Chapter 37
Murray woke in the half-light of the mountain dawn to the sound of metal and tin clattering.
He sprang from the bed that Finlay had insisted he take, since the ranger didn’t want to move from the sofa, to find Finlay by a fire newly swept and re-lit, attempting to get the lid off the kettle so he could fill it up.
‘What are you doing?’ said Murray, his feet hitting the cold stone floor.
Startled, Finlay said in dismay, ‘I wanted to make us coffee.’
Murray was by his side in an instant, wrestling the kettle and coffee canister from him. ‘That’s why I’m here! Shift over. Let me.’
Finlay moved reluctantly away. ‘You’ve already done so much.’
Murray looked him up and down from where he crouched before the flames and couldn’t help laughing.
‘Whit!’ Finlay protested.
He’d managed to change into a new pair of pyjama bottoms, heavy green flannel ones, at that, but his feet were bare and there was a woollen jumper pulled over his head and over one arm but ridiculously bunched up above his bad shoulder in its sling, the sleeve inside out.
‘I wanted to wash and dress myself. I’ve been wearing the same thing since that first night… ’
There was a smear of toothpaste at one corner of his mouth, and his hair and face were, Murray noticed, damp, and droplets of water clung to the ends of Finlay’s scruffy waves.
Murray looked around at the evidence. There was plenty of water on the floor in front of the kitchen sink and a damp towel in a bundle on the countertop.
‘Come here,’ Murray told him, and Finlay obeyed, but not without a lot of grumbling and muttering, which he ignored.
‘Can I?’ Murray asked, before pulling the wrinkled woollen down over Finlay’s bandaged arm, leaving the sleeve inside out.
‘Did you take your painkillers?’ he asked, and Finlay snapped that of course he had.
Murray now took the towel and rubbed it gently and thoroughly all over Finlay’s damp locks. ‘I could have washed your hair, you should have waited till I woke up.’
‘I managed,’ came the reply.
Murray took the opportunity to wipe away the toothpaste from his mouth. ‘Sure you did. Now, where are your fresh socks, hmm?’
Finlay looked forlornly behind him at the clean, balled woollen socks by the sofa. ‘It’s easier getting them off than putting them on again,’ he admitted, his voice smaller than Murray had ever heard it.
‘It’s OK. Just sit.’
Finlay looked like he was ready to protest again.
‘Sit!’
Over by the door, where Nell had been waiting patiently for her morning walk, the dog put her bottom on the floor, wagging her tail to show what a good girl she was being.
The men had to laugh, and Murray helped Finlay lower himself onto the sofa, trying to resist the wicked urge to flex his bicep where Finlay gripped him for support.
‘Daft dug,’ Finlay said, but his tone sounded more like praise than an insult.
‘Did you feed Nell?’ said Murray, kneeling at Finlay’s feet, unballing the socks.
‘Just a bit of jellied chicken from a jar,’ Finlay said.
Murray shuddered. ‘Good, because, ugh! I wasn’t eating that!’
‘One of Laura Mercer’s presents,’ Finlay said, trying to keep the small talk going as Murray decided not to put the socks straight onto his feet but to apply some of the medicated cream the doctor had prescribed for the sore skin around his ankles where the frost had bitten him.
Murray found he welcomed the distraction because Finlay Morlich, it turned out, had seriously nice feet, and his ankles were really kind of devastating when viewed up close and held between two lotioned hands. He gulped. ‘You never, uh, fancied Laura, or anything?’
‘Uh, yeah, no,’ Finlay replied. ‘Obviously not.’
Murray didn’t lift his eyes, rubbing the last of the lotion in before pulling the fresh socks into place, making sure to give Finlay’s wool-clad feet another rub over just to warm them.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Now where’s your comb?’
‘Eh?’
‘Or do you use a brush?’ Murray looked around the room, spotting the shampoo bar on the side of the sink, and the toothbrush and paste, but nothing else in the way of personal grooming stuff.
Finlay shrugged. ‘I’ve never really bothered combing my hair.’
