‘I did, as it happens. My get well soon present,’ Murray told him as he rummaged in the kitchen drawer for a knife, before bringing over two bowls, two spoons and, Finlay was pleased to note, a big pot of cream.
With some effort, Finlay shifted his still stiff legs to make room for him, and Murray perched on the end of his sofa.
‘I didn’t know so many people cared,’ Finlay said gruffly as Murray chopped a papaya, sticking its ‘Mexico’ label on Finlay’s knee, just to annoy him.
‘They don’t,’ Murray said with a sly grin, eyes fixed on his task. ‘They’re taking pity on me stuck up here with you. That chocolate cake’s meant for me.’
‘Commiseration cake?’
‘Exactly. I’ll let you have a wee slice. Maybe. But only after you eat your…’ Murray pulled a fiery pink and green fruit from the cellophane. ‘Uh?’
‘Go on,’ taunted Finlay, sure Murray had no idea that was a dragon fruit.
‘Spikey devil pear?’ Murray smirked, before cutting the thing open and gasping at the seedy white flesh inside.
‘Aye, spikey devil pear,’ Finlay said in a voice that couldn’t disguise its fondness. ‘That’s exactly what that is.’
As Murray filled the bowls with glossy, sweet-smelling fruits, he would glance now and again at the fire and the shelves, and the kitchen corner.
‘What is it?’ Finlay asked.
‘I’m just thinking it’s quite nice up here.’
Finlay tried to sit himself up a little more so he could look around too, trying to see the place through Murray’s eyes. ‘It was little more than a stall for animals at one time. My late mother,’ Finlay felt the need to clarify, ‘she’s gone now, called it a hovel.’
Murray kept cutting, meeting his eyes only to say, ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mother. But she was wrong, this is no hovel. This is off-grid living.’
‘Oh, here we go.’ Finlay made a show of rolling his eyes but he couldn’t help the warm feeling inside him.
‘How do you charge your phone?’ Murray wanted to know.
‘Down at the rangers’ station, and I have a couple of rechargeable power banks to top it up with. I’m no’ quite the Luddite you think I am.’
‘I honestly didn’t think that at all,’ Murray said, standing to dump all the fruit peelings into the compost crock by Finlay’s sink, near enough filling the thing. Noticing the power bank on the little windowsill, he quickly slipped his phone, perilously low on battery, into it.
‘I think,’ Murray went on, turning to him like a detective in a movie about to reveal whodunit. ‘It might beyouthat has all these critical words in your head. I’ve never heard anyone call you anything other than Finlay the ranger.’
‘Doubtful,’ scowled Finlay.
‘Actually…’ Murray was on his way back, settling down properly onto the sofa this time, handing Finlay his bowl. ‘Senga and Rhona Gifford might have even called yousweetevery now and again.’
Finlay narrowed his eyes.
‘Well.’ Murray crumbled. ‘Maybe what they said was, you could occasionally be a bit of anippy sweetie.’
‘No’ quite the same thing, is it?’ Finlay took his spoon in his hand, wondering where that tub of cream had got to.
‘Just look at all those cards,’ Murray reminded him, indicating the colourful row along the mantel. ‘Plenty folk like you fine.’
For the first time in his life, Finlay felt his cheeks warming in a blush. ‘Where are you hiding that cream?’ he complained.
Murray smirked in a knowing way that told him he could see straight through all his mumping and moaning, and he pulled the top from the carton, drowning their fruit salads in the stuff.
They talked and they ate while Finlay explained how everything worked up at the cruive, from rainwater harvesting to the multi-fuel stove and the solar panel that powered the lights, and how in the summer his shower was just water scooped from the barrel round the back.
‘What? In the nuddy outside?’ Murray laughed.
‘It’s just the squirrels watchin’, and the occasional sparrow.’
