Search the Skies on Christmas Eve - 3. Tom & Marcus

Tom Bradford had forgotten how much he loved driving.

Yesterday, for most of the journey on the open motorways of Britain, he could put his foot down, lean back and let the Land Cruiser take over with its cruise control. Today, along often deserted country roads, narrow and meandering, still packed with ice and snow, he had to be awake and alert adopting skills worthy of a rally driver, the car’s four-wheel-drive a godsend. Thank goodness also for the inbuilt satellite navigation system on the dashboard, so they could listen for directions provided by the posh female voice—even if some instructions were bizarrely convoluted or road names woefully mispronounced. How anyone could figure out where they were heading down these tiny Scottish lanes without satnav was anyone’s guess.

Marcus had volunteered to share the long drive yesterday, had even reminded him of the offer each time they pulled into a service station for a comfort break. But when Tom said he was happy to keep going, Marcus didn’t argue. This morning, as they left the hotel in Glencoe for the ninety-minute journey to Loch Arkaig, Marcus headed straight for the passenger door without a word. They worked well together. Always had done. Even though they hadn’t always agreed on everything.

In all honesty, Tom had grumbled to Marcus about coming all the way up to Scotland, said he had no desire to spend Christmas away from his daughters and parents. Some celebrations should be about family, and Christmas meant home, not time spent with occasional friends and strangers. But, as always, Marcus and the rest of the family managed to sway him. As his daughter, Katie, quite rightly stated, being so far from London meant Marcus could not possibly be called in to help in one of his restaurants at a moment’s notice. Even Tom’s parents, Moira and John, had encouraged them to take the trip, Moira telling him she would take care of the girls and, more importantly, insisting they both needed grown-up time alone together.

Charlotte and Katie, Tom’s daughters by his marriage to his late wife, had grown up all too quickly, and both started to blossom in their own ways. Of the two, Charlie had inherited her mother’s attractiveness, and was not only popular but knew it. While Katie studied hard, Charlie needed parental guidance, monitoring—oh, what the hell, policing. Random boys turning up on the doorstep he could handle—easy enough to shut the door in their faces—but what went on between school and home he had no idea. And Marcus didn’t help. He told Tom to chill that she may have her mother’s looks, but she also had her common sense and could take care of herself. But Marcus often spent weeks away from home and didn’t see things through Tom’s eyes. Bright as she was, her school grades had dipped recently, and he wanted to take time in the holidays to sit her down and have a serious talk, no matter how much she resorted to her classic pouting and huffing.

As they turned into the lane for the lodge, Marcus’ phone number rang on the dash app. Rather than mess with the road map on the satnav screen, he pulled his phone from his pocket and put the device on speaker.

“You are coming, aren’t you?” came a now-familiar, slightly worried, Scots voice.

“Yes, Rudy.” Marcus sniggered and then spoke while Tom concentrated on the road. “We’re almost there. The satnav screen says we’re about seven minutes away.”

“Only, we were thinking about heading out to the shops in the nearest town, in case there were any last-minute things you might—”

“Rudy,” Marcus rolled his eyes for the benefit of Tom. “I’ve got absolutely everything covered. A car boot and back seat stuffed to the brim with hampers and cooler boxes full of every kind of food than you can imagine, enough grub to feed a small army well into the new year. So as long as you’ve got plenty of drinks, as we agreed, then we’re all set. Please don’t buy any more food. It’ll just end up going to waste.”

“Okay, point taken. Anything you need me to do before you arrive?”

“Yes. Make sure I have a clear path to the loo—I should have gone before we left the hotel and now I’m busting. And put the kettle on, too. A couple of mugs of hot tea would be most welcome. Tom takes his with milk and one sugar. I just have milk. Full fat, none of that low-fat poison.”

“Consider it done. See you soon.”

Almost as soon as the call ended, the car crested a hill, and suddenly the loch came spectacularly into view. The last time Tom had been there, for the wedding of Kennedy Grey and his partner Kieran, they—or rather, Marcus—had been given the star treatment. After landing at Glasgow Airport, they had been whisked away, celebrity-style, in a seaplane to Loch Arkaig, bringing them right to the landing platform at Mortimer House. Seeing the lodge in daylight now, Tom hiked in a breath. Marcus must have heard because he commented almost immediately.

“I could never get tired of that view.”

Tom snorted.

“Surprised you got to take it in last time. You spent the whole time working in the kitchen. Hope you’re not going to be doing the same again the whole time.”