Murray resisted the urge to interrogate him about how that was possible, but something within him told him Finlay might have had enough of being questioned and picked at for one lifetime, so instead he kneeled up higher and reached his hands up to the ranger’s damp hair.
Finlay flinched, pulling back. ‘What you doing?’
‘Sorting your hair. Is that not OK? I won’t, if you don’t want me to.’
‘No, I do,’ Finlay said. ‘Startled me, that’s all.’
Murray took this as a sign to move slowly around him, and he let his hands reach into the thick light-brown waves of Finlay’s hair at a snail’s pace.
‘Hmm.’ The sound came from Finlay at the first touch of his scalp.
Seeing that the ranger had his eyes closed and his lips parted like this was all new to him, Murray stroked his fingertips through his damp hair all the way to the nape of his neck, before pulling them free and starting again from his hairline, raking through the coconut-scented waves.
He really must ask where he’d bought that shampoo bar, but for now he stayed focused on the sensation of running his hands through Finlay’s hair, listening out for the gruff, approving sounds that told him he liked this as much as Murray did.
There came a point when the two had shifted so close together that Finlay’s damp, bobbing head was in danger of coming to rest upon Murray’s chest. Murray pictured himself pulling Finlay that little bit nearer until he leaned on his sweatshirt and how he’d hold him there, stroking him back to sleep.
Murray had been just about to enact his plan, when a notification pinged on his phone.
The pair jumped apart, and Murray stood on wobbly legs, making his way to where his phone sat forgotten on the counter. This last week had to be the longest he’d gone without taking the slightest interest in his phone and the wider world. He hadn’t missed it once.
What he found was a message from Barbara Huber, reminding him she needed a decision by tomorrow. ‘Shit!’ Murray ran a hand over his unshaven face.
‘Problem?’ Finlay asked from the sofa.
When Murray returned with the phone to show him, Finlay had rearranged his face from the dreamy surrender of a moment ago to something he probably hoped resembled casual interest. In fact, his cheeks were flushed and his pupils were still tiny pinpoints.
‘It’s, uh, it’s this job offer I was supposed to be thinking about. My old boss, in Switzerland, emailed me some potential postings I was supposed to be considering.’
‘Postings?’ Finlay handed back the phone, having examined the message.
‘Contracts overseas. I’ve got until tomorrow to decide which ones I want, if any.’
‘Right.’ Finlay shifted back against the cushions where he sat looking uncomfortable. ‘Where might they send you?’
‘The last one they arranged was to Mali,’ Murray said, suddenly unsure why the idea didn’t appeal to him as much as it once had when he’d been overlooked for the Mali trip after causing a scene at a big charity donors’ gala event, when he’d caught Andreas arm in arm with billionaire David.
‘I know one contract’s for an ocean-cleaning thing off a Balinese beach. ’
‘Well then,’ said Finlay, as though that must be Murray’s mind made up. ‘Congratulations are in order, I suppose.’
‘That’s the thing, you see?’ Murray dropped onto the sofa beside him.
‘With all this happening, I haven’t had a chance to even open her email and find out what these contracts will involve.
They could be days, they could be months long.
I’ve been avoiding opening that email, to be honest, up here with you, and I didn’t get the chance to… ’
‘You should go home.’
‘What? No, I…’
‘I’m better, honestly.’
Murray didn’t believe that for a second. ‘I’ve got until tomorrow to decide.’
‘So…’ Finlay’s eyes had turned puppy-dog wide. ‘You can stay for breakfast, or breakfast and lunch?’
The hope reflecting back at him made Murray’s heart swell. ‘And after that, afternoon tea?’ Murray teased, unable to hold back his smile.
Nell’s ears had pricked up at all this talk of food and she peeped her head around the arm of the sofa.
‘You can have some too, Mutt,’ Finlay said, putting his hand out to her so that she transformed into a bouncing, tail-swinging lump of pure energy once more.
Murray shoved his phone between the sofa cushions and joined in with the dog pats, and the pair let themselves forget about the world outside once more, just for a little while longer.