“Itisa stupid question,” I say at last. “Who has a favoritecolor? Why would you even waste time thinking about something like that? It’s just so…banal. Knowing someone’s favorite color doesn’t tell you anything about them at all. It’s just—”
“Blue,” Jett says, interrupting me.
“What?” I blink up at him, confused.
“My favorite color is blue. And I’m a Gemini: not that I believe any of that shit, obviously.”
“No, me neither. I don’t know why I even mentioned it. Just trying to be prepared, I guess.”
Silence falls as the car winds its way through the glen that takes us to Heather Bay, on the coast. In a few minutes, we’ll be able to see the top of Westward Tor, peeking up from its position next to the Loch, and then we’ll turn a corner and the town will be laid out before us. I know this road so well I could navigate it in my sleep. But this is the first time I’ve driven down it as an outsider, and the closer we get, the harder it becomes to concentrate on anything other than the butterflies that appear to be fighting their way out of my stomach.
“There is one thing I wanted to ask you,” Jett says, breaking into my reverie. “Something I just realized I don’t know, and I probably should.”
“Yeah? If it’s about my favorite book or movie or song, then I don’t have those either,” I say, still concentrating on those butterflies. “I can never understand how other peopledo. If someone tells me they have a favorite book, I’m instantly suspicious of them, actually. I mean, how weird is that? Imagine being able to pick justonebook, out of all the books in the world? That’s crazy to me. Isn’t that crazy?”
I’m babbling now, and I know it. And Jett obviously knows it too, because he ignores everything I just said, and fixes me with those eyes of his.
“Your father,” he says simply. “What about him? You’ve told me a lot — well, abit, I guess — about your mom, but nothing about your dad. I should probably know a bit about him too, don’t you think?”
There’s a loud whooshing noise, and it takes me a few seconds to work out that it’s the blood rushing in my ears. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady my stomach before I answer him.
“If you knew that, you’d know more than me,” I say, opening them again. We’re over the crest of the hill now. I can see the waters of Loch Keld glittering in the weak sunlight. I want to tell Jett to look at it too, but he’s still looking intently at me, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Really?” he says quietly. “You don’t know anything about your dad? Nothing at all?”
“Just that he was a loser who walked out on us before I was even born,” I say lightly, twisting my hands nervously in my lap. “Oh, and he drove a convertible. An MGB GT. I still have it, actually. That’s all I have, though. Mum refused to tell me anything else about him. I’m not sure she knew much herself, to be honest. So, hey, on the plus side, that’s one less person you have to learn about.”
I laugh without humor. Jett must be wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into here. The more I tell him about myself, the less I seem to know; and the more messed-up it makes me feel. He didn’t sign up for any of this. All he wanted was someone pretty to hang off his arm for a few weeks before he gets the part he’s after. Instead, he’s got the mess that is me.
He looks at me like I’m a puzzle he has to solve. Before he can speak, though, the window separating us from the driver slides down.
“We’re here, Mr. Carter,” the man in front says. “Where would you like me to take you?”
I look out of the window. The car is traveling slowly down Heather Bay High Street, with its row of pastel-colored shops. As we stop at the lights, I recognize Bella McGowan coming out of the post office, wearing a pair of purple Doc Martens and a bright red beanie, even though it’s summer. She climbs onto a rickety old bicycle that’s leaning against the wall — she’s pretty agile for someone in their 80s, I have to admit — then pulls out into the road, glancing curiously at our car as she passes it.
I instinctively duck down, not trusting the tinted windows to keep me hidden from anyone else who happens to walk past.
I am really not ready for this.
I am not ready to be home, or to face these people.
There is, however, nothing to be done about it, so I straighten up again with a sigh, and point straight ahead, through the front widow of the car.
“That way,” I tell the driver. “My house is that way.”
Chapter 26
The cottage looks exactly as it did when I left it, sitting pink and pretty in its spot on the promontory, staring out to sea as it’s been doing for the last 100 years or so.
Sure, the roses in the garden and around the door are a little more unruly than usual, but it’s otherwise the same, and it’s so strange to think of it, sitting here waiting for me all this time, that my eyes are suddenly suspiciously damp.
Hi house. I’ve missed you.
“Well, this is it,” I say, as Jett gets out of the car behind me and stops to look around him, stretching after the long journey.
I push open the gate and am just about to usher him through it when a familiar figure rounds the corner and makes its way towards us. Well, two figures, rather. Old Jimmy, the farmer, and Edna. His pet sheep. Who has a bright pink leash attached to a collar around her neck, and who’s walking along beside Jimmy as if she’s a very woolly dog.
“What’s that sheep doing in the street?” Jett blurts out, staring at the twosome in astonishment.
