‘What’s this?’ Travis grimaced as a Michael Buble song played from a Bluetooth speaker by the cash desk. He’d arrived a few minutes late, with damp hair from the sledging.
Bree tapped the phone and said, ‘I’m going to play some Christmas music. Haven’t you noticed it’s happening in a few days’ time? You did ask me to do some extra hours so you could focus on getting the last-minute orders out?’
‘Yes, thanks. Appreciate it.’
‘Gav won’t. This was his day off but to be honest, I’m enjoying working here more than I thought and sorting you out. I re-jigged the ordering system by the way. Whoever set it up for you made it overly complicated.’
‘Erm. I set it up,’ Travis admitted sheepishly.
‘Hmm. That figures.’ Bree grinned. ‘You’ll find it a lot simpler to use now and find exactly who’s ordered what and the pricing, delivery status and so on. I’ve just stopped you from sending a canvas of a grizzly bear to a woman who’d ordered a cute bunny.’
‘Thanks,’ Travis said. ‘You’re a star. I’m sorry the admin systems were a mess. I had to set everything up in such a hurry. The past few weeks have been crazy; I feel I’m always in a rush.’
Bree narrowed her eyes. ‘I can see that. Your hair’s wet – raced out of the shower after sleeping late, did we?’
‘You know me too well,’ said Travis. ‘And you’re probably right about the Christmas music.’
‘Don’t be a Grinch. I can’t avoid it if I wanted to. I’ve got a nativity play at Dylan’s nursery, Rosie’s going to a Christmas party at Baby Gym, I need to get all the fresh food for Christmas dinner and collect the turkey, and the carol concert is coming up. I’ve been roped into helping with the refreshments while Gav’s in charge of the kids.’
‘You’re a saint.’
‘More like a prize mug.’ She sighed. ‘I keep reminding myself it’s for a good cause. The money’s split between a kids’ charity and the church hall. You are going, aren’t you. As a local businessperson you should be supporting it. Show your commitment to the community.’ She smirked. ‘Cottage Angels are sponsoring it.’
‘So I heard.’ Travis tried to sound casual. ‘Actually, I am going. The vicar asked me if I’d take some official photographs.’
‘You never said!’
‘She mentioned it after Roxanne’s wedding and I thought she might have forgotten but she sent me an email about it this morning.’
‘That’s good. You’re turning into a fine, upstanding member of the community.’
Travis grimaced. ‘I hope not, though I seem to be turning into the go-to guy for any photography jobs.’
While Bree dealt with a handful of early customers, Travis set to work on printing and folding the squirrel cards. He’d edited the image slightly on his computer but it hadn’t needed much and he’d left the inside of the card blank. On the rear, he’d added the Peak Perspectives logo and a credit to Seb Marshall. Finally, he added them to the card display by the door and several more to the box by the cash area.
With only a few days to Christmas, a degree of panic gift buying had set in, and Travis was thankful for it.
Bree was rushed off her feet, dealing with customers while he was almost hoarse from chatting to them about workshops, locations, camera settings, lenses and filters.
While some simply wanted to boast about their own skills, many were fascinated to hear from a professional, who was ‘living the dream’. He’d have no need to work at all if he had a tenner every time someone asked him ‘how did you get into this?’ – usually from middle-aged men looking for a second career. Travis didn’t knock their ambition; he knew plenty of ‘amateurs’ who’d quit their jobs to go full-time, but you had to be good, media savvy and prepared to put in long, long hours.
At lunchtime, Bree handed over a hot paper bag that smelled amazing.
‘Wow. What’s this?’
‘Turkey pasty from the bakery. I got one for myself.’
She tore a chunk off the pasty and blew on it to cool it as she always had. He felt a rush of affection towards her: Bree had always been a constant in his life and Seb’s, the lodestone even when her brothers had wandered far away, physically and metaphorically. He was delighted she was loving her work in the gallery, for both their sakes.
‘Thanks, Bree,’ he said, watching her chew her pasty cautiously. ‘For everything.’
She glanced up in surprise. ‘What’s brought this on?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing in particular … I’m just grateful for your help with the gallery and for looking out for Seb.’
‘Well, I’m not alone now, am I? You’re back to help. He enjoyed that photography trip. Mentioned it twice when he came round the other day.’
‘Good. I wasn’t sure he’d enjoy it but I’m glad.’
‘It was a great idea.’
