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At their quizzical expressions, I explained how I’d ended up here. How I’d discovered Kier’s death from his lawyer who’d apparently been given strict instructions to only notify me after the fact. How I’d just packed up my car and driven here on a whim, not really understanding why, but knowing I needed to behere. And, largely, how I needed to decide what to do with the manor.
Ruminating over my growing list of concerns made me realise that while selling would break my heart, I wasn’t sure I could afford to keep it.
“And amidst all of this,” I went on, dragging myself away from my darker thoughts,“my contract with my management company came to an end. I haven’t signed with another agency yet, so I have some time, and this feels like the perfect place to spend it.” I rushed through the bit about my career drama, hoping they would let me off the hook from going any deeper.
“Have you spoken to Mal?” Heather chirped.
I frowned.“Why would I talk to Malcolm?” Had he told her about last night?
“Because he runs the distillery, he lives in the workman’s cottage…” She trailed off at my stunned expression.“Didn’t you know?”
“I had no clue.” At least that explained why he’d broken through the kitchen window last night.Sort of.“For how long?” He’d worked at the distillery as a teen, but most of the local lads helped out to earn extra money during the summer months.
Heather squinted.“I don’t know… years.”
“Years?”
“Kier never mentioned it?” June asked. I shook my head.He didn’t mention a lot of things.
Heather sipped her tea.“No one knows that place better than Mal. If there’s a way for you to save it, he’ll find it. The distillery means so much to him.”
“I walked past this morning and found it all locked up.”
Heather chuckled.“Yeah, Mal does that, he doesn’t like people just‘dropping by.’I’m sure he’ll be relieved to see you.”
“Doubtful.” I snorted.“I ran into him last night and he was the opposite of happy, he all but told me to go back to London.”And stole my favourite bra.
Heather’s brows winged up.“He said that? It’s not like Mal to be confrontational.”
“Maybe it’s my charm.” I grinned, wiggling the arms of my sunglasses. They both giggled.
“Mal isn’t happy to see anyone, you have to worm your way into that man’s life until he doesn’t know how to live without you. Just go and talk to him, knock until he realises you’re not going away. My big grump of a brother is actually a teddy bear underneath all that beard and plaid.” She must have seen my doubt because she laughed again.“I’m dropping by to see him this afternoon, I’ll soften him up for you.”
“That might not be a bad idea.” I pulled out my phone and said,“Give me his number just in case, he might respond better to a text message.”
Heather rattled off his number and I saved it underGruffalo.“When you see him, please don’t mention my financial issues. I don’t want him to worry unnecessarily about me selling, that’s like… worst-case scenario. If I need his help it might be easier if he thinks I’m not conspiring against him.”
I could tell that Heather didn’t like the idea of lying to Mal, but after a flicker of hesitation, she agreed.“You’re probably right.”
5
MAL
Beach Baby – Bon Iver
Turning the lever with a grunt, I stood back, watching
with satisfaction as fresh water from the stream spilled quickly from the copper pipes and filled the deep metal vat. The thing covered a large portion of the malting room’s furthest wall and required the most amount of maintenance. With a metal spade, I stirred the golden grain into the liquid—a process called steeping that would significantly raise the barley’s moisture content and ready it for germination.
The beginning was always my favourite part. The anticipation of a fresh batch. A new discovery. Every single cask of whisky had a personality, a fingerprint. No cask would taste exactly as another, no matter how closely the process was replicated. And the process was a lengthy one—the malting alone would take days to complete. Forty minutes to fill the vat with water. Steep for twelve hours. Drain. Air for fourteen hours. Repeat twice more before it could be manually transferred and laid out on the malting floor to germinate.
When I’d first joined Kinleith Distillery full-time, Kier had proposed the idea of switching to pre-processed barley. It would’ve been cost-effective, and we’d get to skip the lengthy germination procedure. But had we done that, the quality would have suffered…in my opinion. You got out what you put in, and sometimes going the extra mile and sticking to the traditional methods worked.
The vat wasn’t even half full when Boy’s ears pricked up, tail whipping like a helicopter propeller. He yowled and I quickly shushed him, creeping over to the head-high box window.Myhead height, at least, not the vertically challenged April Murphy’s, because I’d used this very window to spy on her this morning when she’d rattled the door handle like she owned the place. Which she technically did.
Half of me expected to find her mass of silky red curls on the other side of the glass again. The other part of me that assumed she was already halfway back to London was unsurprised to find Callum grinning like a school boy, middle finger raised in my direction. I returned the gesture, but slid the bolt and cracked the door. Catching sight of one of his favourite humans, Boy lurched through the gap, paws meeting my brother’s jean-covered thighs and delivering excited licks over both of his hands. Used to being covered in animal saliva on a daily basis, Callum didn’t bat an eye.“Hey there, you furry terror.” His hands smoothed over Boy’s features, spreading around his eyes and checking his teeth in that clinical manner that came unconsciously to him.“How’s my best boy doing? Taking care of this old grump?” He shot me a smirk. I lifted my middle finger again, then gave him my back to check the water level.
Callum came up beside me, gave his hands a quick wash in the sink and then dipped one into the steep, cupping a handful of grain and letting it flow through his fingers.“Should be a good malt,” he observed appreciatively.“I would have helped but I had a full morning of appointments. Full day, in fact.”
