Chapter Twenty-One
Brann
B rann threw some mince into a pan for the bolognese. The smell made him queasy, but it wasn’t the cause. Ever since he’d left the boathouse, his head had been full of worries. Was Ophelia ok? Sure, she could look after herself, but he was uneasy after that little idiot showing up earlier. Part of him had wanted to hang about until she got back, but he didn’t know where she was or how long she’d be. None of it was really his business. But he cared. He cared so hard it made his chest want to split open. Even though he hated himself for feeling this way, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He ran his fingers through his hair, still damp from the shower. If he went back to check on her, he ran the risk of being as creepy as that little dick. He could always text her… Something cheeky would do the trick.
The landline rang, making him jump. That phone hardly ever rang these days.
‘Have you switched your mobile off?’ Caitlin’s voice rang out as soon as Brann lifted it.
‘No.’ Brann went to feel his back pocket. But he’d changed into sweatpants after his shower, so it was probably in his work jeans. ‘Why?’
‘I texted you ages ago asking if you could give me a lift to Martha’s party tomorrow. It’s in Perth and we’re meeting for shopping and lunch first, but the bus times are like really bad.’
‘Yeah, sure I could. What time?’
‘Can we leave about eleven?’ she said. ‘I’ll come to the house.’
‘Yeah, great. No problem. See you then. Love you.’
‘Love you, Dad.’
He ended the call, gave his dinner a quick prod and went upstairs to his room, patting the pockets of his work jeans. Where the hell was the phone? Normally, it was either in his jeans or his jacket pocket, but not today. Seriously? This was weird. He couldn’t even remember when he’d last had it. Had he used it since he came home?
Maybe it was in the van. Sometimes he chucked it into his tool belt and forgot about it. Grabbing a torch, he headed out into the cool evening. The sky was clear, and stars twinkled above, bright even with the orange glow of streetlamps. He scanned inside the van, down the footwells and in the side pockets, where it had often fallen out before. Not this time.
Think! He urged himself. He turned on the engine and waited to see if the Bluetooth connected. If it was in here and still had battery, this would find it.
No devices found.
Ok, this is weird.
Returning to the house, he dished out his tea and put it on the table, trying to retrace his steps. His mind wandered through the day. Oh shit. He’d called Ophelia from the sofa at the boathouse. That was the last time he could definitely remember using it. Had he put the phone down and not taken it with him? Surely he wouldn’t have, but he’d been angry and flustered.
A cold dread trickled through him. He could get it tomorrow. No – he was taking Caitlin to the party. And he needed it in case there was a change of plans. He checked the clock; it was just after six.
With a deep breath, he cleared up, put on clean clothes, and headed back to the van. If he turned up at the boathouse, Ophelia might die of shock thinking he was Sean. But he couldn’t warn her because he didn’t have his phone. Bloody thing. Phones were useful but exasperating objects. Crucial sometimes, almost like they were a part of the human anatomy. Something he couldn’t live without.
Pitch black skies shrouded the countryside, but the moon shone high, reflecting in the rippling loch as Brann drove towards Glenvorneth. What a stunning night, and he couldn’t deny that checking Ophelia was ok made his chest lighten. He wouldn’t have slept a wink, not knowing if she was ok.
Finally, he reached the entrance to Glenvorneth. He turned in the main gate and took the track that led the opposite way from the main house, past the little workers’ cottages. The one Ophelia had done up had lights glowing at the window and three cars outside. Inside, people were moving about like they were dancing. Camilla, the mad artiste, looked like she was hosting a party. The place was so small it was probably a very intimate affair. Brann didn’t want to think about it.
He carried on up the track past the stables until it wound through the woodland area and up to the boathouse. The lights were on, and it glowed serenely beautiful beside the little lochan. The moon behind the trees was so bright it seemed like a fake photograph. As Brann got out, he goggled at the thousands of stars, so many without the streetlights spoiling them.
