Chapter 20
The whole town and half the population of the surrounding villages had turned out to welcome the procession into the sparkling Knowe, which tonight in the full moon light seemed to have more in common with an ancient site of sacred summer rites than the grassy space marked with white lines for the kids’ shinty and football clubs.
The fresh mountain air, spiced with the nectar of gorse flowers and the first bells of heather, mixed tantalisingly with the foody aromas from the sausage grill and the snack stalls set up to cater for hungry revellers.
Peaches watched the noisy cavalcade arrive, their torches almost burned out from the walk.
Her skin was cool in the evening air. She’d chosen to throw on the same handmade Beltane outfit as last year; an oversized, billowy romper in off-white cotton with huge pockets and delicate straps, paired with white sneakers and socks.
She’d plaited her hair into two thick ropes that knotted at the nape of her neck.
She hadn’t dared do much else today other than get ready, not while her mother still wasn’t able to bring herself to look at her, let alone speak to her as she raced back and forth in her organising frenzy.
So, she’d waited at home for her showcase grades to come through from the uni, or for a fashion scout to reach out to her.
So far, neither of those things had happened, but she’d heard via Willie that Mosam’s ‘big cat’-inspired capsule collection had impressed a features editor and they were in talks to style a photoshoot for Dazed magazine, while Zandy’s TikToks of her models had overnight been picked up by the socials of the magazine Beauty Papers, which Zandy was reportedly delighted about, and one of her pictures had made it into one of the Scottish morning tabloids, who’d made fun of her design; something she was also delighted about.
So far, Peaches’ own work had debuted without reaction, but there were always the weekend papers to come.
Surely she wasn’t going to be overlooked entirely?
Those who had carried fire torches in the parade were now gathering around the unlit bonfire. They looked this way and that, seemingly waiting for direction.
Carenza had noticed too. ‘Where’s McIntyre? Well? Where is he?’ she yelled into the four corners of the field, and this set off a concerned murmuring throughout the crowd that there was no one official there to light the bonfire.
Feeling like she should be doing something to help, Peaches had been about to make a run for the mill house to see what could be keeping him when through the crowd stepped a figure in green: the exact green cloak and mask she’d helped Euan make only a few days ago in the repair shop.
She felt herself propelled towards him, not minding if this would only fuel the town whisperers. She’d already made a show of herself first thing this morning, so what did it matter now?
‘It’s you!’ she cried as she reached him, gripping his arms, waiting for him to hug her, but then… She patted his shoulders. Wide shoulders on a broadly muscled frame. She heard a throaty laugh; definitely not Euan’s. Her hands flew from the stranger’s body. ‘Sorry! I…’
In an instant the man lifted his mask to reveal a disarmingly white-toothed grin, a glossy swish of shiny dark hair, and summer-tanned white skin.
‘How did you know it was me? I wanted to surprise you,’ the man said, his voice a blend of sweet Scottish heather honey and American bourbon, and his eyes just as golden brown.
‘You’re… Felton?’ she realised, dropping down onto flat feet again. He was beaming a suave smile at her that said, Of course I am.
It felt impossible to disguise her disappointment. ‘Felton, where did you get this costume?’
‘Ah! Well, I got the wrong end of the stick, thinking we were supposed to meet at the repair shop to join a parade? The woman in charge said I might as well take these. Someone had left them there, unwanted.’
‘No, not unwanted, I’m sure…’
‘Should I take them off?’ He had his hands at the collar. ‘Does it look weird? I thought since everyone else was wearing this stuff…’
‘No, it’s…’ She shrank even smaller. ‘It’s OK. Keep it on.’
So, Euan hadn’t gone back to claim his costume. That meant he had no intention of coming tonight. The realisation painfully pinched her heart.
On second thoughts, she tried to comfort herself, it was probably for the best he didn’t see her entertaining the son of her mum’s potential business colleague.
She hadn’t thought to mention the date (or how she’d misunderstood her mum’s plans for her) when they’d been so close in the chairlifts last night.
In fact, she had barely formed any coherent thoughts at all last night.
If Euan saw her here tonight, he might read something into it, thinking this meant something when it didn’t, and she’d offend him all over again.
She didn’t even have his number, and didn’t know which was Clyde’s house, and asking any of these gossiping locals where he lived was out of the question, not when they were probably still chattering about her walk of shame at dawn this morning.
Oh, if she could only talk to him for a minute and apologise! Then she could try and explain how panic had gripped her when she awoke in his arms, making her flee, and how last night had been the freest she had ever felt in her entire life.
‘I recognised you from your mom’s pictures. She sent a whole bunch over to Mom,’ Felton was saying.
This brought her round. ‘Oh, Jeez!’ She could just imagine her mother and Valerie Cromarty crowing over her photos at their Women in Business Association meetings, hatching their matchmaking-slash-business-empire plans.
‘Hey! It’s OK,’ he said, nudging her arm in a consoling way. ‘You looked super pretty. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t thought so.’
She was only halfway through asking herself if this was a nice thing for him to have said, or a horribly superficial one, when he spoke over her thoughts.
‘Come on, let me buy you a Beltane punch. Mom told me the stuff’s lethal!’
‘Ah, not this year, it’s not.’ Peaches had to laugh over the extent of the event’s boozy reputation and her mum’s desperate attempts to recuperate it. ‘It’s just ginger ale or diluting juice this year, hate to tell you.’
