Must be a newcomer.
I crossed my arms. I could feel eyes on me even if I couldn’t see them.
“It’s like something from one of those American movies,” said the man.
“Aye, I could pure murder the Hallmark channel,” muttered Maggie. “My pal lives in a village in the Cairngorms and not a year goes by without some melt turning up looking to open a guesthouse or a cupcake shop. Never mind the locals already have B&Bs and cafés. But dreamers don’t care about that. They’re so busy recreating the fantasy in their heid, they don’t care about the place or the people who already live in it. Dinnae want to get involved with what’s actually here. Then they get all affronted when no one’s welcomed them with open arms. The locals get told they’re cold and unfriendly. But who wants to be the backdrop in someone else’s movie, eh?”
She shook her head.
I took in the uneasy mood around the flower display.
“Is this the first time it’s happened here?” I asked.
She tapped her lips with her fingertips.
“It does remind me of something. God, must’ve been about twenty years ago. There used to be a playpark where the Tesco is now. It suddenly got spruced up overnight. The slide and the swing set were brightly painted, right over the rust. And there were footballs everywhere. Something felt odd about it, so no one let their kids near it. I remember my mam telling me it must have been the pixies in Doon Hill over at Aberfoyle. I told her she was being stupit, but she insisted it had happened before, during her grannie’s time. She said the minister back then had a habit of poking around Doon Hill. Said he’d met the faeries that lived inside. He must have wronged them somehow because one Sunday, the kirkyard suddenly got covered in flowers. Everyone was so busy looking at them, it took them an hour to realise the minister was lying dead inside the kirk.”
“Aberfoyle’s a little far from here,” I said.
“Eh?”
“Could it have been another hill?” I swallowed. “Closer to home?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’ll tell you what I told her: there’s no such thing as faeries. It’s just some bampot with too much time on their hands. Funny the stories we tell to try and explain something so…” her eyes scanned the display before alighting—pointedly?—on me, “…deranged.”
I broke eye contact, face flushing. Looking over the flower display I suddenly felt very glad for my earlier shyness. What would it have been like if I’d confidently sprung into my fantasies? The flower shop. The library. The gardener. I imagined the eye rolls and the awkward pauses, those small unspoken signs that I’d overstepped. I’d beaten myself up for my past hesitancy. Perhaps a little self-doubt wasn’t a bad thing.
But then who else could have done this? I imagined a shadowy figure sneaking about at night with a wheelbarrow full of clinking flower pots. Then I remembered the hanging basket swaying beside my neighbour’s door. The begonias on her windowsill. I snatched at the hope in my mind. Yes, that sounded plausible! My neighbour was the village’s volunteer gardener and had gotten up bright and early to decorate.
And maybe gone a bit overboard with it all, but that was beside the point.
She was alive. She was fine!
But then, why were the locals so surprised by it all?
And why did this cheery display feel like a haunting?
I looked over the faces along the river, trying to read the expressions I saw. I spotted more flower arrangements further down the main street. Maggie tutted and headed back into the café.
I slipped away while the other onlookers were distracted by the flowers. I skirted round the tourists and the hillwalkers, and returned to my task of looking for my neighbour.
CHAPTER 21
After a quick bacon roll at one of the other cafés—I couldn’t bear poking my head into Maggie’s after my abrupt exit the other day and the flower chat this morning—I extended my search to the back streets. I had no idea where my neighbour might be. I hadn’t found her in any of the shops and eateries along the river. She didn’t have a car, so she couldn’t have gone that far.
Eventually, I found myself peeking inside the hardware and supplies store. Perhaps she’d stopped in for more gardening supplies. What I hadn’t realised was that beyond the display of tools and sundries in the windows, was a clear view to the counter. Rowan clocked me immediately. I froze upon being seen. His face broke into a toothy smile, and he waved me in.
I shook my head.
Rowan rolled his eyes and waved me in more enthusiastically, mouthing something I couldn’t hear. I weighed up whether it would be more awkward to leave than to go in. I figured it was best to go and find out what he wanted. I might even get some info on the whereabouts of my neighbour.
The electronic bell announced my entrance.
“Sorry for just peering through the windows like a creeper.”
“Eh, don’t worry.” He chuckled. “How’s your head after last night?”
“Oh.” I put a hand to my scalp. “I think I threw most of it up on the way home.”
