Page 7 of The Christmas Competition

With a humph, I placed the Santa into my trolley, along with a set of Christmas lights that flashed various primary colors. Then I paused for a second. Drew would absolutely not approve of these decorations. Should I rethink this and get myself some low-​key, tasteful, rose gold lights instead? Ones that stayed at a steady beam with no flashing whatsoever? After all, I didn’t want it to be too much.

Too much.

That was how Drew had described me when he told me he was leaving.

I had to blink a few times as a rush of emotion prickled at my eyes. No way did I want to break down crying in the decoration aisle of the garden center on a Saturday afternoon. That would set all the tongues about town wagging. Poor thing. Her first Christmas alone without her husband since he left her for being too much. Too loud. Too outspoken.

My phone began to ring, and my sister’s name flashed up on the screen. I abandoned my trolley for a moment to answer. I never ditched a call from Aisha, just in case.

“Hi, Munni. Are you okay?”

“For goodness’ sake, Baji. Why do you still panic every time I call you?”

Baji was the pet name she’d used for me since we were kids. It meant “older sister” in our dad’s native Urdu. And I called her Munni, roughly translated to English as “little girl,” or, as Dad put it—​in the Scots context—“the equivalent of wee lassie.”

I leaned against the shelving containing those movement-​sensitive decorations, then about jumped out of my skin when a snowman started an aggressive rendition of “Frosty the Snowman” right in my ear. “I’m not panicking. I’m just concerned in a big-​sisterly manner.”

Aisha humphed down the phone. “I’m calling to see how you are. And I’m fine, by the way. Just a bit tired after a fluey thing this week.”

I bristled. “Tired? Have you been to see the doctor?”

She sighed. “Baji, it’s all good. Just post-​viral, honestly.”

“Okay,” I said, aware that my voice still sounded disbelieving, but I couldn’t help it.

“Where are you?” Aisha asked me. “Why can I hear ‘Frosty the Snowman’ being sung?”

“Sorry about that,” I said, attempting to shut the evil snowman up by poking at him, but only succeeding in setting him off again. “I’m at the garden center getting Christmas decorations. I’m going to enter the town Christmas lights competition.”

Aisha let out a squeal of excitement and I had to hold the phone away from my ear in case she burst my eardrum. “Amazing! Seb is one of the judges.”

“Is he? Does that make my entry subject to bias, then, if my brother-in-law is on the judging panel?”

“Nope. He’s taking it dead seriously. If your entry isn’t up to scratch, then you’ve had it, I’m afraid.”

Aisha had married into the wealthiest and most influential family in our area. The kind of Scottish family that were so posh, they sounded English. After breaking the very tight bonds lashing her to our overprotective parents (well, overprotective toward her, anyway—​I wasn’t subject to the same treatment), she had gone off to university to study fashion and find her independence. But then after a spell away, and after ridding herself of the feeling that she was shackled to our parents and Inverglen, she had realized that she loved our little town and it was where she wanted to be. She had just needed to shake off the overprotective rule first. I often had to remind myself that I had been part of the problem back then, and I too still needed to let up on my mollycoddling.

But it was hard. I was a bit of a mollycoddler by nature. Especially when it came to my wee sister.

“Oh well. I’d rather win fair and square anyway. And sock it to Kerr grumpy-​face at the same time.”

“Ooh, what’s he done now?” Aisha said, and I could almost hear how wide her eyes were at the thought of some gossip.

“Nothing new, just the same old. But I bumped into him last night and he completely ignored me.”

“Rude.”

“Rude,” I agreed, feeling vindicated. Never mind that Aisha was my ride or die and would have agreed with whatever I said when it came to my nemesis. That was beside the point.

“Well, I for one think this is a wonderful idea. You decorate to your heart’s content, Baji. Still on for lunch and Chrimbo market next week?”

“Defo,” I said, attempting to creep away from evil Mr. Frosty without setting him off again. And failing.

“Excellent, see you then.”

“Yep. Oh, before you go, has Mum asked you about this Felix thing?”

“What Felix thing?”