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Whisky casks were piled three-high on wooden stilts. The new product was on rotation in the front and some as old as forty years sat maturing in the very back of the warehouse. Stalking down the row, I ran a palm over the roughened wood.“Sad,” I grunted below my breath, gripping a single cask and rolling its weight a quarter-turn, all the while hearing April’s brilliant laugh from the night before. I didn’t think I’d seen her sad a day in her life.
I was fourteen years old the first time I truly took note of April. Dragged by my mother to the yearly Christmas fair, I spent the entire evening crawling out of my skin. There were too many people, too much chatter. Christmas music blared and the heat from the hideous knitted jumper she’d forced us all to wear made me light-headed. When the concert began, I was relieved by the darkness. My mum performed with her church choir; a mixture of traditional hymns ending with an energetic rendition of“Rudolf, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” complete with a dance routine that had everyone around the town hall laughing. Just when I’d thoughtfinally, we can leave, a twelve-year-old April took to the stage dressed in a long, old-fashioned nightdress, red curls barely contained in a thick braid down her back. I recognised her of course, Kinleith was a village of a few hundred people. But other than being my wee sister’s friend, I’d never really registered her presence until she walked confidently out onto that stage as though in a daze. Sleepwalking, I realised. She was pretending to sleepwalk.
Confused murmurs passed through the audience. April paid them no mind and fell to her knees, scrubbing red-stained hands together and crying,“Out, damn spot! Out, I say!” The entire village—including me—had watched, utterly rapt, as she transformed into Lady Macbeth with blood on her hands. To this day, I had no idea if the performance was actually good. I remembered thinking it was bloody odd and a little out of place when she’d fallen to her knees and wept beside the cradle of baby Jesus, the Rudolf song still ringing in our ears. But I’d also been in awe. The thought of standing before those people—talkingin front of them—left me in a cold sweat. But for April? Those few minutes she’d shone brighter than the sun, and I’d known even then that a person like her was too big for a place like this.
My thoughts went to Kier next, how suddenly frail he’d become toward the end, how he’d barely had enough energy to drag himself out of bed in the morning, let alone wash and dress himself. I remembered the way his lower lip trembled when he spoke of her, refusing to meet my eye when he admitted he wouldn’t ask her to come home again because she had better things to do than take care of an old man like him.
So, no. April Murphy had no right to be sad.
6
APRIL
Invisible String – Taylor Swift
Igot my first acting gig at nineteen years old. An advert for a frozen food company that never even made it to television. It was while leaving the small filming studio—which turned out to be nothing more than a taped-up green screen in a run-down London office block—that I bumped into Aaron Williams. He was a talent manager who, after seeing my audition, invited me for a meeting at his agency. When I thought back on that starry-eyed teenager, clutching Aaron Williams’s business card to her chest the entire tube ride home like she’d won a golden ticket, I didn’t feel anything. Not fury or regret. The man who’d started my career had ultimately been the one to end it, and it held a poetic kind of irony the sick part of me could appreciate.
I recalled the confidence I’d felt all those years ago as I approached the distillery for the second morning in a row. It was so early, the morning fog hadn’t yet cleared the clifftop. Whirls of white cloud gave the land an ethereal atmosphere, like you could stumble upon a fairy sunbathing atop a lily pad.
Approaching the door, I prepared myself by envisioning I was on a red carpet wearing Vera Wang instead of my mud-stained trainers. I knocked loudly and waited.When no answer came, I knocked again, knuckles rattling against the thick wood. I’d spotted what could only be Mal’s Land Rover on my morning walk—I knew he was in there. This time, I would get more than two words in with Malcolm Macabe and charm him like I did everyone else.
With Dudley tucked against my chest in his sling, I balanced a thermos of coffee and lemon muffins I’d whipped up last night while bingeing episodes ofGrey’s Anatomyin one hand.
Some might say manipulation was afoot, I called it bringing out the big guns. If he didn’t like my muffins, I had a dozen more of Elsie’s recipes to get through; cherry scones, blueberry cheesecake, coffee and walnut cake. I had nothing but time and endless bags of sugar.
A dog barked on the other side of the door followed by a hissed,“Quiet.” Then silence.
Oh, hell no. My fist met the wood again, knocking in quick succession like an annoying little woodpecker.“Malcolm, I can hear you,” I called, still knocking,“I can do this all day.” My pounding fist sped until the wood gave way and I drew back just quick enough to avoid thumping him in the chest.
Malcolm appeared harried, hair flattened on one side and rumpled on the other, like he’d rolled straight out of bed. I also begrudgingly noted that he looked sort of beautiful in the morning light. Or he would, if it weren’t for the tight scowl scoring deep lines across his forehead. I was certain his mouth was also twisted in displeasure, but it was hidden beneath the thick beard I wanted to graze my fingers across. He wore more plaid; today’s was faded red with a frayed hem, sleeves pushed up past his elbows and a white T-shirt beneath, already spattered with black marks. I wondered if his clothes always looked this way, worn and dirtied from hard work. I wasn’t usually a rough-and-tumble, plaid-and-denim kind of girl, but Malcolm wore it like a second skin. It made me conscious of the straight-leg trousers and high-neck blouse I wore.
Ignoring his obvious annoyance, I thrust the plate of muffins at him and flashed my most award-winning smile.“Why, good morning, Malcolm. Muffin?”
He didn’t even look at it.“I’m allergic to dairy.” At his heel, his golden retriever attempted to burrow through the minuscule gap between him and the door. Mal batted him back with a soft hand.
“Then I think Heather might be trying to kill you, because she said they’re your favourite.”
“Seems to be the theme of the week,” he said and his gaze lowered, taking in Dudley strapped across my chest.“What the hell is that thing?”
I assumed he didn’t mean the dog, so I answered,“A dog sling.”
I could have sworn he mutteredridiculousbeneath his breath. Then louder,“Does the wee guy not have legs?” Sarcasm. Definite sarcasm.
“He has a strict sleep schedule and doesn’t fully wake up until eleven,” I joked. He rolled his eyes like it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. That was fine, if he needed me to play the ditzy little actress with her dog in a bag, I’d do just that. Wiggling the plate, I smiled again, showing my entire top row of teeth.“Are you going to take a muffin?”
“I already ate.”
“Oh… well, can I come in?” I started to peer around the door and his hand came up, gripping the frame.
“No.”
“Why?”
He sighed.“I’m busy.”
“Perhaps I can help, I wore my most comfortable flats.”
His gaze cut down my body, taking in my clothing. The assessment didn’t feel positive or negative, more affirming.“No.” He started to close the door but I caught it with my foot.
