34. Edie
EDIE
I shove things into my bags, biting my lip, trying not to cry.
I will not cry. I won’t allow myself. Not now.
I leave my ball dress hanging on a hanger on the bathroom door.
I won’t exactly be needing that again. I open the window – it’s muggy and grey outside and the air feels as stale out there as it does in my room.
My heart’s still trying to catch up, like it hasn’t quite processed the last twenty-four hours.
One day ago, I was fizzing with excitement waiting for the ball, and now, I feel a horrible dropping sensation in my stomach remembering the way he looked me in the eye, after everything, and threw me out like I was nothing.
Like I’d meant nothing. Like Fenella was right and I was nothing more than a rich man’s plaything for the night, not good enough for anything more than a one-night stand – here or in Manhattan – and discarded without even considering what the truth might be.
I shove my notebook into my hand luggage bag and pause for half a second, just long enough to imagine lighting it on fire and sending the ashes to the bloody Loch Morven Foundation with a note that says, you’re welcome.
I don’t, obviously.
Instead, I hoist my suitcase handle and drag it out into the corridor.
Anna, who’s ignored my messages and didn’t respond to my hammering on her bedroom door, is there, standing in the doorway of her room.
She’s laughing, as if she hasn’t a care in the world, and she’s fingering Jamie’s shirt collar in a very familiar manner.
“Ede,” she says lazily. “Sorry I missed your messages earlier, I was…” she looks up at Jamie through sooty lashes “…otherwise occupied.”
Jamie’s rumpled, unshaven, and grinning like a tomcat.
“What’s up?” Anna clocks my mood. “Do you need something?” A second later, she cocks her head sideways. “Are you going somewhere?”
“You need to check your messages,” I say, flatly. “We’re no longer welcome.”
“What the fuck?” Jamie takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair so it stands up on end.
“Rory.”
Anna puts two and two together in a second. She pouts briefly, raising her brows in a manner I’ve seen before – one that means fair enough, the game’s up .
“Well, it was nice while it lasted,” she says, turning on her heel and heading back into her room. “I’ll get my stuff together.”
Jamie puts his head in his hands for a moment then looks back at me with a groan. “I’m not even going to suggest I try and have a word and smooth things over. Not now. But I can take you to the airport. ”
“After last night?” I think about the amount of alcohol that was consumed.
“Unlike everyone else, I kept my consumption to a moderate level. Maybe my brother should have done the same, then he wouldn’t be hungover and over-reacting to whatever the hell has gone on.”
I sigh. “He’s not over-reacting.”
Jamie quirks a brow in question.
“I wish he was. The truth is I can understand why he’s doing it.”
Half an hour later, Anna’s showered and almost packed and I’m sitting at the bottom of the stairs with my cases, feeling as awkward and out of place as I did the day I arrived at Loch Morven nearly three months ago.
Janey walks out of the kitchen, pushing up her sleeves and carrying a wicker basket of glasses.
“Morning!” The smile disappears and she stops dead. “Are you off somewhere?”
I press my lips together and nod. I can’t speak, if I say it out loud to Janey and she’s nice to me, I’ll feel even worse than I do already. If she judges me – I swallow hard – I don’t think I could cope with that. She’s been nothing but kind and welcoming, everyone here has.
I take an unsteady breath in through my nose and try to keep my voice steady. “I’m going back to London.”
“No!” She cocks her head and looks at me for a moment. “Edie? What’s happened?”
I bite hard on my lower lip. “I told the truth, only I didn’t tell it fast enough. ”
Her gaze softens. For a moment I think she’s going to tell me it’ll all blow over or tell me that it must be a mistake. But instead she nods, only once, as if she understands.
“You’ve got my number,” she says gently. It almost undoes me.
“I do,” I say. And she walks down the corridor, leaving me sitting there alone.
The road snakes through the moor, a low mist curling around the edges of the forest in the distance like it doesn’t want to let go. I know how it feels.
Jamie’s humming something tuneless at the wheel, sunglasses on despite the fact that the sun hasn’t yet made an appearance. It feels more like November than June, the sky as bruised and grey as I feel.
Anna’s in the passenger seat in front of me – of course she is – scrolling through her phone like she’s waiting for the next big opportunity to land in her inbox.
She looks fresh faced and glossy, not like someone who detonated a career and a friendship in the same weekend.
