by Clare London
At least, he thought that was what he said. He’d been so startled, he couldn’t remember any of the following minutes until Alasdair’s phone call. In fact, he’d sat on the bed like a silent, useless, shocked lump, listening to Perry moving around in the spare room, presumably packing up his stuff. To leave. To go. Why did that feel so painful? After all, they could still be friends. They could be even more trendy e-mail pals when Perry got back to London.
E-mail pals? You bloody hypocrite! Greg couldn’t ignore the way his traitorous conscience was harassing him. He didn’t want a bloody correspondent; another friend he touched base with once in a blue moon. He wanted Perry beside him, in the flesh. How had things got to this stage?
“There’s a really big drenchin’ on its way,” Lisa muttered beside Bridie. They were sitting together on the sofa, holding hands. Greg felt such a fool he’d never noticed their closeness before Perry pointed it out. “You havenae left Perry out there in this, have ye?”
“Of course I haven’t,” he snapped. “He’s safe in the cottage. Packing his stuff. Rory’s with him, if you’re so worried about the lad!”
Lisa scowled; Dougie still looked bemused.
“Why’s he going, anyway?” Bridie persisted. “You should have asked him to stay for good.”
Aye, you should, you bloody idiot.
He turned on Bridie too swiftly. “You want me to do his stupid fucking TV show?”
“Ach, steady on!” Dougie raised his eyebrows at Greg’s angry tone. Lisa bristled, protective of Bridie.
But Bridie didn’t need protecting. “Of course I bloody don’t! And don’t use that tone with me. I wanted Perry to stay longer because he makes you happy, right?”
“But….” Greg was weary of all his arguments, which, honestly, were looking less justifiable as time went on. “I’m not going into all this again. It was Perry’s choice. He has… things to do back in London. He’s packing now and has booked a flight for tomorrow.”
“You’ll be taking him to the ferry?” Bridie asked fiercely.
“Well… can’t Dougie take him?” Greg hadn’t thought about it before now, to be honest. Seeing Perry off on the ferry? Watching him leave the island? Sounded like a recipe for surefire pain. Greg shifted on his chair. He felt inexplicably chilled, despite Dougie having lit the fire. His despair at having messed everything up was growing, and his stomach hurt. It was unlikely to be because he’d tried to drown his sorrows in tea and cake.
“What am I now?” Dougie groused. “A bloody taxi rank?”
“You want the truth?” Greg startled himself with the misery in his voice, and all three of the others turned to stare at him. “I don’t want to see him all togged up in his London gear again, back off to his glamorous job. And he certainly won’t want me moping all over him.”
Bridie frowned, but with concern in her eyes now. “What’s happened, Greg?”
“What’s tha’ noise?” Lisa called over.
She’d gone to the window by the front door. Greg thought it was probably to check the weather, since she was so bloody worried he’d let Perry out in the wind and rain, like he’d bloody melt or something—
Bridie was up off the sofa, as well, and had moved next to Lisa. “It’s a dog barking at the gate. It’s Rory!”
She opened the door and the dog came racing in, soaking wet, panting heavily. He ran straight to Greg and leaped onto his lap.
“Looks like he’s run all the way from y’r place,” Lisa said, with something like awe.
“Perry,” Greg said hoarsely, ignoring the damp patch immediately appearing on his lap. He didn’t know how he knew, except from Rory’s rolling eyes, but… “Something’s happened to Perry!”
THEY scooped Rory up into Dougie’s car with them and powered their way as fast as they dared to Greg’s cottage. The distance was walkable on a fine day, but the wind was fierce now, and Rory’s distress dictated speed. Greg sat in the front with Dougie, while Bridie and Lisa insisted on traveling with them in the back.
“Good boy,” Greg murmured to his dog, holding him tightly on his lap as Dougie guided the car through growing pools of standing water. The wipers ran at double speed, spraying the rain either side of the car. Rory was still panting and wriggling restlessly against Greg’s grip. “Wish you could tell me what’s wrong. Has the storm scared you?”
“That dog’s got baws of steel,” Dougie scoffed. “And he’s seen more than his fair share o’ storms. Something else has disturbed him.”
