Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,57

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.

“Uhm,” said Konstantin. “Okay.”

“Can you put this stuff together?” said Innes.

“I can read the instructions,” said Konstantin. He looked really worried. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I might have completely messed up.”

He stared at his shoes and looked very young all of a sudden.

Innes shrugged. “Ach, you read ’em out, we’ll build it,” said Innes. “I’ll text Hamish.”

Konstantin’s face snapped up, amazed. “Really?”

“Have you never built anything?” said Innes.

Konstantin had had more than enough of “have you never” questions, so he got stuck into helping the others lift the incredibly heavy cases into the truck—the last few all hung over the back—and they headed up to the Rock, waving merrily at the ladies of the Seaside Kitchen as they passed by.

The men all met again after work, at nine when much of Mure was already asleep. They had decided to keep it a surprise, because, indeed, what was in the boxes was a genuine surprise to them, and it was becoming quite a major operation.

Charlie was joining them too, and Hamish, who was getting very excited about the welding equipment.

They started setting up in one of the Rock’s old garages, which was fully equipped with brand-new tools that had mostly never been used. Konstantin read out instructions and watched in some awe as the practical men of Mure started welding and bolting everything together, except for Joel, who was practically useless—his eyesight was horrendous—but good at holding things still.

They had to throw open the big doors of the garage as the object started to take shape. It grew bigger and bigger, but everyone was getting so excited they barely cared, even as the cold wind blew straight in off the sea. Everyone had gloves and hats on and was toiling away with stiff old-fashioned metal bolts and tiny Allen keys. It was like a vast Lego kit, and they were secretly all having a brilliant time, even as they complained about the crappy freezing weather and the bloody buggering metal bolts.

Finally, just before midnight, the team stood back. It was done. The lights from the garage didn’t show much. It was completely blocked out by the towering edifice.

“Bloody hell,” said Innes, whistling through his teeth.

“Is this really going to work?” said practical Charlie.

“It certainly cost enough,” said Joel, studying the diagrams in the instructions with some care.

“C’est énorme!” said Gaspard, coming out to have a cigarette. It was indeed, and was going to have to be held in a dug-down hole and secured with concrete, yet another thing that was news to Konstantin.

But through all the hard work he had translated, explained, made tea, even learned how to use a spanner and a wrench. The others laughed at his uselessness, but to Konstantin, learning something else new—something useful and practical—was miraculous, even if Hamish had to do everything again after he’d finished, just in case something fell off and killed someone.

Gunnar’s work was four meters tall—about thirteen feet—and when they stood back, they gasped.

What they had was a huge, beautiful, smooth-faced contemporary angel, designed in a gorgeous shiny steel. When you turned the central crank, a vast pair of wings, too wide for the garage, came out and spread for what seemed like miles. They hadn’t even plugged it in yet. It was, Konstantin couldn’t help thinking with a smile, going to blow everyone’s tiny minds.

“I’m not sure these are the fairy lights people were expecting,” said Charlie.

“Good,” said Joel, who thought it was rather fine.

“Shall we give it a shot then?” said Konstantin, pink-faced with excitement.

Joel carefully moved toward the plug socket and put in the European pin adapter. “Okay!” he said, and pressed down.

Every light went out for four square miles.

Chapter 39

Meanwhile, back on the south side of the island, where the lights were still on, in the old rectory, Saif Hussein was staring at his computer and wondering how on earth he had ever believed that he had come to Mure for a quiet life.

There was no doubt that his children were thriving here, even though that sometimes made him a little sad, that they could be Scottish now, British if they wanted, but their Syrian culture was falling away, day by day, however much he tried