“You know I love doing what I do. And this time is for friends, and friends of friends, who are not going to complain about the size of the portions, or the bill—because there isn’t going to be one—or put bad or lukewarm restaurant reviews on TripAdvisor. This is for the sheer enjoyment of cooking, the whole reason I got into this business in the first place. Take the left fork up ahead.”

A few minutes later, Tom parked up the grey silver Toyota SUV at the back of the building, where a door to the lodge opened and out stepped Rudy and Trevor with two other men. Tom recognised them straight away. Kieran and Kennedy. Tom had really warmed to both men, Kieran’s down to earth nature and especially Kennedy’s no-nonsense business sense. Of all friends they had met, Kennedy would easily be able to hold his own in Tom’s rough and tumble building trade world.

Strange though, Rudy’s partner, Trevor—who they knew much better, and who worked as a freelance accountant for Marcus’ restaurant chain, and Tom’s building business—always appeared more distant and formal around Tom. Marcus heard from one of his managers that Trevor admitted to having trouble understanding Tom, someone who had done the same kind of thing as his ex-husband Karl—except in reverse—switching from being with a woman, to bedding and wedding a man. Lucky for Tom, Marcus had no such reservations. As for Tom, once he had woken up and accepted the idea of loving another man, being with Marcus had not only been the most natural thing in the world but had given him a new lease of life.

“Thank the heavens,” said Rudy, coming over and giving them each a hug in turn. “I had visions of thawing a stack of frozen pizzas for dinner if you hadn’t turned up.”

“Once committed, my husband would never let you down, Rudy.”

Marcus apologised, but squeezed past them, said a brief hello to Kieran and Kennedy, then grabbed Trevor by the arm and disappeared with him into the building.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Tom, joining the others, and shaking hands. “He’s been bursting for the past twenty minutes. Cold weather does that, I’m afraid. I offered to pull over down one of the lanes, but he’s worried a random passer-by might catch him on their phone camera having a pee in public. And he’d end up front line news on The Scottish Sun.”

“Och, nobody would have recognised him up here. But I know what it’s like in this weather. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.”

“Anyway, can we carry on this conversation later? Let’s unpack your car and then head into the warmth. It’s bloody perishing out here,” said Kieran, who only wore a thin hoodie.

Just as they had unloaded the cardboard and cooler boxes either onto kitchen surfaces or stacked on the floor, and dropped bags in the bedroom allocated to Marcus and Tom, Marcus reappeared. In the toasty warm kitchen, they settled around the long table. A pot of tea sat pride of place at one end, and Rudy led Tom to their seats and drinks—as pre-ordered. But Marcus didn’t want to sit. While the others settled and chatted, and with the help of Rudy, Marcus began his foray into the kitchen cupboards and drawers and vault-sized fridge, and especially the Aga. Which left Tom to chat with Kieran, Kennedy and a quiet Trevor. From the occasional positive noises echoing around the room, Tom assumed everything met his husband’s very high culinary standards.

“Rudy said you were in Glencoe,” said Kennedy, in a chair opposite Tom. “Was that for work or pleasure?

“Marcus wanted to meet a chef at a resort near there, a potential hire.”

“I did,” said Marcus, stopping and interrupting. “Nice bloke, and I think he might be a good fit for my Swiss Cottage restaurant if only people can understand a word he says.”

“Careful there,” said Trevor. “Not all of Rudy’s people speak the Queen’s English, you know.”

“He meant no offence, Trevor,” said Tom, feeling the need to defend his partner, as Marcus disappeared with Rudy to survey the living room. “The chef in question is a born and bred Glaswegian, and gets excited about what he does for a living, so naturally he rattles on at light speed. We both had difficulty keeping up. But Marcus loved his enthusiasm. And at the end of the day, isn’t that the most important thing?”

Finally satisfied, Marcus and Rudy returned to the kitchen, and while Rudy joined them at the table, Marcus began unpacking food and putting things away. Tom felt obliged to get up and help, but Marcus simply waved him down. Tom smirked, knowing Marcus the control freak liked to store things away himself. After some idle chatter, a natural pause descended on the table.

“Marcus.” Rudy put his mug down and appeared a touch nervous, watching Marcus kneel to the bottom of the open fridge. “I know you told us not to buy anything, so we didn’t—as instructed. But one of our guests, Nathan Fresher, used to own and run a local bakery, so he insisted on bringing a selection of his former shop’s baked goods, as well as a Christmas cake. Nothing fancy; an assortment of fresh croissants, muffins, sourdough loaves—that kind of thing. The intention was not to steal your thunder but to contribute. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Local baker, you say?” Marcus peered around the fridge door. “Baking their own produce? Of course I don’t mind. It’s everything I stand for. I brought an Old Country special for you all, a cross between a Dundee cake and a brownie, something we call a Dunbrownie. Maybe we can have that tonight with a glass of port and some of the assorted cheeses.”

