36
36
Juniper
Digital receipt:
Time: 02.
13 a.m.
Order Number : 27310
Item: 1000 x missing cat posters
Something poked me in the ribs.
A finger. Or the sharp end of Shakespeare’s paw, perhaps.
Enjoying my dream too much, I rolled over, burrowing deeper into my pillow.
“Time to wake up.” A familiar voice I recognised as irritated cut through the haze, drifting too far away for me to piece together exactly why that voice would be in my bedroom.
The finger poked me again.
Hard enough to force my eyes open.
My brain ninety percent mush, it took a moment to realise it wasn’t my cottage ceiling above me, but the cloud-mottled sky, somewhere between black and grey as the dreich day broke.
The smell of damp air and mud irritating my nose.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Rubbed my eyes and blinked again.
Hovering above me, hands on his hips, his overly bushy mutton chops looking more like devil horns from his upside down position …
was Hank.
“Dinnae make me drag yer inside, lass, my ancient back can’t hack it.”
Ada stood at his elbow, hands clasped over her mouth as though she were witnessing the opening sequence of a disaster movie.
I realised a few things in quick succession:
Something had crawled into my mouth and died while I’d slept.
It wasn’t a hand poking me, but the toe of Hank’s boot.
The pillow I clutched to my chest like a lover was Ivy House’s doormat.
And I hadn’t found Shakespeare.
Snapping upright, I swiped a hand over my crusted cheek, trying to get my bearings.
The streetlamps still faintly glowed, the car park silent.
I breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.
If Hank hadn’t even started work yet, that meant it was too early for any guests to have seen me passed out on the porch.
Christ, imagine if they’d had to step over me?
I’d never recover from the humiliation.
How did I even end up here?
When I’d first come to stay with Alexander and Fiona, I developed a small habit of sleepwalking but that hadn’t affected me since my teen years.
“Are you all right, love?” Ada asked, edging closer.
“You must be freezing.”
“I’m fine.” I waved her away.
I did feel fine, physically at least. Mentally …
I stringed together my memories of last night.
Jim Macabe had been injured.
Callum had left for the surgery and, feeling helpless and guilty after I’d point blank refused to go with him, I’d retraced my steps to find Shakespeare.
Starting at the cottage, I’d searched the surrounding area between my property and Callum’s.
From there, I’d cut across the hilly bank between Ivy House and the neighbouring croft, combing through the heather and knee-high grass for any sign of her, hating myself a little more with every step.
My hands were scraped raw from thistle needles and dry mud caked in heavy patches up to my thighs from the bog I’d fallen into.
Around three a.m., convinced I’d die in that stinking bog, I’d cried to the image of the poor hikers that would inevitably discover my remains in days, or weeks.
It was kind of poetic, if you thought about it, how many times had I warned Shakespeare that she would be the death of me?
And in a classic Shakespeare move, she’d proven me right in the most dramatic fashion.
It was only once I’d stopped panicking long enough to halt my sinking into mud did I realise I could use the long grass to pull myself free, beached whale style.
Lethal disaster averted, I’d stumbled back to Ivy House and collapsed on the doorstep, meaning to phone Callum, but I’d turned my phone over and over in my hands, thinking about what I’d even say to him when he answered.
I didn’t want to disturb him while he was with his family, only to reveal my failure.
I must have fallen asleep before deciding.
“Look at you, you’re frozen stiff.” Ada crouched in front of me, chafing her hands up and down my arms. “Work certainly isn’t boring with you in charge.” It didn’t feel like a compliment, but I laughed anyway.
“Now, get yourself inside, I’ll put the kettle on.” She threw a look at Hank that I couldn’t decipher, before stepping around me and heading inside.
That’s when I remembered Ada didn’t start her shift for a few more hours.
And her parking spot sat empty.
“You and Ada drove in together?” I asked Hank, attempting to waggle my eyebrows, but my face was too cold.
“Aye.” He observed me with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging concern.
“What of it? She hasn’t gotten her tyre fixed. Bloody woman, I have half a mind to do it for her.”
“Oh.” I deflated, utterly bored at the explanation.
Were the two of them going to dance around their feelings forever?
At my reaction, the deep grooves in Hank’s forehead cut further into his weathered skin.
“Oh, come on,” I laughed.
“Ada’s been dropping hints at you to ask her out for years.”
“She has?”
My laugh melted into a groan.
“Are you serious? Last Thursday she asked if you liked her new haircut then said no less than three times that her book club was cancelled, and she’d gotten all dressed up for nothing.”
“That … was a hint? To ask her out and such?”
He looked so uncertain I shook my head, dismayed.
“My sweet summer child.”
“I dinnae ken what that means.” He stared toward the inn where Ada had disappeared, as though it might hold the answer.
“I was supposed to ask her out on a date?”
“Yes. Or a drink if you want to keep it casual.”
He looked appalled.
“No, I couldnae do that.”
“Date her?”
“ The drink . If it’s nae more than a drink she’ll think I expect … other things.” Bloody hell .
