Chapter 5 #2
He gave a guarded grunt, just in case they tried to detain him further, and turned, pocketing the coins and making an awkward attempt at pulling free his grandfather’s compass so he could slip the brown-paper-wrapped parcel of tablet safely inside his pocket, thinking only of how he’d have a wee taste of it on his way back up to the cruive. ‘Thank you, then. Cheerio.’
Head down, boots shifting. He was stocked up and he was offski (which is the Highland version of outta here).
Only… Ooft! He’d hit a pillar or something. Smack bang! Ploughed straight into it in his haste to get away.
Only the pillar was turning on him, apologising, gripping at Finlay’s coat to steady itself from falling.
‘Whoops, sorry!’ the obstruction was saying, a warm hand gripped over Finlay’s cold one, the initial impact having shoved the delicate old compass hard into Finlay’s chest while something chilly and solid scraped his knuckles; a mobile phone, Finlay guessed.
These hillfooters are addicted to their mobile phones.
It was all Finlay could do to keep his compass protected in his palm while clinging to his ration box in case his precious goodies fell to the floor.
The apologising man – who had tufty red hair like a woodland squirrel and eyes just as wide – was asking him if he was OK.
‘Absolutely fine,’ Finlay said, attempting to step away.
The man was still on high alert and wildly staring, his hand still pressing against Finlay’s.
The redhead’s eyes flitted down to where their skin touched before yanking his hand away. ‘God, sorry. I…’
‘Nae damage,’ Finlay assured him, though that metallic phone case would likely have left a graze over his knuckles, but he wasn’t thinking about that right at this moment.
Instead, he was thinking about this pair of green eyes.
All the greener against the man’s auburn hair.
Red and green. The colours of the mountains in autumn.
Odd, Finlay never normally noticed these things.
He was suddenly aware of the Gifford sisters looking on and nudging each other. Finlay determined to get away all the faster.
He tried to dodge around the man, but they both stepped aside at exactly the same time, leaving them chest to chest like they were dancing ‘Strip the Willow’ at a Hogmanay ceilidh.
‘’Scuse me,’ Finlay tried, close to losing his patience.
‘You’re the one joining us for the meeting at the surgery, aren’t you?’ the man was saying.
Not you an’ all! Finlay wanted to say.
Why? Why would he be here to meet people? He did everything he could to avoid meeting anyone. Didn’t they know that about him down here?
‘On Monday, at half five?’ the man was saying. ‘Senga’s going to make us her chocolate digestive squares specially.’
Dangling a carrot like that wasn’t going to work either. Finlay glowered harder to get the message across: he was not one to chat.
‘You’re a mountain ranger, aren’t you? The rangers’ station manager told us they were providing a nature expert from their team.
We’ve already got Cary the carpenter helping build the raised beds and drafting a design plan for us.
I’ll be sorting the funding streams. Livvie Cooper’s our new events manager.
She’ll be managing the press side of things and… ’
Finlay stopped trying to escape and looked at the man – handsome, slender – and smiling as he wittered on, hopeful for something Finlay couldn’t give.
‘I’ve nae idea what you’re on about, but whatever it is, it’s not my thing.’
Undeterred, the man was unlocking his phone, reading something from his planner. ‘Are you not Finlay Morlich?’
Hearing his name from those lips made the earth rattle below his feet like that day in June when there’d been one of the range’s rare earthquakes and he’d stood at the door of his cruive while the whole mountain roiled for all of five seconds and the birds had instinctively stopped singing.
‘That’s me. What of it?’
‘I’m Murray… Murray McIntyre?’
Finlay shrugged. This guy clearly didn’t see there’d been a misunderstanding of some kind.
‘You see, the thing is, the surgery approached us here at the shed about a social prescribing scheme where patients can join in with the building of a garden just out there.’ Murray pointed through the wall of the shed.
‘It’ll be made using recycled and repurposed stuff, fully organic, zero waste.
It’s for the patients’ mental wellbeing.
To get outside, meet new folk. You’re being loaned to us, to help with the native wildflower and tree planting, aren’t you? Our wildlife expert.’
Finlay held up a hand, shielding himself. ‘Not me.’ He attempted another escape.
Too bad for one of the other rangers, getting saddled with that.
Though, from what he’d observed of his ranger colleagues, they’d be pretty well cut out for this kind of thing.
Chattering, eager, sociable. Sure, Finlay knew wild plants and trees and the names and habitats of all the wee sneaking creatures, but so would the others. ‘I’ll be off.’
He took steady strides towards the doors and it seemed he really was going to make it outside to freedom this time.
He ignored the startled silence and the feeling of eyes at his back as he escaped into the floodlit carpark, lurching away from the old mill house, feet crunching hard on the gravel. That had been a close scrape, and way too much idle chattering for his liking.
There was just enough time to collect his book reservations at the library before it closed, and so that’s where he headed, planning a speedy in and out with zero chit-chat, even though there was one librarian who always made reading recommendations for him, and, admittedly, she was usually bang on with ideas for stories he’d enjoy, but when he got there he found the library closed and so died the tiny light that had been burning within him for a backpack heavy with new reads.
So, he gripped at his rations tin and worked his legs, left right, left right, along the last bit of the high street towards the turning he’d take for the mountain path, unsatisfied.
The sign for Cairn Dhu doctor’s surgery at the edge of town flickered with a dodgy bulb. He couldn’t account for it catching his eye otherwise.
There’d be no community project meetings for him. Definitely not. No getting involved with repair shop folk, even red-haired men with spiked auburn lashes.
He was relieved to be getting away with his peace (and his precious block of sweet tablet) safely preserved.
He stalked away from the lights, slowing only to tear at the paper around the tablet, taking a hungry bite, working his jaw, sweetness bursting on his tongue. Comfort in a crumbly block. Only, something was off, and the sensory hit he’d been seeking didn’t quite satisfy him.
Had Finlay been capable of interpreting the clamorous urges warring within him, he’d know the delicacies he guarded like a dragon with its treasure hoard wouldn’t be able to placate the fresh pang of need surging within him.
On he stomped, back to the mountain and his solitude. It was going to take a hard lesson before Finlay Morlich could slake his long-neglected appetites. For now, his sweet treats had to suffice.