by Jenny Colgan
He glanced at his phone again. She’d blocked him. Maybe Kim-Ange had dissed him, he hadn’t even thought of that. Told Lissa what a rube he was, how many mistakes he’d made. Maybe they’d laughed themselves silly at the narrow escape she’d had. Oh God.
He took a deep breath.
He drove on.
IT WAS STRANGE; he didn’t feel tired. Even though it was the early hours of the morning, he felt strangely alive, crossing the fells through the beautiful lake district, climbing higher and higher through Cumbria, till he finally crossed the border, and on and on they went, through a blissfully snoozing Glasgow and up north, ever north, across the Campsie Fells, and now when he opened the window the air was fresh and freezing, and clouds passed across the moon as the stars began to vanish, one by one, and at first it was the faintest passing of black to navy and navy to blue and a very thin line at the horizon to his right, promising a new day.
Chapter 80
It was just after six when Cormac reached Lennox’s farm, but everyone was up already, Lennox beaming broadly when he met the lads stumbling out of the car, blinking and rubbing their eyes, some of them already regretting their drunken plans of the night before. Nina had gotten up too and prepared a large breakfast for the incomers.
The train didn’t arrive till seven. Cormac was edgy and itchy and couldn’t put his phone away. Nina noticed.
“Can I use your shower?” he asked awkwardly.
“Why don’t you go to your own lovely house and use your own lovely shower, Cormac MacPherson?” she said.
“Because . . . there’s a girl in it,” he said.
“Oh, she’s lovely, Lissa,” said Nina. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
Cormac turned bright scarlet and tried to answer, but couldn’t. Nina gave him a very shrewd look.
“Here, I’ll get you a towel,” she said, John on her hip as she went toward the airing cupboard. “You can borrow a shirt of Lennox’s too, if you’re desperate.”
“Uh, thanks,” said Cormac.
“If you see her,” said Nina, bustling off, “tell her I’ve got that copy of Daddy-Long-Legs in I ordered for her. Actually here, take it yourself.”
And she went back downstairs, to pour thick cream and honey on the porridge and to brew fresh coffee for the new batch of harvest boys.
CORMAC FOLLOWED HER outside. “Actually, I might just . . . head back to London,” he said, head down.
Nina looked at him, frowning. “Why?”
“Um, long story. But I need to get packed up down there. Head back here. Just . . . tie up some loose ends.”
“Are you okay?”
Cormac shrugged. “Ach. There was a girl. It didn’t work out.”
Nina smiled sympathetically. “English girls,” she said. “We’re terribly tricky.”
“I might as well go back, get it sorted out. Plus, I think the lads share that car with about twenty other people. Don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?”
“Neh, can’t really miss a shift. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay then,” said Nina. “See you in two weeks.”
He paused. “I don’t think the streets of London really are paved with gold.”
Nina looked around the bustling farmyard. In the corner, a quiet Robbie was on the ground, crawling up to little John and pretending to be a bear, while John cackled hysterically. He had adjusted to the quiet of the farm so quickly, Nina hadn’t seen him take a drink since he got there. He ate with the other laborers every night, kept to himself, but the relief in his face was obvious, and Nina always dug him up an extra slice of bacon from somewhere. Little John adored him; Robbie always made him smile, and he crawled around after him half the day. If it hadn’t been ridiculous, Nina would have thought he understood that he was needed.
At a long table set up in the barn, the South London lads were nervously joshing with one another, showing off, talking about who had the biggest muscles for working in the fields, while eating large second helpings of porridge and thick-cut bread with marmalade and surreptitiously texting their mums to let them know they were all right.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nina.
Chapter 81
The long, rambling bus had toured the hills at dawn, and Lissa felt it was very unfair, listening to the elderly couple behind her, who were clearly having a massive argument, because it was in Gaelic, and it sounded completely beautiful to her ears anyway.