‘It’s… what? Diluting juice?’ He was crooking an arm for her to take, and his eyes had crinkled into appealing little smile lines.
‘You’ve never heard of diluting juice?’ she said, thinking at the back of her brain how it couldn’t do any harm to loop her arm in his. They moved off in the direction of the drinks stall. ‘You know,’ she went on. ‘Cordial? Squash? What do you call it?’
‘Oh! Fruit punch!’ He laughed in a gentle way. ‘OK, I’ll be sure to ask for two cups of dilutin’ juice.’ He added the last words in a thick Highland accent, nothing like his own confident transatlantic voice.
Clearly picking up on what she was thinking, he asked, ‘Didn’t your mom tell you I grew up in California?
I was born here but I missed out on so much Scottish stuff as a kid.
Like this kinda thing.’ He gestured at a passing group of drunk lads fresh from the Cairn Dhu hotel bar, each one of them scoffing one of Senga’s chocolate rum balls and dancing their way over to Sachin, who was unenthusiastically spinning a Bay City Rollers record with a dour look on his face.
‘She must have forgotten to mention it,’ Peaches told him. ‘You have a nice sort of in-betweeny accent.’
He laughed again, strolling her along through the crowds the whole length of the rec, totally ignoring the building commotion over by the – still unlit – bonfire.
As they wandered, she asked him about his life in America, and he told her a little about his Silicon Valley tech mogul father and their desert ranch and the international school where he’d been educated while his mum stayed here, running her businesses (selling luxury flats to people who worked in Scotland’s answer to the Valley, Silicon Glen).
He was certainly forthcoming about himself, and he smiled at her a lot, and she hadn’t failed to notice the lovely, expensive twill of his jacket under the cape where she lightly gripped his thick arm.
She tried to ignore her surprise at how huge he felt.
She really wasn’t used to physical proximity to guys.
This whole weekend was turning out to be eye-opening.
But she still asked herself, who wears a beautiful dark blue wool suit and (she threw a quick glance at his feet) pristine Louis Vuitton Ranger boots to a bonfire and sausage sizzle in a field?
As he ladled their cups with squash (since Carenza was barking into her walkie talkie over by the bonfire, leaving her drinks cauldrons unattended), Peaches told herself this could have been a lot worse.
Felton seemed nice enough, and he was definitely pretty to look at.
She could probably hang around for another half hour or so before excusing herself and that would be her daughterly duties discharged.
Maybe then she could track down Euan and clear things up, especially if her mum stayed as distracted as this all night.
‘Cheers,’ Felton said, holding his paper cup to hers. ‘Here’s to a memorable May first!’
She tapped his cup and drank, but not without scanning the darkening rec, unsure if she secretly hoped to spot Euan in the crowd, or whether she dreaded seeing him.
‘We’re gonna have fun tonight,’ Felton said, brimming with self-assurance, as he pointed their way over to the drama unfolding by the bonfire. ‘Your mom looks like she could use my help.’
Peaches must not have felt the eyes upon her back from over by Sachin’s DJ decks, but there crouched a figure all in black, his hoodie covering his head, his face obscured by a black mask.
He’d been hiding, unsure what to do, ever since he’d strolled down to the rec, excited to see her again, and then, uncertain about what this was he was witnessing, he’d dropped down into the shadows to watch Peaches…
on some kind of date, was it? Why hadn’t he the good sense to ask her out for real, in person, last night?
When he’d tried ringing this afternoon, he couldn’t get through.
This number is not available. As though she had blocked him.
When he’d gone to fetch his costume from the repair shop, Carenza had been stomping around in town, and for Peaches’ sake, in case he made the trouble she seemed to be in at home any worse, he’d given up on the mission.
Peaches had told him that Carenza didn’t like her hanging out with guys.
He’d already got her into hot water, that much was clear.
Still, he should have found another way of reaching her today after he’d followed her at a distance at dawn, making sure she’d got home safely.
Clyde would never more have called him his grandson if he hadn’t seen her safely home, even if it was without her knowing.
He should have knocked at her door, but she’d been adamant he shouldn’t show his face at her house, so he’d done as she’d asked and taken his bike and gone back to Clyde’s to sleep and dream of her a little longer.
Now, his eyes stayed fixed on Peaches and the big buff guy who’d approached her wearing his cloak! Why was she smiling up at him like that, touching his arm?
It didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t she called this off in favour of spending time with him, when only a few hours ago she was coming undone in his arms, fully dressed and from nothing more than his kisses?
He shivered to remember how beautiful she’d been in that moment, how her voice had shaken as she’d gasped his name against his mouth. His skin raised in goosebumps all over again at the memory. How had she forgotten him already?
Frozen to the spot, anonymity making him masochistic, he stayed where he was, and watched, and suffered, as the loud American giant announced, ‘I’ll take care of this!
’ and gathered the crowds’ torches in his hands and plunged the whole lot into the bonfire’s heart.
Crackling sparks burst from the stack’s core and within seconds the pyre was catching light and the crowd roared in a way that suggested something ancient and buried was working loose within them.
The cheers rose with the smoke into the sapphire sky and Carenza McDowell vigorously hugged the American in gratitude and admiration while Peaches, her white outfit glowing ethereally in the firelight, stood placidly by like a sleepwalker.