Chapter 17
‘You’re alive?’
‘Seems that way.’ Florrie couldn’t help the edge in her voice. Her mum had a tendency to catastrophise. ‘I’m absolutely fine, just heading back to my… place, to get some sleep.’ Visions of the mezzanine ladder came to her in a flash. That was going to pose a problem.
Turning, she was relieved to see Hamish loitering a few feet away, trying not to eavesdrop.
‘Do you want me to come and get you?’ her mother was asking.
‘What? No, of course not. I’ll manage.’ She gestured for Hamish to come closer and dig for the repair shop key in her coat pocket.
‘Who else is going to look after you, if not your mother?’
‘I have… people here, OK?’ she said in English.
Hamish, with an uncertain smile, met her eyes.
‘You have people in Scotland?’ her mother echoed.
Hamish slid open the doors to let her pass inside before quickly shutting out the cold of the night.
The shed was lit only by the lights from the Christmas tree and the last embers glowing in the café’s stove fire.
Florrie prevented Hamish turning on the ceiling lights with a soft tap of her bandaged hand.
‘No?’ he mouthed.
‘No,’ she mouthed back.
‘It’s just a job like any other,’ she told her mother, dodging a discussion about Hamish or anything else about Cairn Dhu, but the truth was, she did have people in Scotland.
She followed Hamish to the café counter where he’d been about to unpack their snacks when he showed her a Post-it fixed to the fridge door. It read:
Stovies in fridge for your supper, Florrie. Nighty-night, Rhona x
Hamish had smiled at the note too.
‘I’ll be done here soon enough,’ she told her mum, switching back to Norwegian because Hamish was now happily unbagging their treats onto a tray.
‘And then what?’ her mother pressed. ‘Will you come to Oslo and let us take care of you, please?’
‘Maybe.’
It wasn’t a terrible idea, in theory. She’d have to meet her mum’s new family eventually.
Just then, a man’s voice came down the line. ‘Is she OK?’ it said. It had to be Oskar.
‘She says she is.’ Her mum wasn’t going to be easily convinced.
Florrie pressed on. ‘I need to tie things up here, then I’ll decide what to do next.’
‘Does Maxim want you to go to him for Christmas?’ her mother asked. It sounded innocent enough, but Florrie knew a wrong answer could be like a match to a firework of emotions.
‘Did you… speak to him?’ Florrie chanced.
Meanwhile, Hamish had taken Rhona’s covered dish from the fridge and placed the stovies in the microwave where they were rotating in the white light, and he’d gone over to the café’s stove fire, loading it up with kindling and logs.
‘I spoke to his PA,’ her mum replied. ‘You know he never answers.’
‘Right. Of course.’ This was subterfuge. Florrie had kept it up for years; pretending he was as bad as her mum made out. The truth was, in spite of his faults, he always picked up immediately when Florrie called. Only, she didn’t call him very often.
‘Drink?’ Hamish mimed as he returned to the kitchen counter, and at her nod, he cracked the cans of Coke, finding glasses and ice.
Florrie was glad Hamish couldn’t translate what she was saying. ‘Mama, I shouldn’t have come here without telling you. I did want to tell you, I just… felt it was best to fly in, get the job done, fly out. You know?’
‘Keeping secrets for your father.’ A sulk was creeping into her voice.
‘It wasn’t like that. Dad never asked me to keep this from you.’
Hamish arranged the dish of stovies, rich-smelling and steaming, onto a tray alongside everything else and carried it over to the fireside where the flames were beginning to catch.
He had arranged a table in front of the fire with an armchair either side.
‘Come on,’ he whispered, and she followed, still with the phone jammed to her ear.
‘You’re with someone now?’ her mother said. ‘Is it the guy who called me?’
‘Yes, that’s him. He’s looking after me. You don’t need to worry.’
‘Mothers always worry.’
She could hear Oskar in the background trying to coax the phone from her mum’s hands so he could speak and, alarmingly, her mum was relenting.
‘Hei! Florrie? This is Oskar.’
This was a weird way to meet her stepdad, but it had been a weird kind of day. Hamish helped her drop into her armchair by the fire, propping a plump cushion at her back.
‘Hei. Um, listen, can you tell Mama not to worry, please? I am completely fine, honestly.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ His voice was alive with good humour and kindness. ‘Or, if you need anything, we can all be on a flight to Scotland overnight.’
‘All of you?’
‘Ja, kids too. They’re so excited to meet you. Your mama talks about you all the time. Just say the word, I’ll buy tickets.’
‘That’s very sweet, but no. Thank you.’
Hamish had taken the chair opposite her across the low table. He beckoned her to lean forward with his fork loaded with stovies poised in the airspace between them.