Scotland was doing this on purpose: ray after ray of sun breaking through the morning clouds, revealing fields so green they could have been made of neon; nearly grown lambs tearing about in joy; towering peaks overhead sheltering little stone villages huddled around market squares in their lee. The air had a catch of cold early-morning mist in it; you could feel it in your throat, but also you could smell, feel, a warm day ahead, when the scent would rise off the heather, where your hands would trace the high, high tops of the wildflowers, intertwined everywhere with butterflies and bees.
Groggy still, as well as feeling the aftereffects of the gin—plus, the shock of the change between grimy Euston and here was like jet lag—she stared out the window, her chin on her hand. What a privilege it had been, in the end, she supposed, to get to come here. It was annoying in a way that the human resources people and the therapists and her friends had all been right. It had done her good. Okay, she didn’t get everything . . . but that had been a silly fantasy. It shouldn’t—it mustn’t—define her stay, define her, take away what she had gained from the amazing country.
She stepped out into the early pink morning, Kirrinfief still quiet, apart from old Mrs. Whirter trundling up with her cart to hit the newsagent first. She waved to Lissa and, completely ignoring the fact that the girl looked exhausted, was carrying an overnight bag, and obviously just wanted to go home, immediately jumped into the bunion conversation again.
Three months ago, Lissa would have given a half smile and hurried on. This morning, she put her bag down and let the whole story—involving evil daughters-in-law and, for some reason, an Irn-Bru margarita—unfold, before promising to squeeze in an extra appointment and pop in later once she’d gotten herself squared up. Mrs. Whirter smiled broadly and said that wouldn’t be necessary, a chat with Lissa was a tonic in itself, and wasn’t it a terrible shame she had to leave?
Fortunately her eyes weren’t quite good enough these days to see the rapid tears forming in Lissa’s.
THE ROAD TO the little cottage was wildly overgrown, the hedgerows riotous and crazy from the never-ending sun and rain, sun and rain. Lissa took in their morning scent as the sun began to slowly rise, lifting the mists off the loch. The birds sounded in the trees; barely a car passed to disturb them, or her thoughts, as she trundled her suitcase behind her.
The little house looked sweeter than ever to her as she stepped up to the doorway, put the big old key in the lock.
For the oddest moment as she turned it she wondered . . . No, of course not. She was being ridiculous. And the kitchen was just as she had left it—was it really only twenty-four hours ago? Yes. Twenty-four hours before, one cup and one plate all by themselves neatly on the drying rack. Nothing had moved; nobody had been there. It was just her, alone, again. Her phone pinged. She couldn’t help grabbing at it. Her mum.
She smiled. I’ll call you later, she texted, and made a promise to herself to do so and invite her mum up, invite Kim-Ange. Everyone should get a chance to enjoy the cottage before she had to leave.
Lissa left her bag as it stood, went to the sink, and threw that icy water on her face and drank a large glassful of it. Okay. She was straight back to work today; she was due at the surgery in half an hour. Time to wrap things up. She could send . . . well, a formal email to Cormac she supposed. Signing off on all the patients so ideally they could slip seamlessly back into their own lives, pretending nothing had happened, pretending she hadn’t changed . . . And one day, Scotland would be just a distant dream, a
memory that she told her children in some faraway future, where she had a place of her own and a partner and a grown-up life. “Once upon a time,” she would say, “I visited a magical land . . .”
She stopped suddenly, her heart in her throat. She was standing in front of the large window at the back of the kitchen, and out in the garden, there was a dark shape.
She took in a deep breath, fighting her panic response. This was Scotland, for God’s sake, not central London. The biggest crime here was someone crashing into the bus shelter when they’d had a few.
She took another deep breath, then glanced around for something to use as a weapon. Perhaps someone had thought the house was empty or abandoned.
The dark shape was on the lawn, crouching. She stepped forward, then turned around, looking for a knife. She could find only a bread knife. She wasn’t sure how effective that would be, but she took it anyway, then found herself ducking and crawling to the door at the back of the house. The figure was stock-still. Was it staring at the house? Had it seen her?
