Chapter Eleven #2
“No.” Ewan scowls. “He’s dead, yeah. He was my oldest mate and last year he keeled over and died.
Sudden cardiac death, they called it. No warning signs.
Nothing. He was fit, ran marathons for fun and bollocks like that.
One day, we were down the pub, the next his mum’s calling me to tell me he’s socked it.
” He closes his eyes. When he opens them, they glimmer with tears.
“He was well outdoorsy. Loved all this shit: hiking, camping, mountain biking, kayaking. He was always inviting me on these trips. Adventures, he called them. But I… I dunno. I was busy, or I couldn’t be bothered. It’s not really my thing, you know?”
My heart hurts for Ewan, who is too young to be carrying this kind of grief, to be weighed down by all the what-ifs and should-haves that come when someone leaves so suddenly.
“Anyway, this walk, it was his favourite. He did it once when were kids and afterwards he was obsessed. Went on and on about it. I promised I’d do it with him.
Mostly to shut him up, you know, but—” His voice goes quiet.
“I never did. I kept putting it off. Next year, I said. And then next year again. And then suddenly there wasn’t a next year to have.
” His shoulders slump. “I thought we’d have more time. We were supposed to have more time.”
I freeze. I need to say something. Offer him comfort. Tell him things will be okay. But I can feel my Da there, the loss too close, and with the weight of it on me, crushing the air from my lungs, I have nothing to give.
Come on, Angus. For once in your life, don’t be the emotionally stunted man-child they all say you are. Stuart’s voice.
But the words won’t come.
And then someone else is barrelling between us and wrapping Ewan up in her neon-blue arms.
Rowan.
“Where the fucking bejeezus did you come from?” Ewan squeaks.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice muffled.
“I was on the other side of the log. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but after this morning, I wasn’t sure if you were going to shout at me again, so when I heard you coming I…
hid. Not very brave, I know.” Then she draws back a little so she can look at him. “What was his name?”
Ewan goes stiff as a board. But slowly his body loosens, some of the tension dropping from his face.
“Caleb,” he says at last.
“So you’re walking this for him? To honour him? Keep your promise to him?”
Ewan nods. “Yeah.” The word sounds stronger. “Yeah, I am.”
Rowan releases him from her iron grip. “That’s beautiful, Ewan.
Truly. I’m so sorry your friend is dead.
That’s unbelievably hard. You’re right: you should have had more time.
But I think that what you’re doing with the time that you still have is incredible.
And I’d like to help you get through it, if you’ll have me? ”
Ewan pulls his cap down and tries to wipe at his face, as if the rest us can’t see the tears that sparkle there.
“And me,” Priya comes to stand beside them, and takes Ewan’s hand. “I’d like to help too.”
“We both would,” Lila joins in.
Silence falls and after a few seconds I realise they’re all looking at me. Waiting for me to join in.
“What do you think I’ve been doing all day? Skipping through daisies?” I ask. “Fucking hell.”
“Not in front of Priya,” Lila admonishes.
“He swore earlier.” I point at Ewan.
“He’s injured. And his friend’s dead. He gets a free pass.” Lila puts her hands on her hips. “You’re more than old enough to know better.”
This. This right here is why I don’t like groups. Too many bloody feelings.
“Come on then.” I slide my shoulder under Ewan’s and hoist him up. “Day’s wasting.”
Together we stagger down the path, leaving the others to catch up.
“See! I told you he was angry-nice.” I hear Priya say behind me.
“You’re absolutely right,” Rowan replies. “He shouted at me the first time I saw him. But then he helped me with my tent. I’ve been calling him the Scottish yeti in my head.”
“Because he’s tall and shaggy and scowls all the time?”
“I can hear you,” I shout back. “And I do not scowl all the time.”
They don’t reply, but their laughter carries up the path, bright as bells.
“You do a bit though.” Ewan frowns at me. “You’ve even got a line between your eyes from it. Right in the middle.”
“Don’t make me drop you.”
“Drop the injured boy with the dead friend? You can’t. Even you’re not that much of a dick.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Besides, she’ll fancy you more if you act like the hero. Now she’s sweet on me and all. Chicks are such suckers for a sob story.”
“Who will fancy me?”
Ewan rolls his eyes. “Who do you think? The pipsqueak with the violin? Her mum’s pretty hot. Bit on the stern side. Scowl city, the two of you.” He elbows me in the ribs. “Rowan, of course.”
“I don’t want her to fancy me.” I say it too fast, the words jumbling together into one barely comprehensible mess. “I don’t even like her.”
Ewan grunts in disbelief. “Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding, yeah?”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding.”
This time, I keep control of the speed, but lose it on the volume, squawking the last word.
“Wedding?” Priya bounds forward. “Is someone getting married?”
I fight the urge to dropkick Ewan into the trees. Dead friend and sprained ankle or no, the lad is getting on my last nerve.
Luckily, I’ve spent a lifetime dodging well-meaning questions and know how to think on my feet.
“A couple are holding their wedding at my farm this weekend. So, we were talking about that.”
There. The perfect excuse.
“This weekend?” Rowan’s eyes are wide.
“Yes?”
“At your farm?”
“Also, yes? That’s what I said.” I don’t know what’s gotten in to her, and I don’t like it one bit.
“Where is your farm?”
“About an hour’s drive north of Fort William.” There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“And are the couple’s names Sophie and Henry?”
The sinking feeling turns into a yawning pit. “Yes.”
“That’s my sister’s wedding!”
Priya stares at us like we’re a tennis match, her face scrunched in confusion. “So you’ll both be at the same wedding? Is that… good?”
Is that good? I have no idea.
Rowan. Whose presence lights something inside me. Who can drive me crazy with syllable. Who I’ve already sworn myself off because there is no way she’s a one-time fuck.
In a few days, she won’t be catching the fastest train back to London. She’ll be at her fancy-ass sister’s wedding, wearing a fancy-ass dress, drinking fancy-ass champagne. On my farm. On my land.
Near my bed.
A vision of her stripped of her hiking clothes and poured into something floor-length, strapless and sinfully skintight blinks into my mind.
Probably in some outrageously loud colour or pattern, because of course she would.
Her feet teetering in fuck-me heels. Her perfect ass caught by the fabric, a glimpse of her tits haunting my vision, some floral perfume tantalising my senses.
I am so fucked.