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He rolled his eyes. “So, go.”
“Go?” She stared at him in confusion. “I’m not going.”
“I don’t care if you do.”
The snarl sounded genuine, but Laurel reminded herself of the uncertainty that surely had to lie beneath it. “I know that,” she said as patiently as she could. “Trust me, but that’s not the answer here. I’m trying to help…”
“Whatever.”
Deep breath. Reminder that Zac had a right to be angry, and she was big enough not to take it personally. “Look,” she said, trying to sound both friendly and practical, “we have nearly three more weeks before your mum comes home, and I don’t want to struggle through them all, especially at Christmas—”
“I don’t care about Christmas.”
Which made her feel sad, because Laurel loved Christmas. And York was magical at Christmas, with the lights strung through the narrow, medieval streets, the Christmas fairs and markets, the big, bushy tree she got every year and the homemade decorations…for a second, Laurel considered going back to York. She had a spare bedroom; she and Zac could stay there until Abby returned. But even as she thought about it, she knew it wouldn’t work.
Her house was absolutely tiny and crammed with precious junk; Zac would knock into things every time he turned around. In any case, the problems she was facing with Zac would be just as present in York as they were in London—the hostility, his phone, the feeling that she couldn’t do anything right.
Yet she meant what she said. This couldn’t go on. She couldn’t let it. Something had to change.
“Look, I’m sorry I got excluded, okay?” Zac said, surprising her. “I hated that snobby school anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way.” His lip curled in a sneer as he raised his eyebrows. “So it’s cool, right?”
“No, it’s not cool. And that’s not what I meant.” She stared at him in growing frustration. “Can’t we please just…” Get along? She swallowed down the words, knowing they weren’t the right ones. Unfortunately, she had no idea which ones were. “I want things to be better,” she said a bit desperately, and Zac just rolled his eyes. Again.
Laurel watched him saunter to his room and slam the door, feeling completely powerless as well as out of her depth. Three more weeks. But Christmas…
She thought about ringing her dad up in Yorkshire, maybe even going up there for a visit, but she knew that wouldn’t work either. Her father had retired from the police force five years ago, and he took a dim view of any kind of misbehaviour, especially surly boys he’d class as juvenile delinquents.
Besides, he hadn’t spoken to Abby since before Zac’s birth, and he’d never even met his grandson, something Laurel didn’t understand but had accepted as just the way it—and he—was. Tom West was an old-school kind of father; he’d never been hands-on, never said much at all, but she’d always known he loved her. Still, Laurel didn’t think now was the time for a family reunion.
And yet the thought of staying in this modern flat, all sleek surfaces and high-tech gadgets, where she knew no one, and where Christmas couldn’t happen, made her want to scream. She couldn’t spend the holidays here. She needed to get away, and so did Zac, find some kind of fresh start, even if it was only a temporary one.
But where? Where could they go that was both comforting and different, preferably without phone signal or even Wi-Fi, somewhere they could actually get to know one another and leave all this aggro behind? Assuming they even wanted to get to know one another, which Laurel wasn’t sure she did, never mind Zac.
But, still. A second chance, even if just for a little while. A break, of sorts, for them both, while they waited out Abby’s treatment. A silver lining.
The answer, when it came, seemed so obvious Laurel was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course, she hadn’t been there since she’d been eight years old, so it was understandable that it didn’t spring immediately to mind. But it was lovely and welcoming and there was definitely no phone signal.
Orkney.
The word alone conjured up all sorts of images—midnight walks on the beach, as the sun finally began to set, and rainy afternoons by the fire playing Ludo and Chinese chequers. The salty s
ting of the wind, the air so fresh she could feel it fill her lungs, cleaning her from the inside out. Biking down narrow lanes, drippy ice cream cones by the harbour side, gulls wheeling and crying overhead, playing cards at the tiny table in Bayview Cottage’s window…magic. All of it magic.
Before she could think about all the pros and the inevitable, undoubted cons, Laurel grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, pressing the number for her Great-Aunt Eilidh, praying that she’d pick up, and more importantly, that she’d welcome two very unexpected guests for Christmas at this late date.
“Laurel? How lovely for you to ring.” Her great-aunt’s voice was as warm and welcoming as ever, filled with genuine delight at hearing from her. It had been too long, Laurel knew. It always was.
When had she last seen her aunt? Two or three years ago, at least, when Eilidh had come for a weekend in York, and before that it had probably been even longer.
“I’m afraid I’m ringing to ask you a favour,” Laurel said in apology. “A rather desperate one.”
“If I can help, I will.”
Her aunt’s certain tone made Laurel’s eyes sting. Aunt Eilidh had been lovely when she’d been younger, always welcoming her and Abby to her tiny stone cottage on the windswept island of Orkney off the north coast of Scotland.
Laurel’s mum Isla used to bring them there in the summer, two long, lazy, wonderful weeks of doing nothing much and loving every minute. Her mother had loved it too; Laurel remembered her saying they were her favourite two weeks of the year.
One summer, it had rained every day for the entire two weeks, and yet it had still felt magical. Tucked up by the fireplace in Eilidh’s cosy sitting room, with mugs of hot cocoa and endless card games…there had been no other place Laurel had wanted to be.