Heart palpitating, she stood by the back door, closed her eyes, took another deep breath, remembered that she was meant to be a braver person these days, whether it felt like it or not—and flung open the door.
Chapter 82
“He-hello?”
Her voice was trembly and weak. The figure didn’t move. Lissa edged forward a little bit, then a little bit more. It was like a statue.
She moved cautiously to the end of the garden. “Hello?”
It was a man she had never seen before, fast asleep, curled up with a hedgehog in his lap.
CORMAC HAD THOUGHT he would just pop in, grab a change of clothes, feed Neddie, and go again. He knew what time the train got in; then she had to get the bus, so he wouldn’t disturb her. He toyed with leaving a letter saying sorry but figured it might be creepy and decided against it. He had let himself get completely out of control; it was a silly crush and there was no point pushing it any further.
The sun was streaming in the garden, and he realized, as he fed Neddie little grubs with his hands, suddenly just how exhausted he was from driving all night. The hedgehog snuffled as Cormac slumped down onto the stone by the undergrowth, steadily warmed by the sun. He would get up and head out in just a minute . . . but it was so soothing simply being home. Just to breathe the air of his homeland, just to let all the stress and pressure of the city rush out and fade away . . .
HE DIDN’T LOOK at all as she’d expected.
But the hair was the same as he’d drawn in the pictures: curly, overgrown, a little unruly. And it would take quite a burglar to fall asleep in a garden not his own.
Apart from that, he was much larger than she’d imagined: not fat, but solid; broad shouldered, heavy legged, more like a soldier or a rugby player than came across when he wrote. She couldn’t see his eyes, but dark lashes left shadows on ruddy cheeks, and there was bristle on his strong chin. He wasn’t at all like she’d conjured in her head. But . . . but there was something in the large bulk of his shoulders, the careless tangle of hair, the wide mouth that looked as if it would laugh easily.
She couldn’t stop staring. He was breathing evenly. The little hedgehog snuffled in his lap, entirely comfortable in his presence. What on earth was he doing here?
HE NEVER KNEW what woke him. One minute he’d been to see Neddie, the next—the sun was beaming straight into his eyes, and Lissa was standing over him, her face hidden by the sun. All he could see was a full head of bouncing curls. He squinted upward, confused: Was he asleep? Dreaming? Where was he? What was happening?
Suddenly:
“YOW!”
He jumped up. He had somehow woken Neddie, who had responded in the only way he knew how, and now he had a big jab in his hand.
Lissa couldn’t help it. She dissolved completely in giggles. Neddie was still hanging on to Cormac’s hand for dear life, his tiny paws scrabbling in the air.
Cormac would have sorted it, but he was transfixed by the laughing sun-touched face, the exact face he’d seen in the photo, in his dreams. Lissa jumped forward with her coat, scooped up the tiny creature, crooning, “It’s okay, you’re all right, you’re all right, little one,” in a softer voice than the one he’d heard yesterday, through the door.
He was about to say something, but suddenly it struck him that the words “you’re all right, little one” were, somehow, so much what he’d wanted to hear for so long, and for a moment, he couldn’t quite say anything at all.
LISSA, HEART POUNDING, took a step forward and gently put the hedgehog down, whereupon it instantly scurried away.
“Are you okay?” she said, as Cormac clutched his hand, a very confused look on his face.
Not taking his eyes off her, he raised his hand to his face. It was bleeding, very slightly. They carried on, just staring at each other, Lissa feeling her heart beating in the agony, in the dancing, buzzing, swishing noise of the garden.
Slowly, infinitely slowly, a smile began to spread across his face. It transformed his face completely. Lissa still hadn’t taken her eyes off him.
“Well,” he said, in the soft Highlands accent she had dreamed of. “Well noo, I don’t suppose you ken anybody in the medical line?”
Chapter 83
Work was still out there, but, after calling in to London, Cormac made a plan to divvy up the calls, so they could finish by lunchtime and spend the day together.