He rubbed his arms. He’d left without a coat or even a jumper and there was a bite in the air. Now, he had to do this without freaking out Ophelia, though it was likely to happen one way or another. He pushed the bell and waited. Nothing. What should he do? He didn’t want to shout or knock on a window. That would scare the shit out of her.
A vague outline materialised in the glass door. The door opened a fraction and Ophelia peered around. It reminded him so much of the first day he’d met her he almost laughed. Would she demand I.D. again? Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and she pulled the door wider. In her free hand, she clutched a huge kitchen knife.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ She gaped at him. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’
‘I’m so sorry. I really am.’ He held up his hands and pulled what he hoped was an apologetic face. ‘I didn’t want to freak you out.’ His eyes lingered on the robe loosely hanging from her shoulders. ‘But I think I left my mobile here earlier.’
‘Where did you leave it?’
‘I’m not sure. I called you from the sofa after I chucked out that little tosser. Maybe it fell down the side. I don’t remember. But I’ve searched everywhere else.’
‘Ok, fine.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Come in.’
‘Maybe you should put that knife down…’ He raised his eyebrow. ‘Remember, no stabbing. You were warned about that at the rafting. And you’ve already had a go at me with those antlers.’
‘Oh, shut up.’ She let him in.
He laughed. ‘What did you do with them anyway? I think you should have them mounted over the front door. To ward off bad men like me.’
‘I would, except they didn’t work before. You keep coming back.’ She eyed him over. ‘Though I could try dismembering you with this and hanging your entrails outside.’
‘What a delightful image.’
‘Sorry.’ She burst out laughing. ‘But this is just so ridiculous.’
‘What? Your plans to dismember me?’
‘No. You being here at all.’
‘Sorry, but I need my phone. It has everything on it and if the kids call, they expect an answer straight away. You know how it is?’
‘Not really, but I’ll take your word for it. Go and look.’ She locked the door behind him, and he nipped into the living area. He shoved his hand down the back and sides of the cushion around the arm he’d sat on earlier. A wash of relief flooded through him as he touched something solid.
‘It’s here.’ He pulled it out and checked it, seeing all the missed calls from Caitlin.
Ophelia plonked herself at the far end of the sofa and stroked the arm. The room had an almost Alpine vibe and the moonlit lochan beyond was so dreamy. ‘I’m glad you found it.’
‘Me too. And sorry to have freaked you out. I’ll leave you in peace.’ Though he was relieved she was ok.
She eyed him up and down, sucking on her lower lip. ‘Stay with me a bit, will you?’
‘What?’ He frowned.
She glanced away with a little shrug. ‘I am kind of freaked out about being here by myself. It’s beautiful but… lonely.’
How could he refuse when every bone in his body was telling him to go to her, hold her, keep her safe and make sure she was never lonely and afraid again? He pocketed his phone and walked forward. Should he sit on the other sofa or…
She patted the seat beside her. With a second’s hesitation, he sat. A heady fragrance, like a midnight garden, drifted over him; its warm and slightly dangerous notes tickled his senses, teasing him with images of Ophelia bathing in the huge claw-foot tub he’d installed upstairs. She caressed her skin with soapy bubbles as she looked out over the serene moonlit lochan.
‘Sean’s a twat.’ She thumped the arm of the sofa, bringing him back to the room. ‘I’d have been fine if he hadn’t called around like a little creep.’
‘I was worried about you. I wanted to come back anyway, but I thought you might be pissed at me.’
A small smile played on her lips. ‘I’m glad you lost your phone then.’
He let out a little laugh. ‘Yeah.’
‘Do you want a glass of wine?’
‘Better not. I’m driving, remember.’
‘Of course.’
After the months of easy banter and barely concealed attraction, he suddenly felt self-conscious. He fiddled with the neck of his t-shirt, not sure whether to relax back into the sofa or perch. Why the awkwardness?
‘I appreciate you telling me about Sean,’ she said. ‘A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered. Especially after all the grief I’ve given you.’
‘It was the only decent thing to do.’
‘Thank you. Excuse me if I have some wine. Would you like anything else?’
