Once the produce had been piled into the boot of his car, he opened the passenger door to politely help her in, that electricity made from embarrassment still there, and something else too, something heavy and pulsating. Struan settled into the driver’s seat, unable to keep from turning to her. ‘Is everything okay with your dad?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, tugging at the seatbelt. It jammed in protest, and the way she yanked harder didn’t help much.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, be a bit nicer to her, will you?’ He leaned to help, fingers grazing over hers on the buckle. Rae jerked away, allowing him to coax the belt across her body with much more patience. They were so close he could smell toothpaste and coffee on her breath, see the most minute of freckles on her nose, hear her throat catch like a rusted key struggling to turn in a lock.
An erratic drumbeat thudded in his ears. It took him a moment to realise it was his pulse, not a percussionist busking outside.
‘I think I’ve got it from here,’ Rae whispered. ‘Thanks.’
‘You sure?’ Any excuse to stay like this for a moment longer, if not because her presence made him feel a heat he hadn’t experienced in a long time, then because he had an insatiable curiosity to knowwhy. Where had it come from? There’d never been anything between them before. Couldn’t have been. She’d been young and he’d been grieving.
And she was Martha’s friend, not his. Never his.
With that reminder sounding like warning bells, he clicked the belt into place and sat back, watching Doug cross the gravel towards the stained glass door of the farm shop on a limp. He cast them a wave, then shooed them off.
Clearing his throat, Struan reversed off the large drive, following the winding country road towards town. Lush green trees cast them in shadow against the cloud-muted sun, framing the view of the heather-speckled hills beyond. He didn’t know how anybody could give this place up; he loathed to even visit the city for a week for his training courses. The countryside shifted so drastically through the seasons that he was frightened of missing so much as a leaf falling. Though it was hot and sticky,he loved summer the most. It kept him busy, for starters, and being busy meant less time for thinking andfeeling, but it also left him nostalgic for an easier time, when his dad was still alive and Struan hadn’t seen enough of the world to really need to make sense of it. Playing in the loch and traipsing through the forests had been enough.
He almost forgot about his half-answered question, until turning the corner brought him back into the car, overgrown bramble scratching against his windows before they escaped for the main stretch of road overlooking Loch Teárlag. At this time of year, the water settled low, the undisturbed surface providing a perfect mirror image of the surrounding forest.
‘You going to say more about what’s wrong?’ he probed.
‘You spoke to Martha last night,’ Rae said instead. Always changing the subject, he’d noticed. Her thumbnail scraped over the side of her index finger, so persistent that a red callus had formed.
‘Aye, she called shortly after I left. Why?’
A shrug. ‘She wasn’t happy about me not telling her I was home yet.’
‘So, why didn’t you?’
Her attention flitted to the loch as they stopped at a red light, like she was afraid of looking at him. ‘I didn’t realise it was so urgent. I was busy.’
‘Hang on. Are you annoyed with me?’ He hadn’t meant anything by it. Martha had idly questioned why he’d been slow to return her call, and he’d told her he’d been at Sweetbriar, doing his best to sound normal because enjoying a meal cooked by her best friendwasnormal.
‘No.’ A hint of sourness laced Rae’s denial.
‘Well, that was very convincing.’
When her thumbnail dug deeper, he nudged her hand away gently. ‘Stop that. You’ll make it bleed.’
She relaxed for all of two seconds before biting the nails on her opposite hand instead.
He rolled his shoulders back in an effort to chase away the tension holding him hostage. It didn’t need to be this awkward, did it? They could be friends. They didn’t have to act like strangers just because Martha wasn’t here.
‘I think Dad resents me for having been away for so long,’ Rae confessed meekly.
Struan begrudged the traffic light for turning green at the same moment. He took seconds to figure out a reply, afraid he’d somehow say the wrong thing. He got the feeling Rae hadn’t talked to anybody else about this yet.
Still, he could imagine what Doug must have felt. He’d struggled, too, when Martha had left, then Mum. Belbarrow was a small, homely town, one that a lot of people his age seemed to want to escape. All at once, he’d looked around the tavern and found none of his old schoolmates there anymore. He hadn’t gone to uni and never considered moving away. These Highlands were the same hills Dad had loved cycling over every weekend. Abandoning them would feel a bit like forgetting.
‘It’s hard being the one left behind,’ was his eventual response. ‘Give him time.’
Rae’s posture sharpened. ‘Did Martha say something to you?’
‘About what?’ Struan frowned, glad to find the cobbled heart of Belbarrow coming into view, all colourful blue bunting and bright shopfronts.
‘About me “leaving people behind”.’
‘Hang on, that’s not what I meant—’