Greg knew that for himself. Just trying to calm myself. And failing.
When Dougie drew up outside Greg’s croft, Greg was the first human from the vehicle: Rory had already leaped out ahead of him. The dog wheeled back and forth by the front door, barking, tail swishing raindrops in an arc over his back legs.
Bridie ran ahead of everyone, into the cottage. “Perry’s not here!” she called back to the others.
Greg’s chest hurt now, not just his stomach. They all clustered inside the front door, dripping water everywhere, the wind slapping around their legs and raising the fringes of the hallway rug.
“Would he ha’ booked an earlier flight for t’day? Made his own way t’ the ferry?” Lisa asked.
“Of course not.” The cold shiver down Greg’s back tightened into a grip. “He couldn’t walk that far. He doesn’t know the bloody way. He wasn’t that upset.”
“Upset? Why was he upset?” Bridie said sharply.
“Not now,” Greg said quickly. “We have to find him.” But where did they start? What was Perry playing at? Would he really have set off without any transport or help, so desperate to get home? Greg glanced at the hooks on the wall beside the front door. Perry’s boots had gone, but his heavy waterproof coat was still hanging there. He’ll be soaked, Greg found himself thinking. He’ll freeze out there. He felt suddenly nauseated.
Had he been the one to send Perry out there on his own after all? Was it Greg’s stupid, selfish refusal to climb out of his self-imposed exile and face the world that had driven Perry to the end of his tether? Had he, Greg, really thought he could have a few nights of fun with a handsome young man and not be guilty of using him? Of misleading him?
What’s more, he realized suddenly that wasn’t the real issue any longer. Maybe he had used Perry at first, stealing a kiss or two, letting things run to much more than that. They’d both been guilty of that, though, hadn’t they? But now that felt like a long-ago persona. Perry had changed him. Not in the way he’d probably expected when he turned up at Greg’s door in his sopping London clothes and his daft haircut and plans to make Greg his makeover project. It had happened in a much deeper, sweeter, more poignant way than that—it had happened from the inside out.
His thoughts of Perry now were full of panic and fear. What would he do, if Perry had come to some harm? He could have fallen into another loch, tumbled into one of the pits out on the bog. He could have hit his head, knocked himself unconscious, been unable to pull himself out.
Oh God. Oh God! Greg’s throat was almost too tight to breathe. If Perry had… how would Greg ever get over it?
The fierce knocking on the doorframe startled them all.
“Perry?” Greg cried with unutterable relief and spun back around. But it wasn’t Perry behind them at his door. It was Cameron and Aileen Mackie, their waterproofs drawn tight and glistening black with rain, their heads almost hidden inside heavy, sodden hoods.
“Is she here?” Aileen said abruptly. “The bairn?”
“She definitely ran this way,” Cameron said, as if he’d been arguing with Aileen about it. His face was too pale to blame on just the cold wind.
“For God’s sake, come in,” Greg said.
“No!” Aileen’s anguish rang from the word. “Where’s Fiona? We had words, and she ran off with her dolly. Ye have the nearest croft, but if she’s nae here, where is she?”
And Rory barked hard again.
Chapter Thirty
IT took them only a coup
le of minutes to organize the search party but, for Greg, that was agonizingly slow. He was scared for Fiona, but more terrified for Perry. Had the two of them set out somewhere together? Had Perry followed Fiona, or had she followed him? Cameron had brought with him a handful of their croft workers, suited for the weather and carrying strong torches, and with the others adding to the team, Greg sent everyone out in a fan arrangement. It seemed right for him to take charge. Cameron didn’t make any protest, anyway.
“She’s a wee girl,” Aileen said. She’d said the same thing again and again in the last few minutes: she was obviously beside herself with worry. She’d wanted to search with Cameron and the others but had been persuaded to stay at Greg’s with Bridie, in case Fiona turned up there in the meantime. “How can she have got so far?”
Greg patted her arm awkwardly. “We’ll find them, Aileen.”
“Them?” She looked as bemused by his touch as she did his words.
