‘Good. And make sure they know it was your idea, not mine!’
He nods.
We fall into a tense silence for the next half an hour. I stare, unseeing, at the snow-covered fields whisking by. Now that I’m not arguing with Bailey, I can’t ignore the fact that soon I’m going to be alone—with nothing between me and the TikTok. It’s been growing exponentially. I know it has. By now, millions of people all over the world have seen my anti-Christmas rant. Shame rattles my gut, and I let out a small groan of despair, causing Bailey to look over.
‘Did you say something?’
I clear my throat. ‘No, I didn’t.’
I’m sorely tempted to tell Bailey about the TikTok and get his opinion on what his ‘friend’ Lewis has done to me. But I’m not sure how close they are or if he’ll even think I’ve been wronged. Knowing Bailey, he’ll probably think it’s just deserts because I dissed his sacred holiday. Maybe I should turn the spotlight on him for a change?
‘Actually, I was wondering ... That corkboard in your room with the photos ...’
‘What about it?’ He doesn’t sound wary or defensive, so I plough on.
‘Was that you with your ex-girlfriend?’
‘Yes, Rosalie. It was about two years ago.’ He rubs his nose briefly. I know I shouldn’t pry, but now I’ve started, I can’t stop.
‘What happened?’
Bailey beeps the horn, startling me. But it’s just to warn a hawk pecking at roadkill, and it flies skyward. After we’ve driven over the flattened furry mess, he says, ‘She got together with someone else ... while she was still with me. One of the guys from that camping trip actually.’
I wince. ‘Ouch, sorry.’
He straightens his shoulders and doesn’t look at me. ‘It was a hard thing to go through, but I’m over it now.’
‘Why keep those photos then? Isn’t it like rubbing lemon juice in the wound every time you look at them? I’d have ripped them to shreds!’
‘That trip isn’t a painful memory. It’s a happy one. Why should I destroy my happy memory just because of what she did? It would be like cutting off my nose to spite my face.’
I don’t really understand that way of thinking.
‘If you say so, but I still think it’s masochistic. If someone did something that hurtful to me, I’d rather not be reminded of them.’
‘I don’t think it’s masochistic in the slightest. That’s a bit extreme,’ says Bailey stubbornly.
‘Can you see my point of view at all?’
‘Not really.’
Aargh. He’s so bloody annoying. I check Google Maps on my phone. Ten minutes until we get to Inverness, thank God. I’m glad I won’t have to see him again. He really knows how to push my buttons. I’m sorry I asked about his stupid corkboard. Why the hell would he want to keep photos of his ex who cheated on him? Unless he’s still in love with her?
When we’re on the outskirts of Inverness, I realise that, without thinking, I’ve given Bailey the address of the guest house to punch into the satnav. It’s going to look mighty strange that my ‘grandmother’ is living at the Cumberfeldy Inn.
As we turn into the street, I panic. ‘You can just drop me off here,’ I say. ‘Crumpet needs a toilet stop, and we can walk the rest of the way.’ Phew, Crumpet always comes in handy if I need an excuse.
Bailey obediently pulls over, and I open the car door. ‘Leave the biscuits and your bag in the car if that’s easier,’ he says. ‘I’ll just follow you to the house.’
‘Er, that’s OK. No need,’ I reply. ‘You’d best be off in case it starts snowing.’
‘The footpath’s icy, though. You don’t want your leg in a cast for Christmas.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thanks, Mum.’ I grab my bag from the boot, unzip the top, and stuff the biscuits in.
Crumpet jumps out when I open the back door of the car, and I call through to Bailey, ‘Thanks for the lift and for putting me up for the night!’
‘No problem. Have a good Christmas!’ He lifts a hand in farewell.
