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MAL
This Is Me Trying – Taylor Swift
“Hmm, tae the right a bit a’think—no left, back tae the left…left!” I grunted under the weight, shifting the solid oak cabinet to the left a fraction of an inch.“The right again…Perfect! Aye, that’s just perfect.” Jessica Brown, proprietor of Brown’s Coffee & Cakes, clapped her hands together and hummed in appreciation.
I’d shifted the heavier-than-it-looked oak cabinet all of a metre, from one side of the glass case that displayed said cakes to the other, because Jessica claimed her homemade jam could be seen better from the street at this angle. It made no difference in my mind, but Brown’s was an institution around these parts, so when Jessica asked for help, you damn well offered if you wanted to remain a reputable customer. And… I didn’t like the idea of her moving heavy items alone.
Wiping the evidence of the muggy morning from my brow and taking in the mess I’d unveiled, I glanced around the small café that had graced the village of Kinleith for over three decades. Where the cabinet had previously stood, the greying linoleum shone a bright white beneath a fine layer of dust balls, old till receipts, and what I would go to my death bed praying were chocolate chips. Better to get that cleaned away before food standards paid a surprise visit, I thought.
“Do you have a broom?” I asked her as she flitted behind the counter. Jessica appeared a decade younger than her seventy-six years and hadn’t let the double hip replacement she’d undergone slow her down. She flicked the power back on, her blue rinse shining under the overhead lights I’d switched over to LEDs just last month. It would save her a ton on electricity bills when the long winter hit.
“Yer a good egg, Mal,” she said, handing over the small broom. Feeling the familiar burn in the tips of my ears, I dropped into a crouch, gathering up the mess as she continued to chatter.
“Speaking of bad eggs…”Were we?“How’s that brother of yer’s doing?”
“You probably see Callum more than I do,” I grunted. His sweet tooth was even bigger than mine.
“Fae nae more than a flying visit, he’s always too busy tae chat.”
I grunted again, binning the pan of dust and receipts that dated back to two thousand and two and sliding the tables and chairs into their usual spots.
This was why Jessica made the list of very few people I could stand to be around, she talked and talked without ever expecting a response. There wasn’t the expectation of reciprocation that had me sweating and seeing black spots until I could make a beeline for the nearest exit. A well-placed grunt here, a nod there, and she’d recall to the rest of my meddling family all about theamazingconversation we’d shared. This was all my necessary socialising for the week right here.
“Did I tell ye my granddaughter always fancied him? Yer ken ma granddaughter, Maggie?’Tis a shame she doesnae live closer, the girl had tae move aw the way tae Glasgow, all but shaved her heid an dyed it pink, she has.” She tutted.“’Tis about time Callum settled down wi’a nice, local girl. Wi’a good job like his, it seems selfish not tae.”
I refrained from saying that“a nice, local girl” would bore my brother to tears and diplomatically answered,“He’s already married to his job.”
She wagged a slightly crooked finger at me.“That boy will look up one day an realise he’s old an ugly wi’nae hairline tae be seen an wish he’d found himself a wife.”
I didn’t disagree with that statement, mostly because I enjoyed the image of my charming big brother, who’d never stumbled a day in his life, losing that precious head of hair. I also couldn’t help but notice she didn’t inquire aboutmylove life, as though at just thirty-two, I was already cursed to a lifetime of cooking far too much pasta for one person. The heat in my ears spread until I felt it engulf my entire face and my thumbs began the same old restless path, sweeping back and forth over the tips of my other digits. The jingling of the bell above the door announced the first customer of the day, providing the perfect cover for my exit.
“That’s me, Jessica.” I shouldered my bag and set down the bottle of whisky I dropped off every two weeks for her husband Angus. As polite societal customs suggested, I nodded in the newcomer’s general direction without pausing to put a name to the face and stepped onto the sun-soaked high street, freedom within my reach—
“Wait. Ye’ve forgotten yer payment.”
My shoulders inched higher.“I told you last time, I don’t need payment.”
“Yer off yer heid lad, now take it.” She spun me with surprising strength, slapping a wedge of Victoria sponge cake into my empty palm. Jam and buttercream icing oozed between my fingers as a stray strawberry landed beside my boot.“Now, off wi’ye.”
Straight in the hand, every time.
Bringing the cake to my lips, I cut right down the high street in the direction of the small village car park. The cobbled path sloped down toward the harbour where seagulls squawked and dove in the distance, gearing up for a busy day of stealing ice-cream cones from unsuspecting holiday-makers. Recently hung bunting for the upcoming summer season whipped in the morning breeze like dozens of miniature kites. It wasn’t even nine, yet the street was already teeming with movement. Locals greeted one another, wiping down windows and propping open doors to the array of small businesses along the half-mile stretch. Sleepy-eyed tourists sought out breakfast and posed for pictures alongside the quaint buildings painted the multitude of colours that Kinleith had become famous for.The rainbow walk, as it was better known to many. The name was even starting to catch on with the residents.
Dropping my head and cutting around a group of giggling girls posing with matching peace signs before the bright-pink nail salon, I swallowed the final bite of cake, licking the icing from my sticky fingers as tension crawled along my neck. I hated this time of year, hated the crowds and the noise and the damage to our countryside that came with it. I understood the benefits of tourism for the local community, didn’t mean I had to like it.
The second my old Land Rover came into view I pulled the keys from my pocket, pressure easing a fraction. Fast asleep, my golden retriever, Boy, took up the entire length of the back seat, exactly where I’d left him fifteen minutes earlier.“Christ,” I swore, covering my nose and mouth as I settled behind the wheel. Despite all four cracked windows, he’d still managed to turn the small cab into a dutch oven.“We’re going to have to reevaluate your diet, wee man.” My dog rolled on his back and farted again in answer.
Backing out of the space, I started the short drive to the Sheep’s Heid pub, already reciting the words I would say to the owner, Ian, like a living script.Last delivery of the day, I reminded myself. One more stop and I could get back to the distillery—back to my cottage.
I had a routine that I stuck to religiously. Whisky deliveries once a week. Groceries twice. Takeout from Brown’s every other afternoon. Small social interactions I forced because otherwise I’d barricade myself behind my cottage walls, never to be seen or heard from again.
It was Kier who’d enjoyed this part of the job, Kier who handled the product-selling and the socialising, while I did the grunt work. As he’d grown sicker, the responsibility had fallen to me more and more, and while our small circle of customers remained loyal, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was letting him down in some way. That every time I stuttered through a product delivery, or ignored a late payment I couldn’t afford to ignore simply because I hated confrontation, I was failing.
I knew what people here thought of me.The grump. The recluse.This village was both a blessing and a curse. Home, and yet I could never bring myself to feel quite at home in it.
Sure, I felt at home in my cottage with Boy, with Kier, and sometimes my siblings. But it didn’t stop that rush of relief I felt when they left and the solitude I strived for surrounded me like a warm, non-judgemental blanket. Small communities stuck together, but they also had a penchant for gossip and judgement, should people not act in a way they found palatable.
It had never bothered me, until now.