“Perry’s out there too. For all we know, he’s with Fiona and they’re both fine.” Greg didn’t say anything else, but he knew from experience how fast and how far a determined young child could travel. He could remember yet another time George and Gareth went missing, when they decided to row to France from Brighton seafront in an inflatable dinghy. They were only eight, and it took Geoff and their nanny ages to swim out and drag the dinghy back to shore. And one day in the center of London, on a theater trip, Gerry had taken a right turn when the rest of the family took a left… it wasn’t until after an hour and a distraught call to the police that they found him. He’d got all the way from Leicester Square to Charing Cross as a weary ten-year-old, with no idea at all of where he was. It had been one of the rare times Greg had seen his brother Gerry frightened.
Pawing madly at Greg’s leg, Rory barked. Greg crouched beside him.
“Are you coming?” Dougie called from the doorway.
“I’ll follow Rory,” Greg said. “He knows something about Perry.”
Dougie didn’t waste any more words, just nodded, turned, and strode out into the storm.
THE only benefit of the low-lying, treeless landscape was that anything unusual stood out. Greg saw the bundle on top of the peat at almost the same time as Rory started running toward it, barking.
Perry lay on his back in the mud. His whole body was drenched, covered in the brown muck, and he’d sunk down several inches so that it looked like it was slowly consuming him. His eyes were closed. On top of him lay another person, much smaller, just as wet, dirty, and limp. Fiona! Perry’s arms were clutched tightly around her, holding her above the worst of the mud, cushioned on his own body. And wrapped around her, Greg just about recognized his own fleece jacket, now ruined beyond hope, but offering some small protection for the little girl.
“Fiona? Perry!”
Neither of them stirred. Rory scampered around the bundle of bodies, barking, nosing at Fiona.
“I’ve got it, boy. I’ve got them.” Greg’s voice was distorted by the wind and rain, but even without that, it was barely recognizable. His throat was so tight, the words hurt to speak. He dropped to his knees, squelching mud everywhere, and shoved his gloved hands under Perry. It took several tugs just to get him released. Then Greg gripped under Perry’s shoulders and knees as hard as he could, leaned back on his heels, and lifted him up.
Who knew the skinny little bugger could weigh so much? Of course, he was lifting Fiona as well. He staggered as he stood upright and was terrified he’d drop either or both of them, but Perry still clung tightly to the girl.
As Greg stood for a moment, gathering his breath, he glanced down at Perry’s legs and feet, hanging limply down. Everything was black from the mud, apart from one toe of his bright blue boots. The rain on Greg’s face felt warmer than before, until he realized it was tears. He was crying. He hadn’t cried for years.
“And you know what?” he yelled fiercely at Rory, though God knew, it wasn’t the poor dog’s fault. “I don’t fucking care if anyone sees! If anything happens to Perry, I’ll never get over it!”
“Greg? Greg!”
The others in the search party were struggling their way over to him, alerted by Rory’s barking more than anything else. He was shortly surrounded by people, all swathed in their waterproofs so he hardly knew who was who. They tried to help him carry Perry and Fiona, but he wouldn’t let anyone near. He couldn’t seem to loosen his grip on them. So everyone clustered around to help him stay upright and supported, and Dougie lit the way back to the croft by arranging a small army of people with torches.
BRIDIE had started up the fire in the living room, and as soon as they all stumbled through the front door, Dougie and Lisa all but pushed Greg up the stairs.
“You need a quick, warm shower, man.”
“Not now—”
“Yes, now!”
Greg couldn’t remember when Dougie had ever sounded so serious. He wriggled out of his coat and boots, but no one tried to undress him further. And no one dared pull Perry out of his arms. Instead, they all followed him to the bathroom. Bizarre. However, when Cameron followed them into the room and threatened to get into the shower with him, Greg allowed the old man to peel Fiona out of Perry’s grasp.
Fiona stirred and yawned. “Grampy?”
There was a chorus of sighs and relieved laughter.
“Och, my dear wee bairn. My dear wee bairn.” Cameron looked close to tears himself.
“Did Rory fetch you, Grampy? Perry sent him to find Greg.” Fiona yawned again, more widely. Her face was mud-streaked, but the cheeks beneath it were gaining more color in the warmth of the room.