Replying with a smile, Travis didn’t tell her it was Freya’s idea.
‘Call me sentimental,’ Bree went on. ‘But I’m really looking forward to having everyone together for Christmas. Last year Seb promised he’d be round for dinner but he ended up in the pub all day with his mates. He rolled in drunk after closing time and woke up the kids. Rosie was colicky and I was absolutely knackered. There wasn’t much festive spirit on my part and he ended up storming out and going back to his flat.’
Travis could picture the scene. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been much help myself.’
‘Well, if I’d been offered the chance to swan off on all-expenses-paid trip to see the Northern Lights, I’d have done it too.’
‘It wasn’t all “swanning off”. I did have to work. It was the coldest I’ve ever been and I was obliged to be nice to people I couldn’t escape from for two whole weeks. I also put on half a stone.’
Bree pouted. ‘Poor you. My heart bleeds.’ Then she rolled her eyes. ‘I’m winding you up. I’d have gone nuts if you’d cancelled a trip like that to spend the day in our madhouse.’
‘The kids are darlings.’ Travis smiled.
‘Only because they’re not yours and “Unca Tardis” can do no wrong.’
He smiled. ‘Dylan must be so excited.’
‘He’s been hyper since Hallowe’en,’ Bree said drily then sighed wistfully. ‘All that matters is that you’re here now and …’ She held up crossed fingers. ‘Seb has promised to turn up for lunch sober this year. It’ll be lovely to have a Christmas with us all together like a proper family.’
‘We’ve always been a “proper family”,’ Travis replied. ‘Whatever that is.’
‘I never felt it was for us,’ Bree said. ‘What with Dad away and then vanished. Poor Mum. Now I’m a parent, I can understand the pressures she was under. I might give her a call.’
Travis nodded. It was great to see Bree happy and he was delighted their working arrangement suited them both so well, but he was uneasy.
He didn’t want to leave Freya alone even for half the day, even though she’d said she’d be fine. It didn’t feel like a ‘proper Christmas’ to him without her, even if it was all under wraps.
‘I’ve ordered a whole turkey this year,’ Bree went on. ‘Well, I told Gav to order it and make sure there was enough for the four of us. I want us to have all the trimmings: party games, everything.’
‘Sounds great …’ Travis murmured, torn in two but knowing he couldn’t possibly let his sister down. She’d done so much for him and Seb; she deserved her ‘perfect’ Christmas.
Yet so did Freya.
Should he ask her to come along? Ask Bree if she minded?
Both of those things broke their ‘agreement’.
The shop bell dinged. ‘Here we go,’ she said, the pasty halfway to her mouth.
‘You finish your lunch,’ Travis ordered, tossing the empty bag in the bin. He really had to ask Freya again how she’d like to spend Christmas Day and hope it was with him.
Throughout the afternoon, customers began to flood in, buying pictures and cards, booking the odd workshop or purchasing vouchers for photography-mad relatives. He sold another squirrel card and someone ordered a bigger print of it.
Seb would be made up.
Bree went home, leaving Travis to lock up.
He was eagerly anticipating his evening with Freya, but he had a call to make first. With the squirrel card secure in his laptop bag, he walked down the alley that led to Seb’s flat. He hoped his brother’s confidence would be boosted further by seeing the card and hearing that it had gone on sale. Even better, that Travis had sold two that day.
He opened the main door and stepped onto the stairs – then stopped.
He could hear music. At first, he’d thought it was the radio but then he realised it wasn’t. It was someone singing live, quietly and accompanied by the soft sounds of a guitar.
He took another step, two and the stairs creaked. The music paused. Travis stopped, one foot on the top step that led to Seb’s landing. He was almost too scared to breathe.
The music started again: a guitar intro.
Travis felt as if he was treading on eggshells as he crept up to the landing, listening to the mesmerising sound of the guitar and Seb’s voice, soft and lilting. He recognised the ballad … an oldie. A real oldie from the dawn of time, but that he hadn’t heard for years.
‘The first cut is the deepest …’
He breathed in sharply then exhaled as softly as he could. That song … how it tore at his heartstrings. It reminded him of the good times: the three of them and their mum. She used to play it on CD, the Rod Stewart version – until they were sick of it. She’d sing along and actually, she didn’t have a bad voice which must have been where Seb got his vocal talent from.
