His phone vibrates, and he checks it. ‘Dad’s nearly here,’ he says, and I don’t reply. Great for him.
He gazes at me, and I look away, feeling scrutinised again. He has a habit of doing that, like he’s trying to get under my skin. I don’t like it.
‘I feel bad leaving you here with no way to get to Inverness,’ he says.
‘It’s not your problem,’ I reply. ‘I’m sure another bus or some taxis will turn up.’ I’m not hopeful on either of those things occurring, but I don’t need his pity.
‘Are you sure?’ Bailey doesn’t seem convinced. ‘You could come and stay the night with us? I can run you into Inverness tomorrow. It’s only an hour from Ballindalloch.’
I start protesting, but he’s made up his mind.
‘No, I think it’s better if you do ... Lewis will never let me hear the end of it if I leave his project manager stranded in Kingussie.’
Huh, somehow, I don’t think Lewis will give a shit.
‘Besides, it’s freezing, and it’s Christmas.’ Why do people keep saying that? Is Christmas the only time you’re meant to be kind and helpful? You can be an arsehole any other time of year, but if it’s Christmas, you should buck up your ideas?
‘Your dog looks like he could do with some food and water too.’
I look at Crumpet, who stares back at me with woeful doggy eyes, and my resolve cracks. Damn, he’s got me there.
‘OK ... for Crumpet,’ I finally agree. Actually, I’m relieved he’s offered and is being insistent about it. My thumping headache has returned, my eyes feel sore and scratchy, and I could murder a cup of tea.
We only have to wait a few minutes outside the station when a black Range Rover with a snowy roof pulls up next to us, its windscreen wipers going full bore to stave off the ice. A man with a short grey beard, a tweed flat cap, and a Barbour jacket gets out, leaving the car running, and comes over to us.
‘Hey, Dad.’ Bailey and his father hug. The man looks at me and smiles, his grey eyes crinkling. ‘Who’s this, Bails? You made a friend?’ he asks.
‘This is Holly. She’s with me,’ Bailey replies. I wait for him to clarify that statement to his father, but he doesn’t. Before I can say anything, I’m pulled into a quick rough hug by the man, and I realise with a shock,He thinks I’m his girlfriend!
‘We’d better get going, Bails. I have a feeling they might close the road if this gets any worse. I’ll pop the boot for your bags. Can you check the snow chains on the back wheels? I did them in a hurry.’
Bailey nods and beckons me to the rear of the Range Rover so we can load our bags. Despite the arctic temperature, my face is flaming hot. Why didn’t he explain to his father? Bailey picks up my wheelie bag and pretends to stagger under its weight. ‘What have you got in here? Bricks?’ he jokes.
I clutch my handbag tightly to my chest. ‘Just a few books!’
‘Ah.’ He inserts my bag beside some paint tins and a pile of rope, then places his own khaki canvas knapsack on top. I note it has some Christmas-themed badges sewn on: a candy cane, a Santa sock, an elf, and a snowman. Wow, this guy really is a festive freak.
‘Why thehelldid you let your dad think we were together?’ I splutter under my breath as Bailey reaches up a hand to pull down the boot door. He closes the boot and glances at me.
‘Just go with it. There’s a good reason. You’ll see why when we arrive.’
‘I cannot fathom any reason why you would say that. Unless you’re fully psycho, like Norman Bates in a gingerbread man jumper.’
He seems unfazed at my jibe, but there’s something about the intense way he’s looking at me that makes me pause before berating him further. ‘You should get in the car. Your eyelashes are starting to collect snow,’ he says quietly.
‘Fine,’ I mutter. ‘But you’ve got some explaining to do.’
Wiping snowflakes from my eyes, I yank open the rear door, and Crumpet jumps up onto the back seat. His paws leave a trail of ice and wet prints on the black upholstery. Bailey’s dad half turns and smiles at him. ‘Well, hello there. We used to have a mini schnauzer,’ he says to me conversationally. ‘Rupert, his name was. He died only recently. Bailey loved him. Then again, he loves all animals. Let’s see, when he was little, he had a turtle, a rabbit, a hamster, a cat. Then later on, Rupert, of course.’ He ticks them off on his fingers.
I nod, a bit amused. Wow, I’m getting the full rundown on Bailey’s childhood menagerie before he’s even got in the car. I can see where Bailey gets his no-filter personality from.
‘What’s your dog’s name?’
‘Crumpet,’ I reply.
‘Brilliant. Well, you’re both very welcome.’
How long does he think I’m staying?