“Rory’s a bloody hero,” Lisa said gruffly. “So’s Perry.”
Bloody hell, was she crying too? Greg thought about commenting, then decided he was way too tired.
“Aye. We’ll talk about it all later. Greg? Go on with ye.” Dougie hustled him toward the shower again and reached in to start the water. The Mackies shuffled out of the room, chatting over Fiona’s head, crying and laughing. The door shut behind them, leaving Greg with Dougie and, surprisingly, Lisa. Greg wondered if they’d stay there even if he stripped off. Maybe they were afraid he’d fall and crack his head open. Or Perry’s. How kind. He smiled aimlessly at Dougie, startling the other man. He’s a good friend.
“You’re not all there, man,” Dougie muttered. “You want help?”
Greg nodded and stepped carefully into the shower. Why didn’t Perry wake up, like Fiona had? His eyes were still tightly shut, his body a dead weight. Dougie lifted down the shower head and started washing the mud off Greg’s back.
“Don’t drown the poor wee bastard,” Lisa said sharply, as Dougie moved around to the front. Everyone was drenched by now anyway, either from the rain or Dougie’s clumsiness with the shower.
“I’ve got this in hand, thank ye,” Dougie snapped back.
Lisa reached over to undo Perry’s shirt. It clung to his torso, the nipple piercing glinting dully through the thin fabric.
“Cute,” Lisa murmured.
“Don’t touch him!” Greg snapped.
Dougie snorted.
And Perry stirred at last. His eyes sprang open, unfocused and scared, his body jerked in Greg’s arms, so they both stumbled against the tiled wall, and he gave a god-awful sneeze.
“Ach, he’ll be fine now,” Dougie said with all the confidence of an episode of Dr. Finlay’s Casebook. He dropped the shower head with visible relief. “We’ll leave ye to it!”
“I CAN have as many puppies as I like. Perry says so!” Fiona’s voice was high and excited. Apart from a high flush on her cheeks and ruined clothes, she seemed to be returning to normal after her ordeal. They were all clustered in the living room by now, Perry on the sofa wrapped in another pair of Greg’s pajamas and the spare room duvet. Aileen was crying and alternately hugging Dougie and Bridie. Cameron just stood with Fiona in his arms, rocking her. She looked annoyed at the restriction, but equally thrilled with the attention.
Af
ter all the drama, Lisa and Bridie had served everyone with hot drinks and sandwiches, and watched over the invalids until the afternoon had almost slipped away. The rain had eased a little, and the Mackies were preparing to leave.
“Remember to call Dr. Mackenzie,” Greg ordered. “He can decide if Fiona needs to be checked out at the hospital in Benbecula.” Tomorrow, he’d wonder at the wisdom of ordering Cameron Mackie to do anything, but for now, this was his croft, and he was in charge. He gestured at Fiona with a frown. “And she needs to listen to her elders and betters and stay indoors on days like this.”
Fiona stared at him, opened her mouth—then shut it again abruptly, having seen the look on his face, settling for a pout.
“What about Perry?” Bridie asked.
“No, no hospital.” Perry coughed and sat up. “I’m fine. Just… cold. Tired.” He looked like he’d drop any second, but he looked pleadingly at Greg.
“I’ll look after him,” Greg said quickly. “If I think we need the doctor, I’ll call him as well.”
Aileen had crossed the room before he realized it, and she took Perry’s hand. He looked up at her with a bleary, puzzled expression.
“Thank ye, lad,” she said. “For finding my bairn. For guarding her.” She turned briefly to Greg. “And t’ you all for bringing her home.”
Greg saw the Mackies out of the house, with more thanks and more insistent calls to come around soon. Bridie and Lisa started clearing away the plates and Greg’s mismatched mugs.
Dougie came to stand beside Greg on the doorstep. “So will you be needing Dougie’s taxis t’morrow after all?”
“Get away with you.” Greg scowled at him. “Perry needs to rest. But hopefully he’ll be okay enough tomorrow to travel as planned. It’s up to him what he does.”