‘More than anything, I need to rest.’ She shook her head to say there was no way she was going to let Hamish feed her, for goodness’ sake, but he ignored her protest and airplaned the fork to her mouth, making her want to laugh.
She had no choice but to take the forkful into her mouth.
Hamish smiled softly, seeing her relent.
‘Tell her to drink plenty of water,’ her mother was instructing Oskar, and Florrie detected a scuffle for control of the phone. ‘Ask what medications they’ve given her.’
‘OK, so, we’re going to hang up now,’ Oskar said in a kindly way, wishing to rescue her from her mum’s fussing. ‘Say goodnight, Noora.’
‘But I…’ Her mother was about to protest, but Florrie heard her backing down after Oskar pointed out Florrie must be very sleepy.
‘All right,’ her mum called down the line. ‘But I’ll phone again soon. Please no more falling, elskling.’
Florrie sagged with relief when the call cut off.
‘Another bite,’ Hamish said, retrieving the phone from where it had been jammed to her cheek, and laying it aside.
‘You are not going to do this with the whole dish?’
He threw a wry look towards her bandaged hands and the bruises blooming around her exposed knuckles.
‘This day just gets better and better.’ She sighed, but realised she was actually enjoying herself, now that she had tested the waters with her mum. Plus, she would never have to dread her first encounter with Oskar ever again. It was done, and he’d seemed nice, actually.
She opened her mouth to take another savoury bite. In the warmth from the fire, she realised that, bizarrely, her statement was actually true. The day was getting better.
‘Lil’ sip?’ Hamish said, impishly, lifting the Coke to her lips. She indulged him with an exaggerated tut of annoyance, all the while feeling her heart glowing as bright as the flames crackling inside the stove fire.
‘You need to eat too,’ she told him. ‘You must be starving. We barely ate anything today.’
‘Okey-doke.’ He scooped a big forkful and ate it quickly. ‘Ah love stovies.’ His accent turned all the thicker while eating Scottish food, it seemed.
‘Rhona made me some on Wednesday too.’
‘Well, she must like you.’ He conveyed another forkful to her lips. ‘So, how much trouble am I in with your mama?’
The way he said the word in her accent made a laugh burst out.
‘You’re not in trouble with anyone. I put myself in this position, not you.’
He toyed with the fork. ‘And you’re secretly… Norwegian, it turns out.’
More laughter; it seemed to come so easily as he helped her fill her belly by the fire. ‘Yes, I’m Norwegian. Though my omma was from Faroe, Mum was born in the Fl?m valley, where I was born. And my dad is originally from Canada, but he’s lived in Aspen for years. We’re a big mixture.’
He flew another loaded fork to her mouth. ‘A bit like stovies. Go on, big bite, that’s it.’
They were both smiling and drooping with tiredness by the time the dish was empty and Hamish had unwrapped the Cadbury’s caramel chocolate bar and that was eaten in what felt like seconds too.
‘You need to sleep,’ he told her. ‘I promised the doctors.’
‘Ah, yes…’
They both looked to the ladder.
‘I’ll bring down the things you need.’ He was already up on his feet. ‘What do your PJs look like? Do you… wear PJs?’
He scaled the ladder and leaned over the mezzanine railing, waiting for her answer.
‘They’re the shorts and cami, on the bed.’
He disappeared from her view for all of a second.
‘What? These things?’ He dangled the tiny pink striped set over the mezzanine wall.
‘You’ll catch your death!’ He loved making her laugh, it seemed, and it was so easy to do when he was being so attentive and kind.
Kindness she didn’t deserve, everything considered.
He was clambering back down the ladder with her duvet and pillow under his arm too.
‘Do you want to go do bathroom stuff? I’ll wait here. You can shout when you need me.’
‘I’m not going to need you,’ she said, shrinking with embarrassment as he helped her stand. She took her PJs from his hands.
‘I think you will, but go ahead. Prove me wrong.’
He’d placed a sheet and then a blanket over the café sofa and plumped the pillow, before fluffing the duvet and letting it fall into place over Florrie’s makeshift bed for the night, wondering if maybe he should have asked her to sleep at his place, but that hadn’t felt like an option as they were leaving the medical centre.
Mind you, that was before they’d kissed.
A shudder zapped up his spine at the memory of it. Had it been smart? Probably not. But it had felt absolutely right in the moment. He wasn’t going to do it again, though.
Not unless she wanted to, and even then, that didn’t feel right, not when she was so vulnerable and probably still a little high on pain relief. No, he told himself, not when she was injured and needed to rest.
He’d just finished washing their empty glasses and her dish and fork when he heard her calling for him.
‘OK, I… I do need some help,’ she was saying sheepishly. He followed her voice to the bathroom door. ‘Don’t come in here!’ she yelped.
‘How am I meant to help you, then?’