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I explained my situation with the small fox family I’d inherited. She didn’t look surprised or confused, she just grinned and said,“Wait there, I have just the thing,” and raced into the backroom in a flurry. I had a sneaking suspicion that Jasmine and I would become great friends.
10
MAL
Pretty Lips – Winehouse
Later, I would wonder how exactly I’d found myself in this situation. Today was not that day. I didn’t have room for it.
It was almost two weeks since April’s arrival and I’d become so in tune to her comings and goings. I knew she walked her dog around seven on weekdays before she came down to the distillery, and around nine on weekends. I’d also deduced from the lingering cobwebs of sleep still clinging to her posture that her morning walks were the first thing she did after rolling out of bed. So I’d foolishly—foolishly—assumed it was safe to begin using the kitchen in the manor again, so long as I was quiet.
Two days in a row now, I’d left the manor feeling like my head was on back to front. On Sunday morning, instead of approaching the back entrance to find the kitchen dark and empty as I expected, I found April. Standing on the top step outside the wide open kitchen doors that faced the bank, she sipped her coffee with her eyes closed.
I could have left, she hadn’t seen me approach. I took one step of retreat, then caught sight of what she was wearing. Dwarfing her short frame was a cumbersome floral dressing gown made from a shiny blue material. And on her feet, a pair of slouchy knit socks. It was a monstrosity. A million miles from those colourful little jackets and shorts she insisted on wearing every day. I was certain Granny Macabe was buried in something similar.
Opening her eyes, she startled at the sight of me.“Malcolm.” Her cheeks turned the same pink as her lips and she straightened, running a hand over the neck of the gown, clearly embarrassed to be caught looking anything less than perfect. It was the first time I’d ever seen her embarrassed about anything.“What are you doing here?”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t have, even if I’d wanted to. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose shone in the slow expanse of morning. Pinks, oranges, and reds setting her ablaze, far more stunning than the view she gazed at. It shouldn’t have been sexy. What she wore categorically shouldnothave been sexy. But—hell—it was. The way it cinched at her waist then split around her bare thigh as she shifted from foot to foot.
I’d done a good job up to this point of not being attracted to her. I mean, I’d always been attracted to her, but in a safe,hypotheticalway. A“never gonna happen” kind of way. Looking at April now, I remembered all too easily why she was my first crush. My only crush, really.
As a teen, I’d catch her staring at me while I worked summers at the distillery, my clothes would become too tight, my face feeling like it might melt under her attention. But I knew with certainty it never meant anything on her end, even when she’d join me for lunch on the bank. We wouldn’t talk. She would read one of her romance books and I’d pretend to read whatever I’d dug out of the village library that week.
April was lively, exuberant. If she liked someone, she didn’t stop talking to them. She didn’t act that way with me. I didn’t even let myself imagine it. A boy who could barely look his own siblings in the eye would never attract a girl like April Murphy.
She must have caught where my eyes had strayed because she cinched the knot on her dressing gown more tightly.“I’m sorry, Malcolm, I usually save my more scandalous attire for my overnight guests.”Did she have overnight guests?
“What are you doing here?” she asked again. Not rudely, but surprised—as though I’d drawn an invisibleDo Not Crossboundary line down the middle of the estate.
I straightened, focusing on the wine-red coils at her temples.“The cottage doesn’t have a proper kitchen… Kier always let me use the manor’s. If it’s a problem—”
“No. Of course not.” She stepped aside to let me pass her on the stairs. Not far enough because I caught the hint of vanilla in her coffee.
I went about my business, cooking the eggs I’d brought with me on the stove as the dogs lingered at my heel, hoping I dropped scraps. It would have been polite to offer her breakfast, but I couldn’t push the words past my lips. As I was plating up my food, she spoke over her shoulder without turning from the horizon.“It’s so pretty here in the morning, so peaceful. I’d forgotten.”
“What’s a view compared to endless beauty salons and nightlife, right? You must be desperate to return to London.” I’d spoken without thinking, but knew there was truth to it. Skye wouldn’t satisfy her for long. It’s why she’d left in the first place after all.
“Why do you always do that?” It was the most heat I’d ever heard in her voice.
“Do what?”
She looked at me.“Twist every word out of my mouth until it becomes an insult.” I left without eating my eggs. Set the plate down and strolled right by her without a word.Real fucking mature.
That was yesterday, and when she didn’t show up at her usual time of nine o’clock today, I paced around the dunnage like a bull in a cage before eventually deciding to wander up to the manor for a drink—and maybe to check on her. I called Boy now, moving quickly. She liked to walk down to the cove from the path at the bank; it was steep with lots of rocks jutting from the grass. She might have hurt herself. My thoughts spiralled on the walk over, ready to face all manner of situations.Blood and broken limbs.The manor sitting empty because she’d taken my words from yesterday to heart and left without a word. I practically took the kitchen door off its hinges, stumbling over myself to get inside.
And there she was, in the very centre of the family space wearing some stretchy little trousers, her heart-shaped arse in the air.Yoga. She was late because of yoga. I didn’t even notice my sister until I stumbled to a stop and banged my knee hard on the kitchen island. She panted out a laugh.“Okay there, brother? You’re looking a little peaked.”
I knew my face was flaming, knew I looked like an absolute idiot. So I barked,“You’re late.”
April dropped onto her knees, rubbing at her face and neck with a small towel.“You said there was no point in me being there on mornings you clean out the dunnage because I get in the way.” I had said that.
“Right.”Dammit.“Well, I’m bottling this afternoon if you want to help.”
“Really?” Her features practically lit up.
She always looked this way, like a semi-pulsing live wire lived beneath her skin. Every job I set her she completed with enthusiasm—even the horrible ones. She asked insightful questions and never seemed bored at the technical details that would have others checking out. I couldn’t decide if it was fake, she was an award-winning actress after all. Her excitement always felt a little too much for me to handle because deep down, I craved it. I wanted it to be real.
“I can’t remember the last time I tasted Kier’s whisky,” she said, then laughed, her eyes glistening pools of jade as she turned to Heather.“Actually, I can! Do you remember Andrew Taylor’s beach party?”
