Fergus interrupted him before he could finish.
“Your new pal is a gullible one.”
“What?” Rowan frowned.
“I just told her the old my-not-mum-called-me-from-downstairs urban legend and she believed me. Have you never heard that one before, pal?”
Rowan rolled his eyes. “Ferg—”
“What?” Fergus grinned horribly. “You know what these tourists are like. They all think we believe in fairies and goblins, like we’re fucking idiots.”
I turned and wordlessly walked for the exit.
“Tamsin—”
Rowan’s voice followed me out the door, just audible over the screaming blood in my ears.
CHAPTER 34
I stumbled down onto the main street, focusing my gaze on the pavement, my head abuzz with that high ringing. Cars and people passed me as if in a dream, fast flashes of colour and faraway sound. The whole world was drowned out by that dreadful high whine. I tucked my chin down into my chest and tried to avoid any eye contact, any hint that something was wrong, any chance of being noticed at all. I clenched and released my fists, trying to shake off the growing inferno shuddering through my limbs. To shake off the thoughts of violence from my seething mind.
I marched alongside the river. My reflection refracted and jerked on the rushing water like a glitching screen.
Moving here had been a mistake. What an idiot I’d been, thinking I could get a quiet, rural life, flitting about in the background of village fetes, becoming a regular at the local pub. My gut turned in on itself. Forget the old man, forget my neighbour! I would go back to the house and pack my things and leave today. Fuck the smashed windscreen. I’d knock it out myself if I had to. Then I’d drive to the nearest train station, report the car to whatever garage was close enough and have them take it. For parts, for scrap, I didn’t care. I couldn’t go back to Edinburgh. Not after everything. I’d get to the nearest town and pay for a hotel room on my credit card and figure out what to do after that. The only thing that mattered right now was that I was leaving.
That’s right. Run away again. Coward.
“Fuck you,” I hissed at my thoughts. “Why are you never on my side?”
Oh God, I’d said that out loud. Fine, whatever.
I suddenly became aware of Viv, the barmaid—no, landlady—a simple sweatshirt with one neon pink zebra in the centre of it today—sashaying over to me from Maggie’s Café.
“Hullo, hen, did you get your scarf back?”
I kept walking.
“Not my scarf.”
Viv kept pace with me.
“Yes, it is. You were wearing it in the pub last night.” She searched my face for a moment. “Oh, have you changed your hair?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Viv shook her head, slowing down. “Sorry, hen. I must have mistaken you for someone else. Though I swear I’ve seen your sister. You look uncannily like—”
I briefly heard the giggles of the Grayson girls in my memory. My dad pushing them on the swings.
“I don’t have any sisters,” I said sharply.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I really thought you were someone else.”
I pulled away from her. Why had I thought I’d be any different in the country than I was in Edinburgh? Why had I thought it would be easier out here where I couldn’t hide among the crowds? Why couldn’t I just be normal? What was wrong with me?
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I barely noticed the calls from across the road.
“Alright, pal? Wet your knickers again?”
