Chapter 28
Morag
Morag knew that Holly was angry with her, that she thought she’d done it on purpose, to get her out of the way, but it had honestly been a mistake. Unless she’d done it subconsciously. She supposed that was possible. But did she really want to get with Lewis that bad?
Maybe.
She didn’t understand why she even liked Lewis.
He was arrogant, stuck-up, a posh English boy who knew his future would be bright, that Daddy would always be there to save him from whatever mess he got himself into.
A privileged prick. So what was it? If she was honest with herself, she thought it was because he was the opposite of her first boyfriend, a local boy from Plockton called Andy.
He was smooth where Andy was rough. Big city instead of small town.
Slippery as opposed to clingy. This place was so insular, so cut off, and Lewis was like an emblem of the future she wanted for herself.
Morag was going to be a writer. It was the one thing she had been good at when she was at school.
The stories she wrote always got the best grades and her teachers would read them out to the class, or get Morag to read them, even though it made her nervous.
She had so many ideas for books. Fantasy tales.
Love stories. She had a series mapped out based on a fantastical version of Applecross and Skye, all the legends of this place, including the Serpent Stone.
That, in fact, was going to be the title of her first novel.
She dreamed of millions of young people like her reading it and being transported.
They would write her emails telling her how much her words meant to them, and there would be movies, and she’d be friends with famous authors, and maybe there’d be a blue plaque on her little house and tours of Applecross to see the place where she’d set her books, coachloads of tourists making the pilgrimage to see this cave.
Jimmy was going to be famous, too. He would form a band and play stadiums around the world, and everyone would marvel at how two hopeless kids from this tiny place had become such big, bright stars.
It was a beautiful dream. But right now, all she was thinking about, with beer and whisky sloshing around inside her, and weed in her bloodstream, was Lewis and his gorgeous face.
The fire was glowing embers now, casting weak orange light on the Serpent Stone. Jimmy was still picking at his guitar, softly singing that old Oasis song ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’, with that lovely ragged voice of his. It was the cue for Morag to go. To make something happen.
‘I think I’m going to head home,’ she said.
‘You’re leaving?’ Lewis acted like he hadn’t taken the hint.
‘I need my bed.’ She stood, gathering her courage as she did so. She’d tried to emphasize the word ‘bed’. ‘Will you walk me back?’
He smiled and got to his feet, too. ‘I’m a gentleman. All us Grants are. How about you, Jimmy?’
‘Am I a gentleman? Nah, I’m an animal.’ They all laughed, even though it wasn’t very funny and definitely wasn’t true. ‘I’m gonna stay here for a bit. You two go ahead.’
‘You sure, mate?’ Lewis asked, as Morag said, Please stay here in her head.
‘You two go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow, if we don’t all stay asleep all day.’
Morag gave Jimmy a hug. He smelled of weed and sweat and woodsmoke. ‘Happy Hogmanay, big brother. Here’s to an amazing 2007.’
‘To fame and fortune and getting out of here.’
She repeated it back, and then she and Lewis left, squeezing through the narrow tunnel that led to the outside. As they stepped out into the night, and Morag muttered something about how cold it was, Lewis stumbled and almost fell over.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah.’ He put his hand on his head. ‘I didn’t realize how wasted I was until the air hit me.’
She studied him. ‘You’re going to be okay, though?’
‘Absolutely. I’m fine.’
They headed up the path past the bothy. Beyond that, over the lip of the hill, was the path that led to the old manor house where Lewis had left his car, a brand-new Mini that his dad had bought him for his seventeenth birthday.
Morag had come on her bicycle. Out of guilt, she’d told Holly she could borrow it and ride it home.
They had both turned on the torches they’d brought with them when they had exited the caves. Now they shone them down the hill in the direction of the manor house. The moon was out and the old place glowed faintly in the distance.
‘Do you think your dad’s really going to do what he said?’
‘Huh? Oh, definitely. He always does what he says he will. Prides himself on it. His reputation.’
They walked down the path, going slowly and carefully, wary of losing their footing. Morag stumbled – possibly accidentally on purpose – and reached out to grab Lewis’s hand. She didn’t let go, and he didn’t pull away. She knew he liked her, too.
‘I’m going to miss you when you go back down south,’ she said. ‘You will email me, right?’
‘Of course. I told you, I’m going to send you a poem every week.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘And you’re going to serialize your book for me, send it in instalments.’
She wanted to get to his car, even if it was tiny, crank the heating up, get on the back seat …
She heard him suck in air beside her. He looked very pale in the moonlight.
‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m great.’ He smiled, and he looked so nervous, so shy she couldn’t resist any longer.
‘Come here,’ she said.
She pulled him into an embrace and, with the wind whipping around them, so cold she could hardly feel her own lips, she kissed him.