Chapter Sixteen #3
‘You can always fall back on the classics,’ Desi said. ‘Backhanded compliments, thinly veiled insults about their son, pointing out how you’ve had to fix his poor upbringing, that sort of thing.’
‘I always find a well-timed sigh can be pleasingly annoying,’ Joel added. ‘Then when they ask you what’s wrong, just say nothing. It really pisses parents off, I have no idea why.’
‘Triggering,’ Desi confirmed. ‘Very triggering.’
‘And how is he, the hot chef?’ Joel asked. ‘Are the two of you getting on?’
‘He’s fine, I think.’ I leaned back against the cold stone wall of the tower and blew out a heavy breath. ‘He’s funny, easy to talk to. Cooks an excellent breakfast. None of this is his fault, it’s a shit situation.’
‘Sounds rough,’ he replied with great sympathy. ‘Poor Callum.’
‘I know,’ I agreed even though I wasn’t quite sure whether or not he was being sarcastic. ‘You’d both really like him though. He’s funny.’
‘You’ve already said funny,’ Desi replied. ‘He can’t be funny twice.’
‘What are you two doing?’ I asked, diverting the subject. I knew that tone of voice, she was about to say something I didn’t want to hear.
Joel replied through a mouth full of something. ‘We’re watching A Muppet Christmas Carol and eating.’
‘Eating what?’
‘Everything. My patience ran out, we opened the Christmas cupboard a day early.’
I sighed loudly. The Christmas cupboard. Cadbury’s Roses, Miniature Heroes, mint Matchmakers, After Eights and a never-ending supply of mini mince pies.
‘That’s it. Laura, I think you should come home,’ Desi declared. ‘This is not what you signed up for and you sound really stressed out. Call an Uber and get the next train back.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘No, I literally can’t,’ I told her, flipping through my apps. ‘There are no Ubers.’
‘Christ on a bike,’ Joel gasped. ‘Where the fuck are you?’
‘It’s not as bad as I’m making out,’ I said again, more determined this time. ‘The house is gorgeous, and honestly, you should see the scenery. Besides, I can’t leave Callum in the lurch. He needs me.’
My statement was followed by a pause so long, I had to check my phone to make sure we hadn’t been cut off.
‘Hello?’ I said. ‘Are you still there?’
‘You mean you don’t want to leave,’ Desi said calmly. ‘There’s nothing stopping you but you.’
‘Maybe you should come here,’ I answered with an unnecessary touch of petulance. ‘It’s only an eleven-
hour drive to Balmaclay.’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ Joel replied. ‘You know I love a road trip.’
I laughed loudly at the thought of the two of them bickering in Desi’s Mini then almost fell backwards down the stairs when a massive black bird flapped past the window.
‘You OK?’ Desi asked when I shrieked.
‘Fine,’ I replied, watching it fly away. ‘Bird.’
A hint of homesickness poked at me. It would’ve been nice to be squished on the sofa like three sardines, eating junk and doomscrolling, while Michael Caine put in the greatest performance of his life on the TV.
The fact he didn’t get an Oscar for it was a travesty.
Perhaps I could convince Callum to watch it with me later.
‘I’d better go,’ I said as my teeth started chattering. ‘It’s freezing here.’
‘Cold in Scotland?’ Desi said with sarcastic surprise. ‘You don’t say?’
‘If I don’t call you again it’s because I couldn’t be arsed to climb a five-storey tower to get the reception, and no, I won’t be elaborating on that statement,’ I said as Joel blew kisses down the line. ‘Happy Christmas Eve Eve, love you.’
‘Love you too,’ they chorused before the call ended with three beeps and I was alone in the tower again.
It really was stunning. Thin strands of cotton wool clouds had appeared out of nowhere, stretching across the sky as if someone were trying to wrap up the world.
Down on the loch, I spotted a handful of small boats, men with fishing rods, and wondered if their catch would be on the menu at The Clach later.
Gorgeous as it was, I hadn’t been kidding when I told Desi and Joel I was cold.
Not outside-the-pub, bitter-to-the-bone frozen, but uncomfortably chilly.
After taking dozens of photos from all four sides of the tower and texting them back to my friends, I gazed out at the landscape one more time to commit it to memory, then dashed down the stairs, dreaming of the open fire I hoped was still burning in my room.
But when I reached the bottom of the staircase, the door I’d left open was closed.
Hmm.
Not panicking even a little bit, I attempted to push the latch upwards but it didn’t budge an inch and, in the back of my mind, I remembered the loud bang I’d heard at the top of the tower when the wind blew in.
Double hmm.
Bearing down in a semi-squat, I heaved the latch upwards again. Still nothing.
‘Hello?’ I called, banging on the door from the inside. ‘Hello? Is anybody there?’
No one answered.
No one was home.
And I was trapped in a freezing cold tower wearing a sweaty mohair sweater and a satin skirt and uncomfortable underwear all by myself.