Chapter 16
16
TWO DAYS AFTER I LEFT HER
The great outdoors. I feel like a cartoon: head down, shopping bags buffeting out behind me, heavy coat, thick hat.
By the time I shoulder-barge my way through the wind and make it to the narrow path leading to the cottage, I feel like I’ve been battered. Deep-fried. Crispy on the outside, a soggy mess on the inside. I drag myself and my shopping to the cottage, the key rattling in the lock before I’m finally through the door. I lean my back against it. The shopping bags at my feet. My heart feels like it’s jack-hammering into my ribcage.
It was just one trip into town, but the loss of Liv and everything I have sacrificed pierces through each second that I’m away from her, through every one-word answer I gave.
New to town?
Yep.
Staying long?
No. A shake of the head and eyes focused on the money in my hand.
Cash.
Not a debit card, actual cash. It really is like I’ve stepped into the setting of a Famous Five book. But without the other four. Famous One… what a sad state of affairs.
The warmth of the cottage is making my cheeks flush. Cold sweat runs down my spine. I unbutton my jacket and sling it on the back of the sofa.
The sun is streaming through the windows in the kitchen as I begin to unpack. I flick on the radio, twisting the dial, an actual dial, until I find a station that isn’t fizzing, that isn’t Easter bunny-hopping onto another station, and begin unpacking the shopping.
I tread carefully across the paddock. Mac has his back to me and is emptying some kind of fodder into a tin trough. I clear my throat. Mac straightens.
‘Thought you could do with an Irish coffee?’ I say, offering the mug, with a double shot of whisky inside. Mac’s thick eyebrows narrow but then relax.
‘Nice of you,’ he says, taking a deep swig of his drink. He holds it in his mouth, his eyes widening and his Adam’s apple seemingly lodged in his throat before dropping with what looks like great difficulty.
I take a sip of my own drink in case I have accidentally added something I shouldn’t have, but it tastes as it should: half-decent coffee, well… as decent as you can get without an espresso machine, whisky that was mid-price, not the cheap stuff, and full-fat milk. Liv would always insist on it: Life’s too short to spend your life drinking half of anything.
Mac looks into the mug and swirls it around a bit. His gaze flicks from the mug and back again. He seems lost in his own thoughts .
‘Feeding the sheep?’ I ask.
Mac takes another swig of his drink, swallowing it with difficulty again before placing the mug onto a tree stump with a nod.
‘Can I… do you want some help?’ I ask.
Beneath the beard, I can see the hint of a smirk.
‘I’m not busy. But’ – I shrug – ‘I guess you have your own…’
‘You can take this.’ He lands a bag filled with something that looks like the middle of a liquorice allsorts next to me. ‘Head up to the second field, past the third gate. Second turning on the left.’
‘Second field, second left… third gate. Got it.’
‘Aye.’ I can see a smile twitching beneath the beard. I find myself questioning if the stories about him are true. Connor McDonald is a liar, of that I’m sure. But, on first impressions, he doesn’t strike me as the type of man to destroy someone’s life.
So why did he?
‘Right.’ I shift the bag against my chest and carry it back through the paddock and out toward the second field.
I’m no closer to finding the answers I need, but if feeding sheep is what it takes to get the truth out of him, then feeding sheep is what I’ll do.