.

      ‘It’s okay,’ Oliver said kindly. ‘Emma will be back tomorrow.’

      It wasn’t just the lack of music in the house that made it feel oddly quiet. The atmosphere was different. Emma didn’t have to be singing, did she? She only had to be present for there to be a unique energy in the house.

      A promise of something good.

      Joy, perhaps.

      Or love …

      To distract himself from what was missing, Adam went online to check out the availability of kilts for small girls. But even that reminded him of Emma. Of the conversation in the kitchen that first weekend she’d been here. When she’d asked him if there was a McAllister tartan and whether he ever wore a kilt.

      He’d been terse, hadn’t he? Pushed her away, the way he always did when people got too close. It worked so well because they understood why he needed his space. Or they thought they did.

      Emma hadn’t respected those boundaries, though. She’d pushed until he could see them for what they were. Prison bars keeping him in the past. Hurting his children.

      He found a specialist shop and clicked on the Clan Donald tartan. There was a children’s section and he found a clan kilt in a new tartan that had been designed in recent years. With a purple background and small gold, red and green stripes, it was far more feminine than the dark colours of the kilt he had hanging in his own wardrobe. It would be perfect for Poppy. It seemed to be in stock in the right size but could they deliver it in time? Adam took note of the phone number. He’d give them a call tomorrow morning after he’d dropped Ollie at his music lesson.

      With his hands still hovering over the keyboard, Adam caught the glint that the screen light coaxed from the dull gold band on his finger. It wasn’t just the personal barriers he’d erected that were prison bars keeping him in the past, was it?

      With a movement familiar enough to be automatic he used his thumb to touch the metal. Did he rub it as a reassuring link to a past he wasn’t permitted to forget or was he actually trying to hide it?

      On impulse, he closed the fingers of his right hand over the ring and gave it a tug. It didn’t budge. He tried twisting it and it moved a little. Enough to make him get up abruptly and startle the dogs, who followed him curiously into the bathroom where he lathered his hands with soap until he could move the ring more freely. It took some effort to get it over his knuckle but—suddenly—it was off.

      He was holding the symbol of his past and his failed marriage and the tragedy of losing his wife and … And he had no idea what to do with it now. The thought of taking it up the back of Old Jock’s farm and hurling it into the pond was appealing. Just as well it was so late and the pond was frozen over anyway. Back in the library to shut down the computer, Adam dropped the ring into a drawer of his desk.

      Walking up the stairs to bed, he was again aware of Emma’s absence and this time it came with a yearning ache because he was going to his bed alone. He paused for a moment, in the spot where he’d first heard the haunting notes of that song coming from her room late at night, catching his breath as he realised how much he was missing her.

      His left hand was curled, his thumb rubbing the empty place where the ring had been. There was nothing there to touch. Nothing to hide.

      Or should that be nowhere to hide?

      It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed that he’d taken his ring off. Eileen’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. There would be talk, of course, but he suspected that the consensus of the village women would be that three years’ mourning was more than enough. He had done his duty and upheld the myth that the marriage had been too perfect to move on from and he’d done it for long enough to ensure that the children were protected. They would always have their ‘angel’ mother but they deserved more than that in their lives. Someone real, who made their lives more joyful.

      Would the villagers go further and speculate how much influence Emma’s presence had had on his decision?

      Probably.

      Did he mind?

      If he did, he’d get used to it—the way he had got used to carrying the burden of the truth alone. Maybe—hopefully—he’d have to, because he had made more than one decision tonight. He was going to ask Emma to stay in Braeburn longer and he was pretty confident that she would agree. He’d