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“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Laurel exclaimed. And here she’d been going on, as if she was the only one with some tragedy in her life. Of course she wasn’t. No one was.
“I was eight. Same age as you when you lost your mam. It’s not easy.”
“No.”
“Wasn’t easy for my mam, either. She folded up after Allen died—like she just couldn’t see the point of anything anymore. She left when I was ten, headed down south somewhere. Didn’t keep in touch, a bit like your Abby.”
“Oh.” Laurel’s mouth dropped open. Now she felt really terrible. Archie had spoken so matter-of-factly, but what he’d said was truly devastating, even more so than what she’d gone through. “I’m so sorry, that’s awful…”
He shrugged. “It was what it was. My dad and I rubbed along as best as we could… he’s in a nursing home now, in Kirkwall. Dementia.” He gave a little grimace, and Laurel saw the grief in his eyes even though he still seemed cheerful, in his pragmatic, slightly brusque way.
“Still. Here I am, wittering on about my problems, when you’ve got ones of your own…”
“It’s nae like that. One person’s problems don’t cancel out another’s. Right now, for you, it’s hard. Nothing changes that.”
“Right.” Still, she felt badly. Like a big complainer compared to Archie’s cheerful stoicism. She never would have guessed he’d had so many sorrows in his life. “I just want Christmas to be a bit magical,” she confessed. “I’ve always loved it.” She glanced around the room, noting the lack of Christmas decorations. Did he even have a tree? “What about you? What are you doing for Christmas?”
Archie shrugged. “The usual, I expect. Lunch at the nursing home with my dad.”
“Oh.” That sounded both lovely and depressing. “Well,” she said impulsively, perhaps because of the whisky, “if you want to come over to Eilidh’s after…” She trailed off, unsure what exactly she was inviting him to. A second Christmas dinner? A carol singalong? “For company,” she finished a bit lamely. “Or pudding. Or…” Something.
A smile creased Archie’s face. “I might do,” he said with a nod. “I just might do.”
Laurel smiled, grateful that he had a way of making everything feel easy. Comfortable. Even though he’d nearly shot her upon their first meeting. “Well.” She rose from the table, her head spinning from the movement. Two wee drams might have been one and a half too many, at least. “Thank you for the whisky. And for listening. And fixing the Rayburn. And the firewood…” The list seemed to go on and on. Laurel let out a wobbly laugh. “What would I do without you
?” she said, meaning for it to be a joke, except it sounded far too serious. And she was holding his gaze like… she didn’t even know what.
Look away, she commanded herself. Look away, before it gets far too awkward. She didn’t. For some reason she couldn’t. They stared at each other, Archie with his kindly smile, Laurel looking possibly crazed or at least far too intent.
“Good thing you don’t have to find out,” Archie finally said, breaking the expectant silence. He cleared his throat. “I’d offer to drive you home, but what with the whisky…”
“No, I’ll be fine,” Laurel said quickly, although in fact she could semi-see herself ending up in a ditch. “Don’t worry, please. You’ve done so much. Really, you have.” She was officially babbling. “Thank you,” she added as she reached for her coat. “Thank you so much.”
“Anytime.” He helped her on with her coat when she fumbled with the sleeves, and Laurel let out a little nervous laugh as she missed the sleeve not once, twice, but three times. He must know she was halfway to being drunk. A good Scot like him, he could surely hold his liquor. He’d probably had whisky in his baby bottle, or at least on his gums when he was teething. Hadn’t she heard about that from somewhere? Eilidh, maybe?
“All right there?” Archie asked, humour in his voice, as she finally, thankfully found the sleeve. Her head was still spinning, and she was feeling, she didn’t even know, strange.
“Yes, all right. Sorry…” She turned to give him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and realised she was far too close, her shoulder hitting him in the chest. “Sorry…” She pressed one hand flat against his chest to back up, and then realised belatedly that she was practically manhandling him. Time to end this now. “I’m going now. Really.”
“All right.”
“See you… later.” Who knew when? With a flutter of her fingers she opened the back door and hurried, half-stumbling into the night.
The cold air had a thankfully sobering effect, and as she crossed the courtyard she felt the dizzying effects of the whisky trickle away, leaving her clear-headed and cringing. How much of a complete ninny had she made of herself—and why?
Archie MacDougall was about as far from Mr Darcy’s brooding inscrutability as it was possible to get, not that she was even comparing them for whatever reason. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be. She could never, ever think of Archie MacDougall, of all people, with his brogue and his plus fours and his sticky-up hair, like that. She was sensible enough to know she wasn’t waiting for a real Mr Darcy, but Archie? No. Just, no.
Why not?
Those two treacherous words slipped into her mind and Laurel pushed them away. Not a question she intended to ask, much less answer.
With that firmly decided in her mind—obviously—Laurel strode across the paddock, the sheep’s protesting bleats making her jump, shrouded as they were in darkness. They sounded awfully loud, and she wondered how close they were. Did sheep ever attack? Rams had horns, didn’t they? Did they use them?
Thankfully she made it through the paddock unscathed, without so much as a twisted ankle or a scraped knee, and came through the back door of Bayview Cottage with a sigh of relief. The sight of the Christmas tree made her smile until she remembered how Zac had walked out on her hoped-for happy evening. Was he still moping upstairs in his bedroom? Could she redeem this evening with him somehow?
She went to check, feeling guilty for having left in the first place, even if he was all of fourteen.
But when she tapped on his bedroom door she received no response, and when she called out and then opened the door a crack, all she got was more silence. Zac wasn’t there.