Hank was actually blushing.
“That’s okay too, if you both want that.”
“ No . I may not always look it but I’m a gentleman.”
And they said romance was dead.
“You still have time to ask her,” I pointed out, doing my best not to smile as he checked his reflection in the door’s glass, smoothing his unruly hair.
“Yer trying to distract me.” He turned back to me.
“What’s really going on? Did that Macabe lad hurt yer?”
“Callum? Of course not.” The opposite was true, in fact.
When I was with Callum, I felt strong enough to do anything.
Only when he was gone did the problems occur.
If he hadn’t been called away last night, I definitely wouldn’t have run headlong into a bog.
He’d have collected the humane trap from the practice and, like the problem fixer he was, Shakespeare would be safely at home, ruling over her domain.
He would have fixed it all …
like he fixed everything.
Did I want him to fix everything?
Did I want to rely upon another man so much that I’d be left broken without him?
Callum said he loved me, and I trusted he meant it.
One of my first observations of him had been his staunch honesty.
It had made me uncomfortable back then, but now …
I knew there was little life in a relationship that didn’t value honesty.
Callum loved me. But could I trust that he loved me enough to stay forever?
To hold my hand through this messy life – the good, the bad and everything in between?
Because life hurt.
It’s all pain in the end, wee one, might as well make the journey worth it .
Is that what Alexander had meant?
That love was supposed to devastate?
Look at April and Mal, content to enjoy every moment together, knowing April’s job would always pull them apart for months at a time.
Love played only a small part when a relationship was built on such unstable ground.
It would take everything .
“If he dinnae upset yer, why are yer crying?” Hank asked.
Because I love him so much it scares me.
Maybe it was the cold or the lack of sleep, but my emotions felt like the inside of a sewing box, a snarl of needles and threads of every colour.
If you pulled on one, they would all tangle into a single jumbled knot.
All I could offer was a very wet, “I lost my cat.”
“You mean that cat?”
My head snapped up, precisely as a pitiful yowl tore through the air.
“Shakespeare?” Whipping around just in time to see her bounding from a hedge as though her tail were on fire, I crouched and opened my arms. No time to worry over her possible rejection.
She was already in them, dry leaves and moss falling from her fur.
Her yowl became accusing, head butting my chin.
This was all your fault , her yellow eyes seemed to say.
I held her tighter. “Don’t do that again.”
She purred and it felt like a suitable agreement.
Watching us, Hank wrinkled his nose.
“I’ll leave yer to it.”
“Remember my advice,” I called over Shakespeare’s head.
“There was some advice between all that weeping?” But he smiled and I knew I’d won him around.
Phone in one hand, I slipped my keys into my back pocket and checked the lock on the cottage door.
Giving it an extra rattle just to be safe.
After I’d settled Shakespeare safely inside, she’d demanded two full bowls of food, swallowed them down like she hadn’t eaten for a year, squished her body into the mound of sofa cushions and promptly fallen asleep, where she was sure to remain for the rest of the day.
Hurriedly flicking through Callum’s essay of texts, I rushed around the side of the inn to my car.
Remember to call if you need me.
Any sign of her?
I’m starting to feel like a stalker, sweetheart.
Apparently I can’t take a hint, let me know if you’re all right.
Please.
And there, sent at six a.m. You’re living up to your nickname again, harpy.
I hope for your sake you’ve been tucked up, sound asleep in bed all night, because you won’t be getting any later.
I think it’s about time I tied you up.
Fair’s fair.
Heat curled in my lower belly and I picked up my pace.
It was almost seven and I was eager to get to the Minor Injuries unit in Portree.
Get to him . I didn’t want to make things worse between him and Alistair, so I’d wait outside and then, once his dad was on the mend, we could talk to Alistair together and find the path of least awkwardness.
Unlocking my car with the fob, I reached for the handle when tyres crunched over gravel.
Callum.
A taxi swung around in a small arc, and hope quickly gave way to disappointment when a small woman in big sunglasses stepped out, her hair a little more sun-streaked than its usual dark brown.
Wait—
“ Fiona? ” She straightened.
“I thought you weren’t coming home until Tuesday?”
Beaming, she pushed her sunglasses onto her head.
“I caught an early flight.”
Three strides and I had her in my arms, squeezing her tighter than ever before.
“I missed you.”
Shock stiffened her limbs for a single heartbeat, and then her arms swept around me too, clutching just as tightly.
“I missed you too, love.” She pulled back, running that assessing gaze over me.
“What on earth, Juniper? You’re all covered in mud.”
Yeah.
Too eager to get to Callum, I hadn’t exactly hung around to change.
“That doesn’t matter.” Picking up her case, I all but dragged her to the door, ready to get this over with.
“I need to tell you something – well, show you, really.”
The flight must have really worn her out, because she was very un-Fiona-like, barely uttering a word of protest when I abandoned her luggage in reception, or when I flaked dry mud on the staircase.
At the threshold to room five, I didn’t hesitate, flipping the lock and pushing open the door wide with sweaty palms.
