I didn’t talk about what had happened, barely thought about it, so I didn’t need to cry.
But Aster was crying. A deep ache spread through my chest. I wanted to run over and gather him in my arms. Iwanted to escape to the other side of the island so I would have no idea what he was doing. I wanted to make him stop. I wanted him to never stop.
I did nothing. Eventually, Aster wiped the tears off his face and continued his exploration of the island.
This time, I didn’t follow. I walked over to where he’d stood and tried to see the house with a stranger’s eyes. Even without knowing what happened here, it had to look sad. It had once been a home.
The storm ended that. No one would ever live here again.
I stood on the hilltop and looked down at the broken remains of my family home. Like Bonnie’s voice the night before, being here was a good reminder of who I was and where I belonged.
I was a murderer, and I belonged to no one. I deserved to be alone.
This was why my hopeful thoughts as I’d followed Aster around like a lovesick puppy this morning had felt so alien. They didn’t fit with the life I had to live. I couldn’t have friendship with anyone, let alone anything else.
My first move of fleeing when Aster woke up this morning was one I’d repeat for the rest of his stay. Whenever possible, I’d avoid him. I’d keep our shared time in the cabin to a minimum. He didn’t need me to complete his project, so I wasn’t letting him down.
I would enjoy his scent in snatched moments and keep him at a distance. That would make it less painful when he left.
Because he would leave, in the end. Everyone did.
And I would be alone. Just like I should be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASTER
Callum was avoiding me.
I went through a series of emotions once this fact became too apparent to be ignored any longer. One day of not seeing him was strange. Two was unusual. By day three, I couldn’t deny there was something going on.
First came anger. Callum was obviously some kind of man-child who couldn’t accept sharing his space so he was hiding. How juvenile.
Then I switched to bargaining. If I got up earlier, maybe I’d catch him. If I went back to the cabin for lunch, he would be there. If I stayed awake a little longer, he would walk through the front door.
Nothing.
I bypassed depression and landed straight on acceptance. This was Callum’s home, and my presence clearly made him uncomfortable. If he wanted to manage that by making himself almost totally absent, then I had to roll with it. His cabin, his rules.
I say almost totally absent, since there was clear evidencehe hadn’t abandoned me and found a cave to dwell in for the duration of my stay. It would have been a reasonable conclusion, as abandoning helpless flora students might run in his family.
Each evening when I returned to the cabin, fresh bread and a steaming meal waited on the kitchen counter. Each morning, I woke in Callum’s bed despite wrapping myself in blankets each night on the sofa. His toothbrush moved around in the pot in the bathroom and his folded clothes depleted from the top of the chest of drawers.
Apart from setting my alarm for 2 a.m. and forcing him to talk to me in the dead of night, I had to respect that Callum didn’t want to be around me. His unfailing ability to have hot meals ready yet be gone when I strode into the main room of the cabin was a mystery, but if he wanted to keep me well fed and well rested while not spending any time with me, that was fine.
I didn’t need him to help with the project I’d come to Doughnut to complete. After my day of aimless exploring, I’d gotten to work. I spent a couple of days mapping out the areas I wanted to study, making sure to pick a selection from near the loch, along the cliff-lined coast, up in the snowier parts of the mountains, and in the grassy hills around the cabin. I’d sketched and marked maps, then placed the examination squares I’d study in the coming months.
And I wasn’t actually alone. Albert had become an extension of me. He’d rounded up a gang of goat cronies who appeared as I spread out a blanket each day at lunchtime and disappeared once they’d nabbed the last chunk of bread.
They were a rowdy bunch and good company, even if they were only around to benefit from Callum’s superior cooking skills. Normally, I would have named them, but Iwas wary of doing so after Callum’s reaction to the-name-that-shall-not-be-spoken. That was one item on the ever-growing list of things I would have spoken about with him if he wasn’t choosing avoidance over the infinite pleasure of getting to know me.
It took a week for me to break.
The day started out like all the others since I’d come to Doughnut. Wake up in Callum’s bed despite falling asleep on the sofa, then stumble into the main room to find Albert and a steaming bowl of porridge waiting. Head outside after breakfast and set up examination squares until the sun crept towards the horizon.
But I’d organised a FaceTime call with Dad late in the afternoon, so headed back to the cabin while the sun was high in the sky. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping this change to my routine would mean I’d catch Callum making bread or one of his epic stews, but the cabin was empty.
I stashed my backpack in a corner of the bedroom, changed into a pair of Hulk pyjama bottoms and a thick jumper, then tapped at my phone. I bounced on the sofa as it rang. I hadn’t chatted to Dad for a whole week, the longest we’d ever gone without speaking. The gap was due to his wickedly long shifts at the station and the necessity of trekking all over the island to get my project kicked off.
