Epilogue
Aonghus refused to wear shoes.
I’d found an old pair of trousers and a shirt at the back of Gran’s wardrobe, both of which had probably belonged to my grandfather.
The trousers stopped above Aonghus’s ankles, while the shirt strained across his shoulders whenever he moved.
Shoes, however, were apparently an insult to the Gille Dubh who wanted to be in touch with nature at all times.
“You may have walked into the village naked for most of your life,” I reminded him as we followed the lanterns towards the bonfire. “But standards have changed. If you do it now, you'll be arrested.”
“I wore leaves. I had a beautiful tunic woven from birch leaves.”
I laughed. “You’re still wearing leaves. They’re stuck in your hair.”
He reached up and found one above his ear. Instead of removing it, he pushed it deeper into the dark curls. “Then I am properly dressed.”
Nobody questioned him. Half the village had covered themselves in antlers, feathers or green face paint, so an enormous barefoot man with leaves in his hair fitted in perfectly.
Moira found us before we reached the bonfire. Her gaze travelled from Aonghus’s face to his bare feet, then back to me.
“And who’s this?”
“A friend of mine. Cre-..." I coughed. "Creed.” I wasn't going to give out his true name to just anyone. And since he couldn't be Creel anymore, this was what I'd come up with just then. I should have thought about it before we'd left the house.
“And where did you find him?”
“The pantry.”
She laughed and handed me a cup of whisky. “I knew coming home would be good for you.”
Aonghus took the cup before I could drink. He sniffed it suspiciously, then swallowed the whisky in one go.
“That was mine!"
“You had enough last night.”
“Last night’s whisky led me to you.”
“Then you have had enough for a lifetime.”
Moira watched us with growing interest. I grabbed another cup from the table before she could ask questions I had no intention of answering. Explaining that my boyfriend had spent the previous few centuries as Gran’s vegetable basket would not help me settle into village life.
Boyfriend was probably the wrong word anyway.
We had known each other for less than a day.
Most of that time had been spent naked. We'd showered together, slept together, fucked.
As first dates went, it had been a pretty good one.
What was missing were romantic gestures.
Sweet whispers. Holding hands. Candles - although maybe Aonghus wasn't quite ready for those yet.
Aonghus placed his hand on the small of my back as we joined the crowd. His palm was warm through my coat. I was still getting used to him having hands. They lacked the reach of his wicker strands, but he had already proved they could be equally distracting.
The main bonfire towered above the one from the previous evening. Flames climbed through the stacked wood while sparks disappeared into the dark. The local pipe band played near the village hall, making me wish for the fiddler from last night.
Aonghus stopped at the edge of the crowd. His fingers pressed harder against my back.
“Are you alright?”
“There are more houses than there used to be."
“That tends to happen as time passes.”
“The road was a track. The hall was woodland.”
He stared across the village as people passed around us. Nobody carried an iron blade or looked ready to hunt a fae. Most were too busy trying to stop their paper cups blowing into the fire.
I slipped my hand into his. “We can leave.”
“No.” He looked down at our joined hands. “I would like to stay.”
A horn sounded from the road. Everyone moved aside as a white minibus came crawling towards the village hall. The words Glenarraidh Care Centre were printed across the side.
I groaned. “Of course.”
The door opened and Gran climbed out wearing a purple coat, pearls and a pointed witch’s hat. Douglas, her current boy-toy, followed her carrying a folding chair and looking very cheerful about accompanying her to a village festival.
Gran spotted us immediately.
“There you are.” She marched across the grass and hugged me before turning to Aonghus. “And there you are.”
I wasn't surprised in the slightest that she knew who he was.
Aonghus bowed his head. “Keeper.”
Gran looked him over. Her attention paused at the gap where his shirt had failed to contain his chest.
“You’ve scrubbed up well. I always said there was a decent man somewhere beneath all that wicker.”
“Gran, please don’t start making basket jokes.”
“I’ve waited sixty years. I’m getting my money’s worth.”
Aonghus’s mouth curved into a smile. “You kept me safe.”
“Well, nobody wanted to buy you.” Gran reached up and touched one of the leaves in his hair. “I took you to three jumble sales and brought you home every time.”
“You tried to sell him?”
“He took up half the pantry.”
Aonghus stared at her.
Gran patted his arm. “I’m joking. Your sense of humour clearly slept longer than the rest of you.”
“I heard every word spoken near the creel.”
“Then you know I talked to you.”
His expression softened. “Every evening.”
Gran’s fingers remained on his sleeve. For once, she had nothing clever to say. Aonghus covered her hand with his, and she squeezed his arm before stepping back.
