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“Then the power line fell,” says McTavish, joining in.
“And hit me on the head?” I ask, amazed to have survived. It was a pretty big pole, as I recall. “Wow. I’m lucky to be alive!”
“No, no,” says Mum, shaking her head. “No, you rolled out of the way just in time. But you rolled into a tree and knocked yourself out.”
Oh.
Right.
Trust me to narrowly avoid death, only to injure myself with a tree, of all things.
Atree.
“Luckily, McTavish turned up just as it was all happening,” goes on Mum, obviously enjoying her role as narrator. “Did you know he has a Range Rover, Lexie? He was supposed to be bringing the crew back in it, but he brought us instead. He’ll have to go back for them later. The power went out when the pylon fell. The whole town’s in darkness. McTavish had to bring us here, because the main road was blocked.”
She sounds quite pleased about this; and when I clock the Emerald View branded fluffy robe she’s wearing, I understand why.
“But McTavish,” I say, trying to sit up, and wincing as pain instantly slices through my head. “I can’t be here. I’m going to have to get home. What if Jett finds out I’m here?”
“It’s okay,” says another voice, from the other side of the bed. “He already knows.”
I turn my head on the pillow, and sure enough, there he is, sitting in an armchair next to the bed, his dark green eyes watchful, and his brow creased with worry.
Jett.
Jett’s here.
“You… you’re here,” I say stupidly, wondering if the bump I’ve apparently had on the head has got me hallucinating.
“Well, yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I should be. This is my room.”
***
“What happened to Jimmy?” I ask a few minutes later. “Is he okay? The pylon thing didn’t hit him, did it?”
Mum and McTavish have left (McTavish had to tell Mum he’d open the bar for her to get her to go with him…), and Jett and I are eyeing each other warily from opposite sides of the room, me having reluctantly hauled myself up and into Mum’s empty seat as soon as she left.
This doesn’t seem like a conversation I’m going to want to have while lying down, somehow.
“Jimmy? The farmer? No, he’s fine,” says Jett, frowning. “I think he just walked home in the dark. Said he was used to it, apparently.”
I smile weakly. It doesn’t surprise me that Jimmy can see in the dark. I’m pretty sure Dracula could, too.
“And Violet? She’s not… er, here?”
I look around the room, as if I’m expecting her to be tucked under a cabinet, or hiding behind the curtains. I know it’s too much to hope that she’salsooff out somewhere getting lost in the pitch dark, but if she could at least not behere, in this room,that would be a start. I don’t expect she’d have been exactly thrilled to see me lying on Jett’s bed.
Jett’s bed.
I squirm internally, trying not to think about Violet lying here next to him. There’s absolutely no trace of her in the room, as far as I can tell — no discarded underwear, or tube of red lipstick left carelessly lying around. But, then again, other than the pile of scripts on one of the bedside tables, there’s not much sign of Jett, either. The room is tidy, and totally impersonal.
Which doesn’t, of course, mean there’s no one staying here.
Like a violet-eyed starlet, say, and her handsome beau.
“Violet’s in London,” says Jett, surprisingly. “She flew down after we finished filming today. She’s doing a profile with some magazine there.”
Of course she is. While I was fighting a farmer over a bed sheet, Violet was probably shooting the September issue forVogue.
