“He hasn’t been in here?” said Flora, confused. Most people popped in sooner or later. It wasn’t as if Mure was falling over itself with different places to go.

“He’s a pot boy,” said Mrs. Brodie. “He must be skint.”

“Working his way round the world maybe? Student?”

“That’s an expensive coat he’s got on. And shoes.”

“Doesn’t stop people wanting to work.”

“Well, maybe scouring out all those pots will give him some proper muscles,” said Mrs. Brodie, all but licking her lips.

“Mrs. Brodie! That’s quite enough.”

Lorna came in for a coffee.

“We’re talking about who’s a ride,” said Mrs. Brodie, and Lorna looked at her without quite taking it in. Flora pulled her aside.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s been called in,” said Lorna in a low voice. They both knew what that meant. “Home Office.”

“Oh shit. What now?” said Flora, genuinely worried. Not just for Lorna, her best friend, or Saif, whom she liked very much. But she was slightly scared that he would leave the island and they’d be without the best doctor they’d ever had. It was a helicopter ride to get to the hospital; she was much happier with a baby and her father getting ever older knowing she had Saif to call on.

Lorna shrugged. “They won’t ever tell you. He has to go in.”

“Are you talking?”

She nodded. “Yes. But he doesn’t know any more than me. But he’s terrified.”

Flora patted her shoulder. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

FLORA BUNDLED UP the largest piece of gingerbread she could find, added an extra shot to Lorna’s coffee, and sent her on her way. Meanwhile the rest of the Seaside Kitchen patrons were trying desperately to pretend they weren’t still spying on what the men were doing.

“Maybe they’re landing a new car!” said one. “Maybe it’s a Christmas present for someone!”

“Who for?”

“Maybe it’s you, Flora. That rich lawyer of yours.”

Flora snorted. They absolutely did not feel rich. Joel had given up all of his lucrative practice to work for Colton’s charities and was paid to reflect that, and there had been no money to spare for maternity leave.

“It’s the lights,” she said, and everyone nodded happily.

“Already?” said Mrs. Brodie. “That’s efficient.”

“The children are going to love it,” said Mrs. MacPherson.

“And I’m going to love watching the men put them up,” said the inexhaustible Mrs. Brodie. “Oh, and that reminds me! Pay up for the Loony Dook!”

There was a lot of good-natured grumbling at that. The Loony Dook happened every Boxing Day. Two pounds to charity, then you had to run in the sea in your swimming trunks. It had become bizarrely popular, even though everyone dreaded it and there were numerous rumors of pneumonia. The Loony Dook was a tradition, and that was that.

IT WAS BOX after box, all enormous. Everyone looked at each other anxiously. There was at least a collection of typed A4 instructions as to how to put it together. Unfortunately they were all in Norwegian.