He shook his head. ‘No thanks.’
She got to her feet and wandered into the kitchen area, pouring herself a large glass of wine. ‘You’re one of the good guys.’ She swirled the glass as she sat back down.
‘Am I? I thought I was a very bad man.’
Taking a sip of wine, she eyed him over the glass.
‘I mean, to be fair, some of my life choices have been suspect.’ He rested back and folded his arms. ‘I’m no angel.’
‘Maybe in some ways that’s true, but in the places it counts, you’re good.’
He’d take that from her.
‘You know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all night.’
His eyes met hers, and she snared him again. He couldn’t look away. ‘There’s not a minute in the day or night goes by that I don’t think about you,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop myself.’
‘Same.’ She stared at her glass. ‘I told you months ago to get out of my head. But you didn’t.’
‘Likewise. You’re in here twenty-four-seven.’ He bumped his fist on his forehead.
‘I was willing you to come here. And you did.’
‘Why did you want me here?’
Focusing on her glass, she frowned. ‘I just… I don’t know.’
‘Why didn’t you call a friend if you wanted company?’
‘Whoever I called wouldn’t have been who I really wanted to see.’
‘And that’s me?’
‘It’s always you.’ Leaning forward, she put her glass on the coffee table and wrapped her arms around herself. The desire to do the same burned like wildfire in Brann’s gut.
‘Maybe living here by yourself isn’t a good idea,’ he said. ‘It’s kind of out in the sticks.’
‘Do you think I can’t handle it?’
‘That’s not what I said. I know you can handle it, but will you enjoy it? Why put yourself through something if you don’t even like it?’
‘That’s basically my whole life. I tried to escape by setting up my own business, but it never goes away. It’s about duty and expectations, not enjoyment.’ She put her face in her hands.
‘Then shove the duty and expectations out the window. You do you and let the others do what they have to.’
‘And what about the estate? My grandparents wanted me to have it, and they were important people in my early life. My parents aren’t nurturing types, but my grandparents were. They also had big ideas for Glenvorneth. Plans I’d like to carry out, but I can’t do anything without money. And, like it or not, a rich partner would go a long way to solving the financial problems. Time is ticking on. We’ve made some progress with the estate, but it’s not enough.’
‘You really shouldn’t have to sell yourself to save it.’
‘I know, but I’m struggling to see other options.’
He threw out his hands. ‘Don’t ask me. If I knew how to make that kind of money, I wouldn’t be a builder living in a two-bedroom semi in Rowan Way, Glenbriar’s most infamous street.’
She threw him a hopeless look and, for a second, he thought she might break down and cry, but she didn’t. ‘Will you…?’ She swallowed and rubbed her fingers across her collarbone, slightly lifting her silken robe.
‘Will I what?’
‘Will you hold me for a moment?’
‘Sure.’ Shifting closer, he leaned back and let her curl into his arms. He wrapped her in a hug, his cheek lowering to rest on her soft, sweetly scented hair.
‘Do your kids know where you are?’ she asked.
‘Nobody knows. Just you and me.’
‘Tell me about them.’
‘What do you want to know?’ He smoothed his fingers through the glossy blonde locks.
‘Do they have the same mum?’
‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’
‘I was just curious. My sister and I don’t have the same mother.’
‘True.’ He gently rubbed a circle on her back, vaguely remembering her sister’s connection to Caitlin but ignoring it. Now was not the time.
‘Are you on good terms with their mum?’
‘Yeah. Now that we don’t live together, we’re fine.’
‘Why did you split?’
‘Because we didn’t love each other. We never really did. When we got together, we were high school kids. We both came from hideous backgrounds. My parents were addicts, my father was an abusive arsehole, and hers weren’t much better. They had too many kids, called them crazy-ass names, like Bellephaba – I shit you not – and lived off the benefit money. Her older sisters, who all had issues of their own, brought her up. Her younger siblings have so many problems too. All of it was a mess. We were two of the most infamous kids in the school, if we ever bothered to show. She was in the year below me, but we lived close to each other. We both liked music and had wild ideas about starting a band. She was a looker and tough too; it was an irresistible combination for me.’ Maybe he hadn’t changed that much. ‘Our making music together evolved to making out, and one day we discovered sex. We were idiotic teenagers, who knew nothing about being safe. Or maybe we didn’t care. So you can guess what happened.’
