In the morning she would jolt awake before her alarm and find herself still gripping the browning core of the fruit she didn’t remember eating, black pips spilled on her white sheets, and she’d promise herself, again, that today would be different.
Today she’d be well, because this was supposed to be her re-set Highland hideaway.
13
Murray could think of better things to do with his Saturday morning, like sleeping until the very last minute before the repair shop opened, for instance. Or, if he was really letting himself dream, and since the clouds had cleared and the sky was a bright, cold blue, he could take a train to Aberdeen or Inverness, find some good coffee, browse the higher-end stores, check out the new tech – which he was hopelessly out of touch with since leaving Zurich. He may not know a lot about fixing the latest devices but he sure missed treating himself to them.
He blew out a long sigh which turned to white vapour in the crisp morning air. It was probably for the best he was stuck with this errand, given the way his savings were dwindling after paying his share of the bills and groceries at the mill house these last six months. He couldn’t have his parents paying for everything, even if they told him they didn’t mind and – this they’d said especially pointedly – he really should save his money to buy his ticket back to Switzerland.
Volunteering was all very well as a way of helping out his parents but it didn’t pay a penny, and in truth there was very little for him to actually do now that his funding bids were secured and the shed extension was well underway. He knew he couldn’t hide behind that desk every repair Saturday forever.
He stamped the warmth back into his feet, waiting, not all that patiently, at the roadside for his ride.
Even this garden project he’d been lumbered with – which hadn’t been his idea but the surgery’s – felt like a pastime and not his real purpose in life, whatever that might be now that his career in the global environmental charity sector had hit a wall.
Murray could really do with a day to himself for some sort-out-your-life admin, but here he was waiting for a lift to the garden centre, of all places, and he’d have to make small talk for at least a couple of hours with Finlay Morlich. Not a prospect he relished.
He stepped onto the road so he could peer down the high street. Barely any cars were on the move yet, despite the dry clear morning, and none of them were heading towards the dead-end of the high street where the semi-scaffolded repair shed rose above the McIntyre mill house plot. Theirs was the very last building on this side of town and, with the shed yet to open for the day, Saturday strollers would turn down the leafy riverside path before even coming within sight of their walled boundary. People only came to the repair shed if they wanted something, or someone.
‘Goedemorgan!’ called a deep, heart-stalling voice accompanied by approaching footsteps. Kurt came into view. He was wearing an orange and black patterned jacket which only he could possibly look good in.
‘There you are!’ he said, stopping before Murray who was trying to feign absolute coolness at his unexpected appearance.
‘You’re not working already, are you?’ was the best Murray could come up with, and it was met with a laugh and those blue eyes shining.
‘No, silly. I am here early to ask you out. Do you want to go out?’
How can anyone on the planet be this direct or this confident? It was bewildering. It was faintly terrifying too.
‘You meanoutout? With me?’
Kurt’s smile only broadened. ‘Of course. Why not?’
‘Well…’ Murray couldn’t think of a reason to say no. ‘Where?’
‘Anywhere you like.’
Nothing he said would put Kurt off now. They were going out and that was that.
‘There’s not a lot of places to go around here, except the ski slope bar. It’s a sort of nightclub.’
‘The Ptarmigan? I know it. Tonight?’
‘Oh!’ That felt alarmingly soon. ‘I’m busy,’ he lied.
‘Next Saturday?’ Kurt was nothing if not determined. ‘At nine?’
Murray felt his face heating. ‘Sure.’
Suddenly, there was the ranger truck pulling up, its electric engine totally silent, while Kurt was pressing his hands into his pockets, winging his arms in a happy shrug. ‘Good. So, see you.’
Out of nowhere, and before Murray knew what was happening, Kurt swooped a pillowy kiss directly onto his cheekbone. The effect was alarmingly, meltingly incredible.
The builder was gone in an instant, bouncing along the pavement, all tallness and warmth, leaving Murray face to face through the driver’s side window with a stone-faced Finlay staring hard at him.
Murray fought hard to regain his balance from the impact of being enthusiastically, unexpectedly kissed in public. Any soul-soaring feelings would have to wait until he could unpack them later over a call with his sister.
Finlay didn’t return Murray’s half-hearted wave; his hands looked clamped to the steering wheel with white-knuckle tightness.