And yet, it also brought back the dark times. He’d played it himself when Freya and he had split up, seeking comfort in the misery of someone else who understood how painful the loss of your first love was. Looking back, he’d tried to rationalise those feelings and diminish them as teenage angst yet hearing Seb’s haunting voice, which held a kind of broken innocence, brought them to life again.
That night he’d said goodbye to Freya and she’d taken a piece of his heart with her – a piece that was still in her possession if only she knew. Maybe she did sense it and that’s why she was refusing to let him get close.
He knew the words off by heart; and knew that the song was coming to its end.
He turned and crept back down the stairs. Seb didn’t need an audience – and not a hostile one – perhaps not ever, but at least he was doing the thing he loved again and that was all that mattered.
Travis told Freya about Seb over pasta carbonara and a bottle of Pinot Grigio at her cottage.
‘Thanks, that was slightly better than a microwave turkey dinner,’ he said as she lounged on the sofa with her bare feet in his lap.
She chuckled.
‘I have good news. I went round to Seb’s on my way home and I heard him playing his guitar.’
‘Really?’ Her eyes lit up with pleasure. ‘That sounds a really positive sign.’
‘Yeah. I decided not to disturb him in case he stopped. I think your idea might have worked.’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps he just decided to start again anyway. I’m not taking any credit for it. Whatever has triggered this, I’m happy for him.’
‘Even so, thanks. I’m not sure I’d have thought of – or dared – ask him on the shoot for fear of getting my head bitten off. If he’d said no, it might have ended in a row. I guess,’ he said, ‘we can both be pig-headed.’
‘You don’t say …’
He massaged her feet, enjoying the feel of the soft flesh. He circled her ankle, thinking how beautiful it was.
She twitched. ‘That tickles.’
‘But you like it.’ He leaned forward and kissed her deeply. ‘Shall we have an early night?’
‘At seven p.m.?’ He just smiled, took her hand and led her upstairs to bed.
The next morning, Travis was in early at the gallery to mount and frame, and pack some orders he’d taken during the week, ready for the courier to collect. The village was already filling up with tourists and shoppers, making last-minute purchases.
During a brief lull, Seb popped his head around the door.
‘Sorry to bother you, but can I ask a favour?’
‘Sure,’ Travis said, pleased to be needed for a change.
Seb shoved his hands in his pockets awkwardly. ‘I er, could do with … er … borrowing a camera? The cheap one will do, I know I can’t be trusted with anything decent.’
‘None of them are cheap,’ Travis said, warily. ‘What’s this for?’
‘Remember the bloke who was at the open mic night? Nate? I, er, happened to mention I’d been taking photos with you and he asked me if I’d mind doing a few shots of his band for their website and socials. Before you ask, he wanted something more professional than mobile phone shots.’
‘You’re going to take them?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. They want outdoor shots and you showed me the basics on the camera so – I said I’d give it a try. I wasn’t going to volunteer your services. They couldn’t afford you and anyway, they’re offering a small fee and I need the money.’
Travis gasped in mock horror, yet he was secretly pleased that Seb was taking an interest.
‘I only need the camera for a couple of hours I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll be back with it before you know.’
‘I can loan you one of my Canons and a lens, I suppose.’
‘Thanks. You’re a star.’
‘I am when you want something.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Before I get the camera, I’ve got something else to show you. Come into the back.’
Seb followed him into the framing area where Travis lifted a cardboard box onto the table. ‘These arrived this morning. I was about to put them on display.’
Seb gawped at the box as if it contained the crown jewels. ‘It’s not … is it?’
‘Open it and see,’ Travis said.
Seb lifted the cardboard flaps and took out the card featuring his squirrel. He stared at it, at a loss for words.
‘You like?’ Travis said.
Seb held the card up. ‘It’s awesome – in fact I can’t believe I took this. Are you sure it isn’t one of yours?’
‘No! I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s all your own work. I’ve put them by the till and added some to the card rack. In fact, I’ve already sold two.’
‘Two! Thanks, bro.’
Seb’s expression of delight was enough to bring tears to Travis’s eyes but he managed to put on a gruff voice to disguise his emotion. ‘Now, let’s have a look at this camera. I’ll run through the basics again and give you some tips on taking PR shots for the band.’
‘Be careful …’ Travis warned, a while later, watching Seb walk out of the shop, whistling. His heart swelled with pride – and relief. Things were definitely looking up, as far as his brother was concerned at least.