A Little Christmas Magic. Alison Roberts

a golden glow and there was an amazing smell of something hot and meaty that made her mouth water. Good grief … she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually felt hungry.

      ‘Look …’ Poppy pointed to a fridge that was covered with pieces of paper and photographs held in place by small magnets. ‘I drawed that. It’s my mummy. She’s got wings because she’s an angel.’

      ‘Oh?’ The statement had been completely matter-of-fact but Emma wasn’t sure how to take it. Was Mummy exceptionally kind or was she dead? Catherine was busy putting oven gloves on and didn’t seem to have overheard the comment and she didn’t like to ask Poppy. No doubt she would find out in good time.

      ‘I drawed this one, too. It’s Daddy and Bob and Benji.’

      ‘It’s very good. They all look very happy.’

      Not that Emma could imagine Adam actually having such a wide grin on his face. Glancing back, she saw him standing in the doorway, all but glowering at the scene in front of him. She also saw Oliver bumping the guitar case on the flagstone floor.

      ‘That’s a bit heavy for you.’ Easing out of Poppy’s firm grip on her hand, Emma went to rescue the guitar. ‘I’ll put it over here for now, yes?’

      ‘No,’ Oliver said. ‘I want to see.’ With his eyebrows fiercely frowning like that, he looked remarkably similar to his father.

      ‘It’s time to eat,’ Catherine told him. ‘Poor Emma’s been travelling all day and she must be famished. And then I’m going to show her to her room and drive all the way to Edinburgh to the airport.’

      Poppy’s face fell dramatically. ‘But I don’t want you to go, Granny. You’ll miss Christmas.’

      ‘No, I won’t.’ Catherine was opening a door on the stove that was set into an old chimney lined with blue and white tiles. She took out a cast-iron pot that looked as old as the kitchen and carried it to the table. ‘They have Christmas in Canada too, you know. I’ll be calling you and telling you all about your new wee cousin.’

      ‘We can video chat.’ Adam moved to the table and picked up a bread knife. He began slicing the crusty loaf on a thick wooden board. ‘You’ll be able to see the bairn as well.’

      Poppy sniffed loudly. Emma took hold of her hand again and bent to whisper in her ear. ‘Can you show me where to sit? It’s such a big table.’

      ‘You can sit beside me.’

      In a short space of time Emma was installed on one of the old, oak chairs beside Poppy, with Oliver and Catherine on the other side of the table. Adam was at the top. Past him, she could see the dogs stretched out in front of the fire, with her guitar case propped against the wall nearby, looking as out of place as she was.

      Except, oddly, she didn’t feel out of place at all. She looked up at the whitewashed ceiling with its dramatic dark beams, across at the pretty tiles around the stove and the cluster of antique kettles and pots on the floor beside it. The room could have been part of a museum, except that it was so alive with the feeling of family.

      It wasn’t just the fridge that was covered with works of art and photographs. There was a huge corkboard on the wall and a bookshelf that had framed photographs amongst the books and a shelf clearly devoted to things the children had made, like an odd-looking robot constructed out of cardboard boxes and tubes and a chunky effort in clay that could possibly represent Benji. Or maybe Daddy.

      ‘It’s only stew, I’m sorry,’ Catherine said, as she ladled an aromatic mix of meat and vegetables onto Emma’s plate. ‘I forgot that we might be welcoming a visitor today.’

      A visitor? The feeling of family was so strong Emma had forgotten that that was what she was. How could anyone not feel completely at home in here? And the food was delicious.

      ‘This is perfect,’ Emma assured Catherine. A lot better than anything she’d be able to produce in the kitchen. Oh … help … Had she really made Adam believe she could cook in that interview? Her job in the restaurant had been limited to clearing tables and washing dishes. And had Catherine made that bread herself, too? Possibly even churned the butter, she thought as she accepted the blue and white dish being passed her way by Adam.

      She didn’t need to cross that bridge quite yet, though. And maybe it was Catherine that Adam had inherited that fey ability to see things from. She was smiling at Emma as they all tucked into their dinners.

      ‘I’ve left lots of meals in the freezer and there’s a modern oven as well as the big stove, if you need it. The children get a hot lunch at school so you’ll only have to cope with breakfast for most of the time.’

      ‘Did the turkey for Christmas arrive?’ Adam asked.

      ‘Aye. It’s in the freezer as well. Don’t forget to take it out at least a couple of days early. Leave it in the big tub out in the dairy to thaw.’

      ‘I don’t like stew,’ Oliver announced a few minutes later. ‘It’s got carrots in it.’

      ‘Carrots are good for you,’ Emma offered. ‘They help you see in the dark.’

      ‘I don’t need to see in the dark,’ Oliver said with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m asleep.’

      ‘If you don’t eat your carrots,’ Adam said calmly, ‘there’ll be no ice cream.’

      ‘I don’t like ice cream.’

      ‘I do,’ Poppy sighed. ‘I love ice cream.’

      ‘Me, too,’ Emma said. She beamed at Poppy. Impossible not to fall in love with a child who was so prepared to love everything life had to offer. Poppy beamed back. Shifting her gaze back to her plate, Emma caught Adam staring at her but he quickly shifted his attention back to his son.

      ‘No television before bed, then,’ he said. ‘Vegetables are important.’

      Catherine stood up to start clearing plates. ‘Can I leave you to do the children’s pudding?’ she asked Adam. ‘I’ll need to head away soon and I’d like to give Emma a tour of the house and show her where her room is.’

      ‘But Emma loves ice cream, too.’ The horrified look on Poppy’s face at the prospect of such an unwarranted punishment for someone stole another piece of Emma’s heart. Oliver might prove to be more of a challenge but she knew that she was going to love her time with Poppy.

      ‘I’ll come back,’ Emma promised. ‘Save me some, okay?’ She looked at Oliver, who was scowling down at his plate—the only one still on the table. He was pushing slices of carrot around with his fork. ‘And by then,’ she added casually, ‘you’ll have scoffed those carrots, Ollie, and I’ll be able to show you my guitar.’

      A lightning-fast glance back as she left the kitchen revealed a fork laden with carrot slices making its way towards Oliver’s mouth and Emma hid a smile. Maybe the little boy wouldn’t be too much of a challenge after all.

      The tour of the house was a whirlwind and it wasn’t just the speed of viewing the more formal rooms, like the lounge and library downstairs or the rapid climb to the upper level that had taken Emma’s breath away.

      ‘How old is the house?’

      ‘The main part dates back to the seventeenth century but there’s been a lot of additions and renovations, and thank goodness for that. I’d hate to be offering you a room that didn’t have an en suite bathroom.’ Down the end of a wide hallway that had dozens of framed photographs displayed, Catherine opened one of the dark oak doors. ‘And here it is.’

      ‘It’s gorgeous.’ Emma looked around the space that would be hers for the next few weeks. The brass bed had a pretty patchwork quilt. The fireplace was tiled in blue and white, which seemed to be a theme throughout the house, and any draught from the windows was kept at bay by the thick velvet curtains that Catherine whisked shut.

      ‘Poppy and Ollie’s