Not that it seems to have occurred to her that she has.
She barely spent any time with me last night, too busy flitting around trying to get in with the right people while I stuck to the ones who made me feel at home.
“Well,” she says, finally breaking the awkward silence. “I guess all good things come to an end.”
Jamie pushes his sunglasses back onto his head and glances up into the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine for a moment.
I don’t answer. I’m gripping my knees, my jaw rigid. If I open my mouth I’m not sure what will come out – rage, grief, or worst of all – forgiveness.
“Honestly, Ede,” she says without a trace of irony. “I’ve done you a favour. No offence, Jamie, but you must be dying to get back to civilisation. This whole Highland fantasy was all very well but you were getting too comfortable.”
Jamie shoots her a sideways look but says nothing.
“I’m just saying.” I watch her shoulders rise and fall as she shrugs. “You need to be back in the real world.”
I curl my fingers into the leather seat and let out a slow breath before I speak
“I don’t want to be in the real world, Anna. Not your version of it, anyway.”
She turns to look at me, blue eyes wide with surprise. “Ede, come on. What are you talking about?”
“I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not gritting my teeth and smiling politely. You know what you did. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m not taking your shit anymore.”
I look out of the window. We’re coming to the crossroads – the one I remember from my first drive up to the estate, about half an hour from the castle. If we turn left, we head to the road for Inverness and on to the airport.
“Pull over,” I say, tapping Jamie on the shoulder.
He half turns, frowning. “What?”
“Stop the car.”
Anna turns around, confused. “Ede? What the hell are you doing?”
But I’ve already unclipped my seatbelt. My hands are shaking but my voice is steady.
“I’m not going back.”
“Back where?” Jamie asks.
“To London. To the flat. To ghost-writing books about houseplant maintenance and writing bullshit copy for pet insurance.” I open the door and drag my rucksack out behind me.
Anna rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. What are you going to do, walk?”
“If I have to.”
Jamie’s opened the boot. He lifts out my case and passes it to me with a bemused expression. “Are you sure about this?”
I nod, grabbing the handle.
“I love it here,” I say, simply. “I love it too much to leave. I ran away from Scotland because I didn’t have anything to keep me here – no family, no ties. But it turns out that the place is enough. I’m not going to pretend this didn’t matter.”
Anna huffs. “He’s not interested in you, I’ve told you that.”
Jamie looks from her to me, clearly confused.
“This is about me.”
Her mouth twists in a little smirk. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe,” I say, stepping onto the grass verge. “But at least it’s my mistake.”
Anna looks at her watch. “If we don’t get a move on we’re going to miss the flight, and I really do not want a night in a Travelodge in Inverness.”
“Go right ahead.”
Jamie watches as I slam shut the passenger door. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read – maybe it’s respect, or it might just be pity. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
He gives me a final searching look. “You sure about this?”
“Absolutely.”
The Defender pulls away. I stand there alone at the edge of the Highlands, wind in my face and my bag over my shoulder. I’m more alone than I’ve been in a very long time .
But I’m not lost. Not yet.
I forgot that there’s no mobile coverage out here on the moorland.
Two hours have passed and with no Google Maps, I’ve had to take a guess at the direction of Loch Morven village.
My feet are killing me, my boots are soaked, and my shoulders ache from dragging my bag, which doesn’t have all-terrain wheels.
It started raining twenty minutes ago. It was the romantic misty kind to start, and the clouds even broke for long enough that a rainbow appeared over the forest as a portent of hope.
But now it’s the full-on sideways kind. If this is a sign from the universe, it’s not looking good.
I haven’t seen a single car since the crossroads, only sheep and from the look on their faces, they’re judging my life choices even more than Anna was.
But I keep walking. As miserable as this is, it’s less awful than sitting next to Anna as she tells me with delight how much she hates the aristocracy and everything they stand for, after taking advantage of their hospitality for the last week without so much as a thank you.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out and wave it around, hoping to catch whatever pocket of signal it just found. Nothing. All I have is a notification telling me it’s time to back up my Fitbit device.
There’s only the sound of the rain and my feet on the tarmac, and a constant refrain in my head: well, you fucked that up .
I’m at the point of contemplating sitting down in a ditch and having a rest when I hear the crunch of tyres on the gravel behind me.