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That would probably be the safest bet.
It would also be the most depressing, though, let’s face it. Lexie Steele does notwallow. Well, notmuch, anyway. And, if nothing else, at least a walk in the woods will give me something to do while I’m waiting for… well, whatever happens next, I suppose.
And what is that, I wonder?
What am I going to do with my life now that I have no job, and no Jett?
I feel the anxiety start to spiral. If I let it continue, it’ll be out of control before I know it, so I pick up the phone and dial a taxi — a real one this time, not McTavish.
I’m going back to the woods.
***
I really wish I hadn’t come back to the woods.
It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s thankfully not dark yet, like it was yesterday, but trudging through a muddy forest still isn’t my idea of a good time, and no one’s going to change my mind about that.
I need to find the car keys, though, so I can give the car back to McTavish, so I trudge determinedly on, retracing the routeMum and I took yesterday, and hoping I’m not going to find Old Jimmy waiting for me at the end of the trail again.
Naturally, then, that’s exactly who I find.
Well, notexactly.
If it wasjustJimmy, that would be one thing.
It’s not, though.
It’s Jimmy, and Bella, and Tam, and… it’s basically the entire village, okay? Well, a couple of dozen of them, at least. And they’re all up here on the hillside, with banners and placards, and at least two sheep, both of whom are wearing neon yellow jackets with the words, “We hate Macbeth” on the sides of them. Which is very unfair to William Shakespeare, really. The Bard would be gutted to know that Edna and Pauline aren’t fans of his work.
It looks like Jimmy was as good as his word, then, when he said he’d be back today with reinforcements. He’s standing near the front of the crowd, holding one end of the banner he had yesterday — which is now covered in a selection of muddy footprints, thanks to me — while Mike-the-dentist clutches the other.
They’re all gathered at roughly the site of yesterday’s accident; but whereas yesterday there were lights, and crew members, and forklift trucks buzzing around behind them, today the clearing is empty; the ground churned up, and the electricity pole still lying forlornly on its side, as if it’s given up on life. Behind it, a brand new one stands triumphantly among the trees, presumably the reason for the power coming back on again this morning.
“Quick, there’s somebody coming!” yells someone as I approach. As one, the assembled villagers burst into a chant. “Jett Carter, go home!” they shout in unison. “Ya bawbag!” adds Jimmy excitedly.
“Wait!” yells Tam, who drives the village’s one and only bus. “It’s just Lexie! False alarm! Stand down, men. And women. And sheep.”
There’s a murmur of disappointment as I reach the little group, and, one by one, the protesters realize it really is “just Lexie,” and not someone more important — or even more interesting. As well as Jimmy’s trusty bed sheet, they’re carrying a motley collection of other banners and home-made signs. “CANCEL MACBETH” says one of them. “HE WAS A SHITE KING, ANYWAY.” Someone else is carrying a pitchfork.
An actualpitchfork.
“Have ye come to join us, Lexie?” says Bella McGowan, stepping forward eagerly. “Would ye like to borrow a banner?”
I look at her reprovingly. Bella used to be the headteacher at Heather Bay Primary School, and she’s also the head of the Community Council and Gala Committee. I’d have thought better of her.
“I’m not here to join your protest, Bella,” I tell her. “And I’m surprised you are, actually. I thought you were happy about the movie filming here? Didn’t you say it would create a lot of buzz about the place?”
“Aye, Lexie, I did,” she says earnestly. “But this isnae the kind o’ ‘buzz’ we want.”
She points accusingly at the felled power line, which seems to shrivel slightly under her gaze.
“I was in the middle o’ making a wedding cake when this happened,” she says. “Pure havoc it caused. And Archie Taylor’s tropical fish could’ve frozen to death without the heater for their tank.”
“I nearly crashed into the library when the street lights went out,” says someone from behind her. Within seconds, everyone present is listing the terrible events that occurred in Heather Bay on The Night The Lights Went Out. I can already tell it’s goingto do down in local history, alongside The Time Emerald Taylor Burned Down the Town Hall.
That one was technicallymyfault, though.
And so isthis, come to think of it. If I hadn’t been fighting with Jimmy, the driver of that forklift would’ve been paying attention to his driving, so the pole would never have fallen. Then the electricity would have stayed on, Mum and I would have gone home, and I wouldn’t have bumped my head.
