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Zac looked at him in alarmed confusion. “My breeks?”
“Your trousers, lad, your trousers! Come on, I’ll see you sorted.” Archie clapped a friendly arm around Zac’s shoulders as Laurel watched, caught between concern an
d amusement. What had she let Zac in for? Archie turned back to Laurel with a grin and a wink. “See you efter!”
“Efter…?” Laurel repeated. He was definitely putting it on, at least a little bit. She watched them disappear into the house, the dogs slinking in after, before she climbed back into the Rover and headed for Kirkwall to do some Christmas shopping.
It was lovely to be on her own, but Laurel couldn’t quite let herself relax as she wondered how Zac was coping. She hadn’t even given Archie her mobile number, not that it would work, but still, it suddenly seemed like a rather foolhardy thing to do, to just drop her nephew off with someone she barely knew.
Except… she did know Archie. She’d confided more in him than she had even in one of her best friends, like Helen or Soha. She hadn’t told either of them, or anyone else, just how hurt she’d been by Abby’s departure from her life. So why had she told Archie? Why did she trust him so much?
Because, she knew, he was eminently trustworthy, no matter about the small circumstance of pointing a gun at her on their first meeting. He was kind, and he was honourable, and maybe, just maybe, a day with him would turn Zac around… or make her nephew ring Childline. Either, Laurel supposed, was possible.
Twenty minutes later, she’d parked the car and was happily strolling down Kirkwall’s pedestrianised Albert Street, a cheerful thoroughfare with an eclectic and interesting mix of independent shops.
Laurel loved nothing more than window shopping or leisurely browsing, and she did both as she meandered in and out of shops, picking up a few more things for Zac’s stocking—a pair of socks with sheep on them, some clotted cream fudge. At a jewellery shop showcasing local artists, she found a beautiful Celtic cross necklace wrought in silver, and on impulse she bought it for Abby, hoping she’d have the chance to give her sister the gift.
Then she wondered if she should get something for Archie, considering he was—maybe, sort of—spending Christmas with her and Zac, and also as a thank you for all he’d done. Laurel bought a Mary Berry cookbook specialising in cakes, happy with her purchase, at least until she saw the sky-blue men’s jumper in the window of a wool shop. It was gorgeous, and almost the exact colour of Archie’s eyes, which was a little disconcerting to realise she knew that. She thought of the jumper he’d worn today that was more holes than not, and decided to buy it, although afterward she wondered if it was too much, too personal.
She’d pass it off as joke, Laurel decided, and say something about how much he needed a jumper. Still, she felt a little nervous about giving him two gifts when he almost certainly wasn’t going to give her anything.
With her shopping done, she treated herself to a toasted sandwich and hot chocolate in a cosy tearoom, enjoying simply sitting and sipping as she people-watched, although after about an hour she felt a surprising twinge of loneliness.
Laurel was used to being on her own. She had been single all her adult life, save for a few casual boyfriends that had sadly never made it past the fourth or fifth date. Her friends said she was too picky; Laurel preferred the word discerning. In any case, she’d usually been the one to end it, simply because she hadn’t seen it going anywhere. But it meant that she’d learned to be happy in her own company, and didn’t need other people for amusement.
Yet, right then, as she sipped her hot chocolate and watched a family laugh and chatter about their Christmas plans at the table next to her, she felt it again. That twinge, the emotional equivalent of a toothache. She wanted something—someone—but she didn’t even know who, or what.
Abby? Her dad? A mythical husband as well as a couple of kids? Maybe just her cat Mistral, sitting on her lap and purring as loudly as a car motor. Something. Someone.
Laurel sat there for a moment, that empty feeling whistling through her. She’d always wanted to meet Mr Right, of course, but this felt like something else. Something deeper. A need, an ache, and one that wasn’t going to go away on its own. She finished her hot chocolate and went to pay at the till, deciding she’d had enough introspective melancholy for one morning. She needed to go to the Tesco Superstore and buy the ingredients for the shepherd’s pie she was planning to bring to Archie’s that evening.
As she was leaving the café, she noticed a corkboard with notices pinned on it and spent a few minutes browsing the offerings—a knitting circle, a cinema club, a veg box scheme, a music class for parents and toddlers. Orkney had a lot going on, Laurel mused, before she read a brightly-coloured poster for a ceilidh in the waterfront hotel in Stromness in three days’ time, just before Christmas. That would be fun to go to… if she could cajole Zac to such a thing.
*
Several hours later, after a food shop, a much-needed nap, and an hour in the kitchen cooking, Laurel was heading back over to Archie’s, the Rover bumping down the rutted track as she eyed the foil-covered casserole dish on the passenger seat. She definitely did not want to spill gravy onto Abby’s posh leather seats.
It was only half past five but the sun had long since set as Laurel parked in the farmyard, warm light spilling from the kitchen windows. She felt a mix of apprehension and curiosity as she got out of the car, setting off a chorus of barking from inside the house.
She’d just taken the shepherd’s pie from the passenger seat when Archie opened the kitchen door. He was dressed in his usually holey jumper and jeans, his hair sticking up in several directions, a big toe sticking out of a hole in his thick wool socks.
“You’re right on time,” he called to her as one of the dogs stuck its head out from behind him and started sniffing. “We’re just having a brew.”
“How was it?” Laurel asked as he stepped aside and she came into the kitchen, which was as bright and warm and messy as ever.
“It was all right,” Archie said. “Shall I take that?” He liberated the shepherd’s pie from her grasp and put it on top of the Aga. Laurel blinked at the sight of Zac lounging at the kitchen table, cradling a huge mug of tea. Was that her nephew? His hair was sticking up as much as Archie’s, all artful traces of gel gone. He wore a waffle-weave shirt in dark green and a pair of jeans that were far from his usual look, which was to make it seem as if his trousers had been affixed to his limbs with super glue.
“Hey,” he said, and Laurel blinked at him several times before she found her voice.
“Hey. How was it?”
Zac shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“He did all right,” Archie pronounced, giving Zac a bone-jolting clap on his back. “The lad did all right.”
Laurel watched in disbelief as Zac’s mouth quirked in a tiny smile. Had he actually enjoyed mucking out barns for the day?
“That’s great,” she murmured, and accepting a mug of tea from Archie, she sat down at the table. “The shepherd’s pie just needs warming up,” she told him. “We can eat whenever you like.”
