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Beyond done, I didn’t spare any thought to the rain. I jumped from the vehicle, hoping against all odds that whoever was last to visit the estate had thought to leave the gates unlocked. I gave a hard push and almost wept with exhausted joy when it swung wide.
The early May evening was uncommonly balmy, yet my teeth still chattered on the bumpy ride down the trail to the manor. I winced as I inched along the dirt road, every groove and pothole putting my city car’s suspension under serious strain.
“You got it, baby, you got it,” I purred, rubbing the dashboard lovingly. Soon enough, the track opened to a wide gravel driveway; the ancient oak I’d broken my arm falling out of sat in its very centre like nature’s roundabout. Then there was the manor. The home of four generations of Murphys, the very same wind-torn saltire flag whipping from the slate roof’s singular turret. Two stories built in Victorian-inspired style stood proud, its stone having faded to a light sand colour over the years. The large lower-floor windows were almost entirely concealed by thick green ivy snaking around its structure like squeezing limbs.
I felt my mouth gape. In my years away I’d forgotten the true scale of the manor, its astronomical size eaten away by memories of cosy Christmases in the family room. Of the flapjack and lemon drizzle cake my grandmother, Elsie, baked every Sunday. It had felt normal then, my very own playground set on eight acres of land.
Perhaps it was the darkened windows, or the knowledge that not a single soul waited inside for my return that made it feel too big for one person. I pictured Kier rattling around those deserted rooms in the last days of his life and hated myself a little bit more. I should have been here. Should have known something was wrong.
Parking directly out front, I retrieved Dudley first before he could gnaw off one of his three remaining paws, transferring him from his pet carrier to his sling and settling his weight across my body. I could return for my bags once I had him settled.
“What do you think of your new home, buddy? It’s very different from our flat in London, you’ll have all this room to run around and we can walk down to the beach every morning.” He gave my chin an excited lick, likely to collect any remnants of the sad sandwich I’d eaten on the ferry rather than in reaction to my words.
Scaling the steps to the front entrance, I gave the brass handle set on peeling paint a twist.
Locked. Well, that snookered that plan.
Stupid of me to think I’d find the front door unlocked—even if in life Kier had zero regard for home safety—but I’d left London in a wee bit of a rush. Tilting my head back, I measured the distance between the trellis and the second-story window with the broken latch and calculated the speed with which a human could fall fifty feet and walk away unscathed.
Dudley wiggled impatiently.“All right, all right, I’m thinking! No one can feed you if I’m dead. You’ll be forced into a life in the wild, eating rats and rabbits too weak to outrun you.”
Deciding against the second story, I skirted the exterior, ignoring the pebbled path that led to the old whisky distillery my great-grandfather had built almost seventy years ago. I circled around to the kitchen window at the back of the property, smiling when I spotted the ancient wood frame, for once relieved Kier hadn’t seen the benefit in home improvement. Given the right amount of pressure, the pane should slide right up.
Climbing into the flower bed that at one time bore my grandmother’s favourite hydrangeas, I ignored the squelch of wet mud and the crime it was committing against my white trainers and pushed.“Come on,come on—” Teeth gritted, I pushed harder, bending my knees and pressing my shoulder against the frame until I heard it groan.“Just open, you little bitch.”
It popped with so much force I stumbled back, mud splattering up my bare thighs.“See,” I said to Dudley,“easy peasy.” Wiping my damp hands on my denim shorts, I stared into the dim kitchen that looked exactly as I remembered, all exposed bricks and beams—country-chic, asHouse & Gardenwould say. Except, this was actually just country and old. I swung my leg over the ledge as I called out to Dudley.“I’ve got skills you’ve never seen, buddy.”
And that was how I tore the crack of my shorts breaking into my deceased grandfather’s home.
I repeat:Julia Roberts never had to deal with this shit.
After dropping the final bin liner from my car at thefootofthe stairs, I shed my soaked clothes for the first long T-shirt I could find and proceeded to hang my damp lingerie along the radiator in the kitchen to dry. Keeping my eyes on the task of spreading out the delicate lace material, I balled up my favourite denim shorts that couldn’t be saved and tossed them in the bin beneath the kitchen sink. I didn’t dare glance at the empty sofas in the far end of what served as a kitchen and family room, where the ghosts of my family waited.
My grandmother, Elsie, knitting in her chair before the fire, so real I could almost smell the soot. I could hear her leaping to her feet, demanding Kier strip off his work overalls the moment he stepped through the door for dinner. Could see the grin Kier flashed at me that only grew more boyish as he aged, ruffling my tangled curls as he asked,“Good day at school, wee birdie?” Even my mother was there on the short stretches she cared to visit. Not cut out for the life of a young single mother, she’d spent the majority of my childhood working as a cruise ship entertainer. Back then I thought it was the most glamorous job I’d ever heard of and I’d badger her for stories until she buried her nose between the pages of a magazine. So much love and hurt had existed within these walls. All of it gone in the blink of an eye. My phone buzzed on the counter suddenly, drawing me from my hollow memories.
Guessing the caller, I didn’t even look at the screen before answering.“You got my message,” I said without preamble.
“April, please tell me this is a joke. One of those stupid pranks you like to play.” Sydney was my roommate and one of the few friends I had in London. I could hear through the line that her voice was more nasally than usual, which I knew meant she was still wearing her anti-snore nose clip. As a fellow andcurrentlymore successful actress, she was busy shooting her first feature film in Toronto.
“That was once and the pee cleaned right up!” I replied, for what had to be the hundredth time. The singular occasion in our eleven years of friendship I’d ever played a prank on her and she never let me forget it.
“Ihatepranks.”
“I know.” Boy, had I learned that the hard way. Our first week living together at the tender age of twenty, it’d felt like a rite of passage to throw my fellow wannabe-actress roomie a“welcome to the apartment” prank. Cling film on the toilet seat was classic and hilarious. Or so I’d thought.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Well?”
“Well…please tell me you haven’t lost your mind and gone to Scotland!”
“Why would I tell you that when you already know I have? My message literally said‘gone to Scotland for a while, not sure when I’ll be back.’”
“I was hoping your phone had been stolen… or you’d been kidnapped.” I laughed, running my finger through a line of dust on the window sill. Rain still poured, obstructing my view of the grassy bank and steep path that led down to the beach cove.“Have you been kidnapped? You hear about that sort of thing up there.”
“In Scotland?”
“Exactly.”