“What is on the menu tonight?” Kennedy Grey had always come across as a no-nonsense kind of man. Tom wondered if his question was loaded.

“Why?” Marcus seemed alarmed. “Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed allergies? We catered your wedding, and you never mentioned any—”

“No, no,” said Kennedy, breaking into a smile and holding both palms up in defence. “Sorry, Marcus. No, allergies. I’m just curious, and, frankly, very much looking forward to sampling your culinary creations again. You see, we won’t be here tomorrow for your pièce de résistance. Need to get back to our family—the babies and my parents—for Christmas Day. So I’m just intrigued.”

“In which case, Mr Grey, I promise you won’t be disappointed, but you’ll have to wait along with everyone else to find out what I’m serving up tonight. But we’ll begin by having cocktails and canapés in the living room overlooking the loch at six-thirty. Is the floor table device working?”

Marcus had told Tom about the automatic table which formed a section of the floorboards. A feature of the original design housed in a raised part of the floor by the large bay windows, at the push of a button the floorboards rose to form a twelve-seater table.

“I’m afraid not,” said Rudy, with a sigh. “It broke down during the year, and we haven’t had the chance to get it fixed. But we can put a trestle table and tablecloth there to house your canapés.”

“Perfect. Now, it’s almost two. From three onwards, unless there’s a dire emergency, the kitchen will be off-limits to everyone except me and my little helpers; Rudy and Trevor. And especially to that adorable ginger loo brush, you call a dog.”

“Sorry guys,” said Tom, reaching down and scratching Ed’s head. “He’s not a fan of animals.”

“Hey, I happen to love animals. Just not in the kitchen, and definitely not under my feet while I’m cooking.”

“Fair point, and, frankly, a good call,” said Kennedy, grinning and peering sidelong at Kieran. “Ed’s not particularly good at taking instructions. No idea where he gets that particular trait from. Oh, and by the way, Tom. You’re in the building trade, aren’t you?”

“I most certainly am. Have been for the past twenty years.”

“In which case, can we have a private chat later on? I’ve got this little project in mind, and I’d like to pick your brains. Maybe even pass a bit of business your way.”

“With great pleasure. But I can see Marcus rapping his fingers on the kitchen sink, so maybe we’d better make ourselves scarce.”

“In which case,” said Kieran, standing up from his seat. “After we’ve placed our Secret Santa presents under the tree in the living room, me, my husband, and our ginger loo brush will take our leave and join you back in the living room at six-thirty. Kennedy, I think an afternoon nap is in order.”

“It’s okay,” Tom called out after them, once they had disappeared from the room. “Rudy tells me the rooms are well sound-proofed.”

Kieran’s laughter echoed back down the corridor which set Rudy laughing aloud, too. Grinning too, Marcus peered admonishingly at him frozen in the midst unpacking an ice-box, and even Trevor managed to snicker at Tom’s remark. Above the sound of their mirth, though, Tom made out a low rumble outside in the distance.

“Is that someone coming down the lane?” asked Tom, standing and going to peer out of the kitchen window, as the sound of a car engine drew louder.

“Wow, you’ve got amazing hearing. At a guess,” said Rudy, checking his watch “I’d say it’s Nathan, with his partner and friends. They’ve made pretty good time. Trevor, come on. Let’s go out and greet our guests properly.”

Left alone, Tom went over to the countertop where Marcus stood arranging groceries, grabbed him from behind, pulled him into himself and kissed the back of his neck. He loved the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, a gentle mix of ginger and lemon.

“Is there anything you need me to do?” asked Tom, nuzzling behind Marcus’ ear.

“I need you to stop that. Otherwise, I’m never going to get anything done. And I definitely don’t want to meet our new arrivals sporting a hard-on.”

Tom chuckled into his neck and let go.

“Doesn’t seem fair. You doing all the work.”

“You drove all the way here. You’ve done your fair share already. And there always tonight, love, when the lights go out, and when I get you all to myself. But for now, as soon as we’ve greeted the other guests, I just need you to do me one little favour?”

“Anything.”

“Go and FaceTime Moira, Katie and that errant daughter of yours. So you stop worrying tonight, and just relax and enjoy yourself.”