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As Liz pulled the sweatshirt out, she realised that she hadn’t actually worn it since she’d split up with Paul. Touching its softness brought back a raft of sudden memories: the day she’d bought it at the American stadium; wearing it after her first miscarriage as she’d lain in bed and cried. She’d washed and washed it, but it still reminded her of Paul. Bad days and good days.
She walked back to the kitchen and handed it to Ben.
‘Here. Probably your size,’ she said, not wanting to get into a discussion about where the sweatshirt had come from. Ben didn’t ask, but took it gratefully.
‘Thanks. Look. There!’ He pointed to a corner of the garden, where there was a sudden flash of grey fur. Ben ran out to the front door, the sweatshirt half over his head. ‘Come on!’ he yelled.
Liz swore under her breath. Did she really want to go on a wild goat chase in the Scottish landscape?
Here we go,she thought, as she pulled on her walking boots and a fleece top and ran out of the cottage. She thought leaving the cottage door open was probably okay, but she grabbed her keys too and pulled the door closed after her, just to be on the safe side.
Old habits die hard,she thought as she ran after Ben. She hadn’t quite got into the rural mindset of leaving your door open all day just yet.
Ahead of her, Ben was running along the mud track that led past her cottage and up to Queen’s Point, the outcropping of rock that reached out over the loch. Legend had it that Mary, Queen of Scots had met a lover here, secretly; Liz had read that on Gretchen’s ad for the cottage when she’d found it online. She didn’t know how true it was, but it was a nice thought and added to the general romantic appeal of the cottage.
Unfortunately, that’s all wasted on me, Liz thought as she broke into a jog to catch up with Ben.I’m not here for romance.
However, she also hadn’t planned on chasing a goat through the highlands in her pyjamas, and here she was.So, I suppose that’s proof that you shouldn’t rule anything out, she thought, wryly.
Ben stopped and waved for her to catch up.
‘She went that way. Little minx. She’ll eat all the plants if we’re not careful.’ Ben pointed into another garden which belonged to the next cottage along the Point from Gretchen’s, a good few hundred yards and around a corner. Liz hadn’t said hello to the owners yet.
‘Come on. We’ll do a pincer movement and trap her.’ Liz started tiptoeing towards the side of the cottage.
‘Right.’ Ben approached the cottage, and then broke off to go to the other side of it where another gate led into a wraparound garden much bigger than Gretchen’s.
A man that Liz estimated was in his sixties opened the front door, holding a saucepan in one hand and a tea towel in the other.
‘Guid mornin’. Can I help ye?’ he asked, frowning.
‘Oh. Yes. Good morning.’ Liz broke out her best sales smile, guaranteed to charm even the most hostile of customers. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you. I’m Liz Parsons. I’m renting the next cottage down.’
‘Oh, the Ross cottage. Aye.’ The man nodded with equanimity, but his frown remained. ‘And yer sneakin’ round ma cottage because…?’
‘Look, I know it sounds mad, but my friend over there,’ she waved at Ben, who smiled uncomfortably, ‘well, the thing is, he’s lost his goat. And we just saw her go into your garden.’
‘A goat?’
‘Yes. In your garden,’ Liz repeated, wishing she was wearing real clothes and not pyjamas covered in a fleece. It was even worse that the pyjamas had cartoon cats on them.
‘I see. And ye need tae get it, I suppose.’
‘Before she eats everything. Yes.’ Liz nodded.
‘Hmm.’ The man frowned at her again, his craggy face half-covered with a thick greyish-ginger beard. Liz thought he could have stepped straight out ofLord of the Ringsor some other Norse-inspired fantasy tale – apart from the tea towel, which was slightly incongruous.
‘Hi. Look, I’m so sorry we’ve disturbed you,’ Ben joined Liz at the door, ‘it’s just that time is of the essence. Before she runs off again,’ he explained.
‘Ben Douglas. Is that ye?’ The man peered at Ben and broke into a smile. ‘Havenae seen ye up here for a while. It’s Angus McKinnon.’ He tapped his own barrel-like chest. ‘Used tae work for yer dad.’
‘Oh, hi, Angus!’ Ben nodded vigorously, and shook the man’s outstretched hand. As if by magic, the Viking’s gruff exterior changed into friendliness. ‘Yes, I remember. You were a handyman for us, weren’t you? I was away at university a lot when you were working at the distillery, I think.’
‘Aye. But I remember ye when ye came home. Always oot in the fields, up the mountains. Yer dad could never find ye tae do any work,’ the man chuckled. ‘I heard yer runnin’ things now.’
‘As best I can, yes.’ Ben smiled, but Liz could sense he was a little uncomfortable, as he always was when his father was mentioned.
‘The goat, Ben,’ Liz reminded him, under her breath.