‘She got pregnant.’
‘Yup. It was a rude wake-up call. But we ran with it. We suddenly qualified for a council house and amazingly, we got one here. It wasn’t the nicest, but it was enough. I discovered I was good at DIY and one of our new neighbours helped me get an apprenticeship. We were lucky. A stupid mistake actually led to both of us escaping the prison of our parents’ houses. So, we jollied along, playing families and building our life. But we weren’t actually compatible. Circumstances forced us together. If we’d had better opportunities and more sense in the first place, we wouldn’t have chosen each other.’
Ophelia ran a fingertip down his chest and nestled in even closer. ‘I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you.’
He huffed out a little laugh. ‘I’m a lot more together than I was back then.’ Having kids had made him grow up fast. He couldn’t afford to be an irresponsible idiot when his family depended on him, and he was determined not to be as useless as his own parents or end up like poor old Donald.
‘You made good and achieved so much from harsh beginnings.’
‘Through hard work and tough choices. If I’d stuck with my ex, some things might have been easier, but I wouldn’t have achieved as much because I was miserable and so was she. Once we split and we were free to go our separate ways, we did. We’ve both done ok, more than we would have if we stayed together. This is why I keep saying to you that you shouldn’t force yourself to be with someone because of the circumstances. It doesn’t work. You’ll thwart yourself because you’ll feel depressed and boxed in.’
Ophelia looked up at him with a pained expression. Brann ran the pad of his thumb over her cheek. Such soft skin. Such a beautiful face. But sad. Such a waste. Would she find a man who’d love her the way she deserved? The way he would.
‘You shouldn’t have to settle for anyone. You deserve someone who’ll properly take care of you. Someone who’ll tell you they love you every day for the rest of their life and mean it.’
She froze, still gazing into his eyes, but her expression clouded. ‘Brann… You know that we… you and me can never.’
‘I’m not that stupid. Brann the builder might not always be the sharpest tool in the box, but he’s not thick enough to imagine himself shacking up with the lady of the manor.’
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘You’re not stupid at all. You’re more intelligent than most of the people I know.’ She sat up and held her finger to his lip to stop him from speaking. ‘You hide it, and that’s what you’re good at. As well as woodwork and knocking down walls.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve certainly knocked down a few of yours.’
‘You have. I wish I could say I’d done half as much for you as you’ve done for me.’
‘You’ve woken me up, Princess.’
‘How?’
‘It’s hard to explain, but before we met, I was kinda numb. You and I have similar energy, and when you’re around, it gives me a lift, you know? Even when we’re fighting.’ He smirked.
She scanned his face, her eyes dropping to his lips, and tilted her head slightly like she was working out what she’d like to do with them. ‘Do you remember the first day we met? It was in this very room. There was definitely some kind of energy pinging about then.’
‘There sure was. I’ll never forget it. You were such a cow.’
‘And you were an arrogant dick.’
He laughed. ‘I didn’t try to run you off the road or attack you with a set of antlers, though, did I?’
‘No, but you made me want to both kill you and have you right there and then.’
‘How could I make you want that?’ He shook his head.
‘I don’t know, but you did, and I hated you for it.’
‘The feeling was mutual.’
‘I know.’ She ran her fingers down his neck and across his shoulder. ‘I hated that I wanted you then, and in the stables, at the cottage. Even when I was riding at the games, all I could think about was you. I wanted you on my birthday, when we went rafting… And now.’
‘Now?’
‘I still hate how much I want you.’
‘Me too. Shall I tell you just how much I hate it?’
‘No.’ She slipped the edges of her flimsy robe apart and let it fall open to reveal a very skimpy red lace negligee. ‘Show me.’