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She squirms around on the wall until she’s facing me, her brow creased with concern.
“Come on, Emerald,” she says gently. “You know you have to tell him. It’s been two days now. You can’t keep something like this from him. It’s not fair; on himoron you. Remember what happened the last time you tried to keep a secret from Jack?”
I twist my engagement ring around my finger nervously. The last time I tried to keep something from Jack (The whole Me-Not-Actually-Being-Scarlett-Like-I’d-Said-I-Was thing…), I had to be rescued from the top of Westward Tor by a helicopter. Jack’s helicopter, actually. Because he was the one who rescued me. He was the one who cared about me, even though he knew by then that I’d been lying to him. But he forgave me, and he still loved me; and that’s why I absolutely cannot make the same mistake again. That really would be the “accident” to end all accidents. And I don’tdothose; remember?
“Okay, okay,” I groan in defeat. “You’re right. I’ll tell him. As soon as I get home.”
“Good girl,” says Frankie, grinning widely. “The thing is, Emerald, you know whoever sent that message is talking shit, don’t you? You know you can trust Jack. So trust him. Then you can tackle it together.”
“Just like inTitanic,” sighs McTavish, happily.
“That Jackdiedat the end of Titanic,” I say, horrified. “It’s not the same at all, McTavish.”
“Probably no’,” says McTavish, shrugging in a way that’s not remotely reassuring. “Anyway, I best be away. Mary’s making us some mackerel for dinner.”
“But you hate mackerel,” Frankie points out. “You’re always complaining about the smell of it.”
“Aye. It makes me want tae hurl,” says McTavish, gloomily. “But Mary’s da’s a fisherman. He always brings her some back, so it’s all we ever seem to eat.”
He turns to me and gives me a short, awkward hug.
“Congratulations again, Emerald,” he says. “I’m right happy for ye. Sorry tae hear about the thing wi’ the crazed stalker, though. That’s bound tae put a bit o’ a damper on things.”
“I don’t think it’s astalker,” I reply, my head starting to throb with anxiety at the thought. “It’s just, you know, a … well, a slightly mad person who’s trying to psyche me out.”
But why, though? Why would someone want to do that to me? Or to Jack, for that matter? It just doesn’t make any sense.
“Aye,” nods McTavish. “I’m sure that’s it. Just yer garden-variety psychopath, basically. Nothin’ to worry about, I’m sure. Well, I’ll be seeing ye.”
He gives us one last wave, then heads off, like a man walking to his doom, rather than one who’s about to eat a delicious mackerel feast with his beloved girlfriend.
“I better be going, too,” says Frankie, jumping down from her seat on the wall. “I’ve still got next week’s work rota to put together. Hey,” she goes on, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting your old job back now that you’re officially about to be the lady of the manor?”
I grin weakly. When I first moved back to the Highlands, Frankie gave me a job in her cleaning firm for a while. It was how I met Jack, actually. (Don’t ask.) I had to take a step back once I started helping him out at the distillery, but Frankie told me she’d keep the job open for me, in case I ever needed it. Not that I’m going to have time for that, what with a wedding to plan and this whole Emerald View thing that Jack’s so keen for me to be involved with, though.
Which reminds me…
“Frankie, what do you think about Jack’s new development?” I ask curiously. “We never got a chance to talk about it once we got onto the engagement, and… well, thepsychopathic stalker, as McTavish would have it.”
I smile up at her, but Frankie just shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, an odd, closed look on her face.
“Och, I’m not the best person to ask about business, Emerald,” she says, fiddling with her hair again. “You know that.”
“You literally run your own business,” I say. “You made it to the finals of the Heather Bay Small Business of the Year Awards just last month.”
“I was robbed at that,” Frankie says fiercely. “There’s no way Jimmy’s stupid jackets for sheep deserved first place.”
“They’re Thneeds, not jackets. But that’s beside the point. What about Emerald View?”
“It’s… a nice name? Oh, look, Emerald, I don’t know,” she says, sounding frustrated. “It’s just—”
“Just…?”
“Wasn’t McTavish hoping to buy that piece of land at some point?” Frankie says, speaking as if the words are being pulled out of her against their will. “Didn’t it used to be part of his farm or something?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply, frowning. “Jack said it was part of the Buchanan estate, back in the day. His grandad owned it. He says a lot about his grandad, though, to be honest. Maybe I’ve got that bit wrong?”
“Maybe.” Frankie looks doubtful. “Or maybe I have. It’s just… well, you weren’t here when they built the cabins down by the loch; you know, where Scarlett lives?”