“Did you work out how to free him?” she asked me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Aonghus looked unbearably pleased with himself. I wanted to elbow him in the ribs.
“Magic,” I said.
“What sort of magic?”
“Private magic.”
Gran’s eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what that meant. “Did he bring you joy?”
“A reasonable amount.”
Aonghus laughed. “She is lying.”
This time, I really did elbow him in the ribs. He didn’t move, although his arm tightened around my waist.
Gran beamed. “I knew he would. Never underestimate a well-made basket.”
Douglas arrived with her chair before I could object. Gran ordered him to place it beside the whisky table, then looked towards the dark line of trees beyond the village.
“You should take him to the birches.”
Aonghus followed her gaze.
“The old path is still there,” Gran continued. “Although it’s muddier than it used to be. Try not to ruin those trousers. They were your grandfather’s good pair.”
“They don’t fit him.”
“That’s because your grandfather didn’t have thighs like tree trunks.”
I didn’t want my grandmother examining Aonghus’s thighs. She had spent enough years handling him as a basket. He was mine now. Thighs and all.
Gran waved us away. “Go on. I didn’t leave the care home to watch you stand around.”
“Why did you leave the care home?”
She glanced at Aonghus. “I’m nosy.”
At least she admitted it.
We left her beside the bonfire with Moira and Douglas as well as an entire audience of villagers. Gran was well-loved in the community, plus she knew how to tell a good story.
Aonghus kept hold of my hand as we followed the path behind the village hall.
The music faded once we entered the woods.
Aonghus walked without hesitating, despite the darkness and the changes he had mentioned.
He knew every turn. The path climbed beside the burn until the firelight disappeared behind the trees.
We found the birch grove beneath a clear patch of sky. White trunks rose around us, their remaining leaves trembling in the wind. Aonghus released my hand and crossed to the largest tree.
His palm rested against the bark.
“I slept beneath this one,” he said. “Jessie was curled between the roots when I found her.”
“She must have been terrified.”
“She bit me.”
I laughed. “That sounds like a MacRae.”
“She apologised in the morning.”
“Less like a MacRae.”
Aonghus smiled, but his hand remained against the tree. I gave him time to look around. The grove had survived without him, although none of the trees would be the ones he remembered. Even the burn had probably changed its course.
“Do you want to stay here?” I asked.
He turned towards me. “In the woods?”
“You’re free. You could return to whatever fae do when they aren’t trapped inside wicker baskets.”
Aonghus came back to me and took both my hands. “Where will you go?”
“Gran offered me the cottage for a week.”
“And after the week?”
I had spent months dreaming about walking away from my job, but Monday had always waited at the end of every fantasy.
The school would manage without me. Somebody else could hold a meeting about glue sticks and what textbooks were most suited for children who had no interest in ever opening a textbook.
“I think I’ll need longer.”
“How much longer?”
“I’ll start with a month.”
His thumbs rubbed across my knuckles. Such a small movement, yet it went straight to my heart. “And after the month?”
“You can ask me then.”
“I will.”
He bent down and cut a thin willow shoot with his thumbnail. The green stem bent easily between his fingers. He split it lengthways, wound the strands together and formed a small circle. A ring.
“If that’s a marriage proposal, the answer is no.”
Aonghus paused. “You have not heard the proposal.”
“I’ve known you for one day.”
“You have known the creel since childhood.”
“I don't really remember it. Gran had lots of baskets. That absolutely does not count.”
His fingers continued working until the ends disappeared neatly into the weave. The finished ring was narrow, green and slightly uneven.
“This is not a request for marriage,” he said. “It is a promise that I intend to remain with you, if you will have me.”
I held out my hand. “Does this promise have an end date?”
Aonghus gave me a stern look. “I have learned from my mistakes.”
“So I can take it off?”
“Whenever you wish.”
He slid the willow ring onto my finger. It fitted perfectly.
I turned my hand beneath the moonlight. “You’re still very good at weaving.”
“I have had considerable practice.”
I snort-laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Aonghus pulled me against him and kissed me beneath the birch trees. His hands settled on my waist, and the badly fitted shirt strained across his back.
“If Gran asks again,” I said against his mouth, “the basket brought me a reasonable amount of joy.”
He kissed me again.
“Liar.”
Want more objects behaving badly?
If Basket Case left you tangled up in knots, there are plenty more shamelessly inappropriate love interests waiting in the Sentient Object Adventures series.
Self-checkout machines, MRI scanners, sailboats, washing machines and cardboard boxes have needs too. Your reading list is already a basket case. One more won’t hurt.