Lissa flew through her rounds, bestowing huge smiles on everyone. Cormac, of course, took far longer, as he was corralled by every single person he met and forced to repeat more or less everything he’d done down south, while also listening to them tell him how they didn’t trust that London and how nothing good ever came out of it, until he found himself getting more and more defensive of his adopted city. Plus, he had to pop in and see his mum, and was touched by how delighted she was to see him. Breaking her wrist, he realized suddenly, had made her more vulnerable than he’d known, and he gave her a huge hug, as she told him how the strange new nurse hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected for an English, and he wondered how on earth they were going to break the news to her.
They met up back at the surgery. Cormac watched her crossing the market square. Without even thinking about it, he put his hand out, and she took it. It was the strangest thing; he had barely had to apologize, had barely had to explain himself at all. Which was a relief, as he’d decided to keep the bathroom incident to himself. Just for now. There’d be time for all that.
The dogs set off a melee of barking as they arrived, and Joan let them out, so Cormac and Lissa were both pawed half to death.
“Oh, good, good,” she said, noticing immediately. “Always good to mate outside the pack.”
Lissa and Cormac were both so startled, they laughed in surprise.
“Anyway, also good, I have a puppy available soon. You two can have it.”
“Um, we’ve literally just met,” said Lissa.
Joan waved her away. “Are you telling me I don’t know anything about the natural world? Oh! Speaking of which.” She peered at Lissa. “You know I said there were no nursing jobs?”
Lissa stared at her.
“Wait, you asked?” said Cormac, beside himself.
“No!” said Lissa. “Well, maybe. Just an inquiry. Um, I wanted a puppy.”
“How much midwifery experience have you had? Ever since you English started invading, there’s babies all over the place. They’re hiring a community midwife.”
“Oh,” said Lissa, her face falling, “that’s not what I am.”
“You could manage, couldn’t you? Also there’s occasional lambing. It doesn’t say that on the ad, I’m just telling you that there is, round here.”
Lissa shrugged. “Not really.”
Cormac looked thoughtful. “Well,” he said, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. There’s an outreach project in London . . . helping people on the street. They’re looking for part-time. It would mean I’d be looking
for a job share.”
“You’re kidding,” said Lissa. “Oh my God, I could kiss you.”
Cormac blushed. “Would it be a wee bit forward to invite you into my hoose?”
“I’ll have to go with you anyway,” said Lissa. “I don’t know how to unblock your number from my phone.”
“Good,” said Cormac. “You’ll just have to stay very, very close by.”
BOTH OF THEM were trembling as they stood in the little cottage in front of the fire, which Cormac admired, which made Lissa feel rather proud. It was so exciting, frightening, and strange all at once. He put some music on and moved a little closer to where she was standing at the sink, filling the kettle for tea. Lissa didn’t want any tea; she just didn’t know what to do with herself.
He moved even closer behind her. “Is this okay?” he said in a very soft voice, and she nodded, without quite being able to turn around.
“Normally this should be late at night and we should be very drunk,” complained Lissa. “That’s the English way. And the Scottish way, I have observed.”
Cormac smiled. She could feel him towering over her, smell the almond shampoo. He took his left hand, put it around her waist. She stood stock-still, and, very gently, he bent his shaggy head and kissed her on the nape of her neck.
“See, this way,” he said gruffly, “you still don’t need to see me.”
Lissa grinned then and turned around. “Maybe I want to do that,” she said, reaching up on tiptoes.
“Braw,” he said, and the fresh clear Scottish water ran up and over the top of the kettle, and neither of them noticed at all, and soon the Proclaimers were singing to an empty room.
Chapter 84
Three months later
There had been a short, violent rainstorm the night before, but by the time the train got in the next morning, the world was bright again, shining. Lissa had warned Mrs. Mitchell to wear a coat, and the woman stepped off the train into the September glow in a brand-new Artic-level North Face jacket. They were both there to meet her, holding their hands out to her, their faces grave.