Rae shrank in her seat. ‘I didn’t tell him about the wedding plans. I didn’t expect he’d get that angry, though.’ She nudged her sunglasses down. ‘Anyway, no more drama. I want to hear about you and your wife. Sorcha, is it?’
When Cam spoke about her family, it was the first time Rae had seen her soften, and she leaned her head against her palm to listen contently. Soon, they were giggling like old friends, the world blurring around Rae so she no longer had to think about it.
She felt a glimmer of hope that Belbarrow could still be her home, even if things had changed. Even if Dad let the farm go. Even if he lethergo.
Then again, maybe that was just the wine talking.
The night crawled in at the same drunken pace as Rae, who staggered out of her cab and up the narrow country lane towards the farm. She wanted a moment to clear her head and possibly throw up again before she got home,hoping that Dad might not catch her if she could tread a little quieter.
‘Shhh,’ she instructed her trainers when they began to grind through the gravel, then giggled when she tiptoed into a wheelie bin. Keeping up with Cam and her steel alcohol tolerance had been near impossible, even after they’d shared a gigantic tray of cheesy chips between them, and now she was paying the price.
At least she’d had fun. She’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
With the golden glow of the lamp bleeding through the living room window, she wobbled her way through the back garden, nudging inside the patio door quickly. Roderick greeted her with a meow, but clearly she had a hidden talent for stealth, because Maisy and Milly were nowhere to be seen. She did, however, hear more than one voice emanating from the living room, and one of them wasn’t Gran’s. She frowned. Who would be here at this time?
‘Shhhhhhh,’ she instructed Roderick, then crept down the hallway to peer into the front room.
She wished she hadn’t. Through the crack in the ajar door, she saw Dad inspecting Myra Milligan’s mouth with his own, like he was trying to…kissher. She covered her face quickly as she fell back into the banister on the stairs.
‘No! Eyes! Burning!’
‘Rae?’ Dad called over the sound of Myra’s gasp.
‘Nope. Not here. Going now!’
‘Rae—’
‘Enjoy your night!’ She dashed out of the front door and closed it before Roderick could escape, zigzagging back the way she’d come.She stopped as soon as the house was out of sight, bile burning the back of her throat for more reasons than just the wine.
She hadn’t seen Dad kissing anyone since Mum, and now he was fondling Myra in the front room as though it was the most natural thing in the world. How much of his life had she missed? How much didn’t he talk to her about?
She bent over, afraid she was about to retch in the honeysuckles – but all that came out was a sob. He hadn’t told her. No wonder he didn’t want her here. He had a life without her, one she had no place in now.
She covered her mouth with her hands and carried on back down the lane. She didn’t know where she would go, only that she needed to calm down, sober up, before she went back.
Ifshe went back.
Maybe it would have been better for everyone if she’d stayed away completely.
17
Struan had been staring at his phone for several hours. Usually, he’d be out in the hills at all hours, permanently on call at this time of year, but it seemed that mountain bikers and hikers were being more cautious than usual.
That left him bored in the stuffy dimness of his not-really-house.
He’d tried to reset with a cold shower, which had turned into something slightly less innocent as memories of Rae plagued him, just as they had every day and night since last weekend. Worse now he’d seen her again, which shouldn’t have been the case. They’d acted like normal, civilised humans. Hadn’t tried to kiss each other. Fine, there had been a few lingering looks between them, and that playful banter hadn’t been lost, but there was no reason why Struan should still be obsessing over trivial things, like how her fingers moved when she scribbled in that notepad, and the pretty summer skirt hugging her hips.
He’d have to chalk it up to his otherwise uneventful sex life. It had been almost a year since he’d last been inside anyone, and he missed that feeling of connection, even if it had only ever been physical.
He huffed. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to ask her whether she was still stuck on it, too, or whether she was already over their brief fling – even if she had already made the answer clear. He opened Instagram to take his mind off it, app loading slowly thanks to the poor Wi-Fi signal up here. Martha had posted a new photograph of her and Vik on the dunes of West Sands Beach. One of his volunteer mates was bragging about his motorbike again. Harper had announced her pregnancy with an image of her and Fraser dangling a tiny onesie that said,Our Next Chapter, which he left a celebratory emoji on.
Everybody had something to show for themselves. Everybody but him. Yes, he loved his job, but there was nowhere left to go from here. He’d live and die in these mountains, which would be lovely if not for the fact that he’d do it all alone.
His attention caught on the sight of Rae’s profile picture, a headshot of her in her chef’s uniform. She’d posted a new story. He clicked it embarrassingly quickly, grinning at the video of her and Cam, of all people, wailing ‘Mr. Brightside’ into a wine bottle. She was an adorable drunk, confidently singing the wrong words about opening up ‘your evil mice’ while Cam draped an arm around her shoulder. One of her dress straps had fallen off in the process, displaying sunburnt shoulders and tan lines.
You made up then?he typed, hesitating before he clicked send.
Then, he absolutely did not wait for several minutes, glued to their previous conversation as he wedged his arm between his pillow and head.