She’d either like it or she wouldn’t.
Entering first, I held my breath as she turned in one slow circle, eyes skimming over the new soft furnishings and freshly painted panelling – the soft sage that made the space feel bright and airy – then pausing to dance a finger over the antique dresser.
Callum had helped me hang photographs of Skye on the largest wall a few days ago, the frames all various colours, shapes and sizes.
Disordered tranquillity , he’d said, when we stepped back to admire our handiwork .
I’d liked the phrasing then, now I worried if perhaps it were too much.
As a child, I’d always admired the way Fiona never let her emotions show on her face.
On the days she’d frustrated him, Alexander …
my dad , would say it was like arguing with a brick wall, you got nothing but silence and a sore head.
On the good ones he loved the fact he was the only person alive who could accurately read that twinkle in her eye.
I wished he was here now to read her for me, because when she smoothed a hand over the new linen bedding, easing the corner into a perfect square I could never quite replicate, I’d have given anything to know what she was thinking.
Then she noticed the pictures – the largest frame right in the very centre displaying a large swathe of Dad’s tartan wallpaper.
She sat down with a thump, the air punching from her lungs just as soundly.
“Mum—” The title came instinctually, if a little awkwardly.
“I’m so sorry if you hate it, I … I should have asked you first.”
Her lips wobbled into a watery smile.
“Aye, probably.” And then she rolled her eyes, just like I would have done.
“But Hank – busybody that he is – might have pointed out that it was time I loosened the reins around here.”
“You spoke to Hank?”
“Aye, a few times. He told me you had it all in hand and I should leave you to it.”
Hank had actually covered for me?
“So you knew what was going on?”
She laughed, tossing her thick brown hair.
“Of course I did, I’m your mother. You were creeping around, taking secret phone calls, looking guilty as sin for weeks. I knew you had something planned, though I didn’t know it was all this.”
“If you hate it—”
“It’s beautiful.” Gnawing her bottom lip, she folded her hands in her lap.
“I should have let you play a bigger role at Ivy House a long time ago, after your father … I needed something to hold onto and I thought it must be this place, but it wasn’t. I … I needed you, baby girl, and I didn’t know how to tell you.” She held out her arms, her face so hopeful it tore my heart from my chest.
Crossing the room, I sank to my knees, dropping my head into her lap.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such an awful daughter.” She stroked my hair with tentative movements and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I think … ever since you adopted me I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. That you and Dad would see I was nothing like the perfect child you dreamed of and then I’d be alone all over again.”
“ Never … you were our baby, born from me or not. You have nothing to be sorry for, love. We should have tried harder to be a part of your life. You were such an independent wee girl, forced to grow up too soon. You didn’t need me to brush your hair or tuck you in at night.” Her hand didn’t slow.
“Your dad wanted to push but I … I feared pushing too hard would only drive you further away from us.”
Throwing my arms around her waist, I held her like I was seven years old with a cut knee.
“I love you, Mum.”
She whimpered, kissing the top of my head.
“I love you too, baby. Always have. Your dad would be so proud of you.”
The words were like a warm blanket thrown over every miserable moment in my life.
Still being me, when tears rolled down my cheeks again, I wanted to stuff them back inside my eye sockets.
Three people had seen me cry this morning, if you counted that sheep judging my knee-deep breakdown in the bog, and I most certainly fucking did.
I pulled back, swiping at my cheeks.
“I didn’t even ask about your trip, did you have a good time?”
“The best.” She smiled, looking lighter.
Like years of grief – hadn’t disappeared exactly – but lifted some.
“I think I’ll do it again now that I’m stepping back as manager.”
“You’re what?”
“It’s time. This place was mine and your father’s. Now it’s yours. If you want it.”
Mine.
Happiness sprang like wildflowers.
I didn’t have to think about it.
“ Yes .” My voice wobbled.
“Of course. Yes .”
“Good.” Standing, she smoothed her skirt in that no-nonsense way of hers.
“I need to wash the plane off me … you should shower too before you see that new boyfriend of yours.”
She turned for the door and my mouth gaped.
“Boyfriend? How could you know of any boyfriend?”
“I told you, Hank is a busybody.” Her eyes danced.
“He’s a good boy, June bug. Hold onto him.”
“ What? ” I said again, but she disappeared down the hallway.
The second the door closed, I slapped my hands to my face and sank to the mattress.
“Feeling fucking sucks,” I whimpered right before another sob wracked my body, tears free falling in an undignified mess of salt and snot.
This was all Callum’s fault.
He was the reason I felt so wonderfully overwhelmed.
Like I’d been hit by a double-decker bus and couldn’t wait for the next collision.
It was exhausting.
Did people feel like this all the time?
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, a heartbeat before the door creaked.
“Sweetheart?” His voice reached me first. Then gentle hands tugged me into arms that felt like they were built for the sole purpose of holding me.
Callum tucked me tightly to his chest, like he predicted I was about to break and only he could hold all my pieces together.