There were four figures on that tag! And that was before the decimal point as well. My hand retracted as if the price had physically burned me. I don’t know what the going price for rugs was, but that seemed excessive. Especially for second-hand. Maybe it was a size thing. I looked at the price of the next rug down. My eyes felt like they popped out of my skull. How was this one more expensive? It was smaller.
I eyed the rest of the rugs lined up against the wall. With growing dread, I began to suspect that they were all out of my price range. I also began to realise that I might have mixed up the rules of antiques shops with those for charity shops. Or ‘shoppes’ for that matter. Maybe these were those tourist prices Rowan had talked about. Though I couldn’t imagine many tourists buying a rug on their way through to the Highlands.
There had to be a cheaper option.
I doublechecked the curtained doorway—still no sign of the sullen-faced-man—then I got out my phone.
I typed the name of the most memorable home décor site I could think of into my browser. I checked ‘products.’ No rugs section. I sighed. ‘Decorative items?’ No, just umpteen candles in jars. ‘Textiles’ then. Cushions. Curtains. Tablecloths. Rugs! Two thousand results. The first page alone had twenty more or less identical looking ivory-coloured mid-pile rugs. Inoffensive. Would go with anything. I felt my mouth pull to the side. I checked the ‘style’ filter. My choices were Traditional, Geometric and Abstract. What the hell was a ‘traditional’ rug? One that goes on the floor, I hoped. Would an abstract rug be a metaphysical rug, then? Here, let us sell you the concept of a rug. Geometric, well, I supposed that would be square or rectangle or circle. I’d never seen a triangle rug before. Suddenly I wanted one. I searched for a triangle rug and found five hundred options with tessellated triangles over them in sad shades of white and grey.
“Do you need a hand or something?”
I nearly threw my phone into the air.
The sullen-faced man was at my shoulder, looking at my screen. My cheeks throbbed with embarrassment. Oh no, he’d seen me browsing online for cheaper versions of his stock. Oh shit. Oh fuck. I thrust my phone into my pocket.
“No. No, no, no,” I said. “I’m alright, thanks. Just browsing.”
A cruel little smirk hitched up the side of his mouth. “You should check one of the bigger supermarkets just outside Glasgow. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
My pulse suddenly thrummed in my ears. All embarrassment leaving me on a hot wave of indignation.
Did this fucker just call me cheap?
Arse. Face like a slapped arse. Should slap his slapped-arse face. Slap his slapped-arse face!
I bit back the insults boiling up my throat and plucked up the closest—and smallest—rug within reach.
“Actually, I’d like to buy this rug. Please.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You don’t have to—”
“No. Please. I wish to buy this rug.”
He furrowed his brows at me a moment. There was that evaluating look again. Just like the one Rowan had given me. Then he shrugged and said, “Alright, fine.”
I followed him back to the front room where he rung it up, jabbing each key on the ancient till like it had personally wronged him. I hid my flinch at the total and handed over my bank card.
He paused a moment, shook his head then put the payment through.
“I’ll write you a receipt,” he said.
“No-thank-you-don’t-need-one.” It slipped out of my mouth quicker than my good sense could tell me, steady on! Normally I would have chickened out by now. Well, that was the old me.
I snatched my bank card from his fingers and left the ‘shoppe’, rug clutched under my arm.
Once I’d walked a few feet away, I checked what exactly I’d bought. It was fluffy and cream. A sheepskin. Not terrible. Though I was doubly sure I could have bought it cheaper from the big supermarket the sullen-faced man had suggested.
I then realised I hadn’t asked about delivery. Tonight was the meet-up at the pub. I could hardly walk around town with a rug under my arm all day, let alone take it out for drinks with me. I looked at Bodach’s Brig and the road back out of town. My shoulders drooped. I would have to walk all the way home to drop off the rug and then walk all the way back.
Good work, genius! You chose the most inconvenient moment to have a backbone.
I shifted the rug under my arm and started the long walk home.
CHAPTER 13
The walk back took longer than the walk in. I had to keep stopping every few feet to readjust my grip on the rug. Despite being the smallest one, it was still that awkward size that was just too big to be carried under one arm. It always needed an extra hand to keep it from slipping down. I had to keep switching positions—over my shoulder, under my armpit, pressed against my hip—all the way back to the cottage.
