Once Finlay got the message that this was all right, he kissed a little harder, a creature sound escaping from his chest.
Murray scooped his arm around his back, holding him fast, the other, above Finlay’s bruised shoulder, cupped his face; a sensation Finlay had thought he’d never experience again in his lifetime.
A thumb brushed at his cheekbone as Murray kissed into him, deeper, better, all thoughts suspended until they were breathless and gaping at one another, open-eyed on the doormat, wondering at what had just happened.
‘Are you OK?’ Murray was asking through the fog.
‘You kissed me,’ Finlay told him stupidly.
Murray’s mouth, still so close, broke into a hazy smile. ‘And I’ll come back and kiss you again, if you’ll let me.’
Finlay nodded, stepping reluctantly away, keeping Murray’s hand in his until the last moment, when the bolt was slipped, the door prised open, and the pair of them stood blinking at the early-afternoon light, amazed there was still a world outside their bubble.
Murray shouldered Finlay’s book bag. ‘See you after the weekend, yeah?’
Finlay could only nod, speechless. He watched as Murray walked down the little path to the gap in the low stone wall, turning right for the long path to town.
Suddenly, Murray stopped and looked back with a huge grin.
The muscles in Finlay’s core ached at the sight, hoping he’d come running back, changing his mind, shouting to hell with town.
Murray whistled once, and Nell, who’d been sleeping on the hearthrug, sprang up and ran out of the door after her master.
Every fibre in Finlay’s body had answered that whistle too, like iron filings yanked to attention by the magnetic Murray McIntyre, and yet he closed the door, having watched the two head down the path together.
He took himself back to the table where they’d eaten lunch, astonished at how a tiny cottage cruive, barely bigger than a shepherd’s hut, could suddenly feel so utterly vast and empty.
41
There was trouble at the repair shed this lunch time, and it was all Jolyon’s fault. Or that’s what Shell was maintaining as she cried in her mum’s arms out on the gravel drive.
‘But he brought you a packet of pink wafers today,’ Livvie was saying. ‘And he’s missed playing with you so much. Don’t you think you can forgive him?’
Shell, with tears welling in the way they only can for tiny aggrieved girls who have been done a massive injustice, shook her bunches.
‘We were doing the Stickle Bricks,’ she said, ‘which I don’t mind because he’s littler,’ another big breath and a sob, ‘and I told him he could sit on my blanket if he really wanted to…’
‘That was nice of you,’ said Livvie, wiping away her daughter’s tears only for more to fall.
‘And the next thing, he’s walking around with it, cuddling it!’
‘Oh, Shell.’ Her mum pulled her closer. ‘I think we might have to leave blankie at home, if this is going to keep happening?’
‘No! I can’t!’
Now it really was serious. Shell was gasping for air.
‘OK, OK, we’ll think of something,’ Livvie soothed. ‘Do you maybe want to… not see Jolyon for a wee while?’
‘No!’ Shell howled. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘OK, got it,’ said Livvie, glancing across the carpark to where a similar scene was playing out between Jolyon and Mhairi, and there was only a few minutes left of Shell’s school lunch break to sort it all out. She’d have to get her back there before the bell rang at one.
Only Mhairi, who hadn’t heard Shell defending her fledgling friendship, wasn’t feeling quite so hopeful as Livvie that they could find a way around this problem. In fact, she was ready to get Jolly back in the car and leave.
This morning, they’d gone along to the first of the long-awaited referrals, made by Dr Hargreave for Jolyon, and Mhairi had watched as the occupational therapist, who had been lovely – though that hadn’t made Jolly’s long appointment any less gruelling for him – put him through test after test, watching him play and do puzzles and hold a pen and make marks, and asking him to move around the room in certain ways, making him lie down and manipulating his joints this way and that.
Mhairi had found it tough, and she was only watching. So when it was all over she’d thought it might be nice to pop in to the repair shop and see if there was anyone around to play with on a Wednesday afternoon, underestimating how dysregulated and tired her son was, and the unexpected sight of his best friend in all the world had resulted in a great burst of enthusiasm, followed by a fast decline into sleepiness and so, when he’d innocently reached, yet again, for the blanket that was so precious to poor little Shell, the result had been one big crying match, and now this.
