‘He said your dad had a fall. Is he all right?’ A mug was passed into Martha’s hand, followed by a muttered, ‘Thanks, babe.’
‘Just a sprained ankle. Hi, Vik! How’s the new job?’ inquired Rae. She was getting rather good at finding excuses to change the subject tonight.
A muffled, ‘Hello! Good thanks!’ joined the disembodied hand waving at the camera before she and Martha were left alone again.
‘Not that new.’ An accusation serrated Martha’s tone. ‘She’s been there since March.’
Had it been that long?
‘Anyway, we’re going to be home for a few weeks in August,’ Martha said while blowing on her tea, a red colour that was likely raspberry. ‘We were going to stay at Flockhart’s, since there’s no room in Struan’s wee bothy. Will you still be here then, or am I doomed to only see you in pixels for the rest of time?’
Gingerly, Rae chewed on her lip. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried to maintain their friendship while she’d been away, but life just hadn’t stopped for long enough to really check in. When she was free, Martha was busy, and vice versa. It had been that way since Martha’s first serious relationship, long before Rae had her own mayhem to tend to.
Still, now that she was in the very bedroom where they’d had many a sleepover, a heaviness settled in her chest. She missed when it was easy, and most of all, she missed when she didn’t feel like she was the one responsible for keeping in touch just because she’d been the one to put distance between them. She wondered sometimes whether an absence because of a partner rather than her career would have been more acceptable.She’d never made it an issue when Martha forgot about her for weeks on end back in the early days of her relationship, even if that sense of abandonment still burrowed in her from time to time.
‘I’ll be here,’ Rae promised. And then, because she wanted to prove that she was willing to put the effort in, she added: ‘You don’t have to stay at the B&B. Stay with us at the farm. We have the spare room, and this place is weirdly quiet at the moment. Please?’
Martha’s sparkling blue eyes, so unlike Struan’s intense hazel, drifted to something over the camera – presumably Vik. ‘What d’you think?’
‘I’m up for it,’ Vik’s breezy voice agreed. ‘Thanks, Rae!’
‘As long as your dad doesn’t mind,’ Martha said. ‘Do you think your Gran still hates me?’
‘Not at all,’ lied Rae, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She’d figure that part out later. ‘No more than she hates everything else. Being grumpy is her life’s work. So, did Struan say anything else to you about tonight?’ She regretted asking as soon as the words left her mouth, cheeks heating as Martha frowned over her mug.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. That it was strange without you there?’ That sounded like a normal thing a person would ask, surely. It wasn’t like she expected something else, something about Struan perhaps maybe enjoying Rae’s company, or at least her food.
Martha laughed. ‘Aw, did you miss me?’
‘Of course. We had nothing else to talk about.’Liar liar, chimed her irritating conscience. ‘Anyway. Catch me up on everything. How’s St Andrews?’
That was all it took for Rae to get her best friend back. Soon, they were talking as they always had, gossiping about colleagues Rae had never met and undergrad students she certainly didn’t want to. She was glad Martha had so much to update her on; it meant Rae didn’t have to talk about herself for too long, giving her one less person to deliver her career bombshell to tonight.
By the time the call ended, it was almost eleven and Rae was ready for her pyjamas. She looked around, wishing she felt just a little bit more at home, but it was difficult with cardboard boxes piled in every corner. It was quite clear Dad had never expected this room to be lived in again, which buried her earlier kernel of doubt deeper. She’d thought Dad would be glad to have her home, but he’d only seemed disappointed that she’d resigned from Lapis.
Her temples were beginning to throb, another reason why working in the kitchen every day had become unbearable: tension headaches, like her body was trying to ensure she knew how unhappy it was, how uncomfortable. She prepared for bed with little energy left, nudging Maisy aside so that she could crawl under the soft, old duvet, still in the purple patchwork cover from her childhood. Like then, the old mattress welcomed her with a squeak.
In the darkness, thoughts of Struan returned, and she huffed impatiently to remember of all the ridiculous things she’d said and done. Thinking he wanted to hug her, airing out her problems at the dinner table,even dropping that bag of ice.
And then she thought of what he’d said about her posts on Instagram. It was only polite to follow him back now he’d pointed it out. She opened the app and typed his name into the search bar. His account came up first, since Martha and a few old school friends followed him. His handle wasStruanWanders, his profile picture displaying him windswept on a mountain peak, thumbs hooked into his belt loops and gaze cast out to the fog-cloaked hills behind him.
Most of the images were just landscapes, just as hers were shots of the cities she’d travelled to, and plates of food she’d cooked or admired. He must have been single, then. Martha likely would have told her otherwise. Wouldn’t she?
This niggling interest was highly inconvenient. Still, she followed him back, then returned to scrolling aimlessly across recent posts. Many of them were fine dining dishes or glamorous group photos from her old co-workers, and she waited for the ache that came with missing out.
It never surfaced.
What did was a message from StruanWanders. Her thumb pressed the notification far too quickly, an unbidden grin distracting her from her headache.
I’d say I’m honoured, but this feels like a pity follow.
Rae typed,I can take it back if you want.
And have you miss out on the documentation of my riveting adventures? Your loss.
I see a whopping ninety-six followers would agree, Rae said after checking his follower count.
