Somehow, after all the activity this week, I sense that she’d enjoy some alone time here with her dogs in the house. So, having checked that it’s fine with her, I borrow her mother’s ancient car, and rattle along the country lanes, stopping whenever the mood takes me.
I drive without even thinking about where I’m going, passing dense, dark woodland and rivers shimmering like ribbons of silk. I drive Bea’s shabby saloon along single-track roads into the hills, getting lost on several occasions when there’s no phone signal, so no Google Maps – just the sharp cry of a hawk above.
Stopping in a lay-by, I open the car door and gaze out over the valley below, filling my lungs with crisp, cool air. Somewhere down there was a campsite. Seeing that I have a phone signal now – rare around here – I check Google Maps. But nothing shows up. I drive on, hoping to spot the lane that led towards it, thinking my brother would love to see a photo of it, if I can find the place. But of course, I was fifteen the last time we came here and it’s probably not there anymore. It was little more than a clearing in the forest anyway. So, instead of continuing my search, I pull over again and make a call.
‘Hi, Fergus,’ I start. ‘Just wondering if you’re at the shop today?’
‘Hey, Kate. Yes, I am. I’ll be here all day. Everything okay?’
‘Yes, I’m good,’ I say. ‘I was just thinking of coming into town. There’s, um... something I’d like to talk to you about, if you’re free. Is it okay if I drop in?’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Alice didn’t head back down south the week after Osprey House had been put on the market. ‘I’m kind of enjoying it here,’ she explained, ‘without all the looming furniture and clutter. It’s like a totally different house. I’ll just make myself scarce when the estate agent’s doing viewings.’
I haven’t gone either. I’m still living in Osprey House, as Alice has insisted I stay there – until it’s sold, if that’s what I want. ‘I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise,’ she’s joked.
Now, finally, there’s no deceit surrounding the work I’m doing – because I have a new job. That day I’d looked for the campsite, Fergus and I discussed how I could step into Liv’s shoes and help out in the shop.
I know it’s working out because Fergus is appreciative and tells me all the time. And as July tips into August, and then gradually the trees turn copper and golden, I’m still here. Alice is too. We cohabit happily, sharing our news when I return home after work.
One evening, out of the blue, Vince messages me.
The bed feels huge without you.Just that, a simple statement of fact.
I’m sorry,I reply. It’s all I can think of to say.
Or maybe it’s me that’s shrinking?
He means it as a joke, I know him well enough to understand that. But it seems so sad. The only response that feels right is a short row of kisses:xxx.
And it strikes me that he still hasn’t asked where or how I am.
Meanwhile, my life has taken on a new shape. If Fergus is out and about, I man the shop. Or I’ll drive all over Perthshire and beyond to check out collections of books that are no longer wanted. I can usually tell pretty quickly whether they’ll be of interest for us. For instance,Your 2007 Libra Year, or a raggedy edition ofNaming Your Baby– not so much. Ditto out of date DIY and car manuals: those hefty tomes that would clog up our shelves. Instead, we look for quality fiction and anything about nature, the outdoors or with a Scottish slant.
As we work together I try to push all those thoughts of how attractive Fergus is, and how perhaps there’s some kind of frisson between us, out of my mind. Because I’m probably imagining it – and isn’t he friendly to everyone? Besides, although he never acts this way, heismy boss.
On a bright and crisp September afternoon my heart actually flutters when I’m presented with a vast collection of natural history books in a remote cottage way out in the hills. ‘Of course we’ll take them,’ I tell the elderly man.
‘That’s great,’ he says. ‘I’m downsizing, you see. Won’t have room for them anymore.’ He pauses and laughs. ‘And I suppose my poaching days are over.’ I pay him in cash, as he requested, already looking forward to sharing this new consignment with Fergus.
‘A Salmon Glossary...The Secret Life of Foxes...’ Fergus reads titles out loud later, clearly delighted. Tonight, I offer to stay on after closing to sort and price up our newly acquired books. There’s a record player by the counter – old jazz records Fergus picked up along with a book collection. Now and again one of us gets up to change the record, and then we fall back into a comfortable silence.
Sorting and cataloguing. It’s not so very different from museum work. We check for damaged or missing pages, and pencil a price on the inside cover. As we work on, way past closing time, I become aware of something else happening.
I’m conscious of the closeness of this man whose shop is his passion. The two of us are sitting cross-legged on the floor, with mugs of tea and crackly music playing, surrounded by piles and piles of books.
‘We don’t need to sort this whole lot tonight,’ Fergus says apologetically. ‘I mean, please don’t feel you need to stay. It’s almost eight...’
‘I’m actually enjoying it,’ I say truthfully. ‘And it’s a big job, isn’t it? It’s a lot easier with the two of us.’
‘Well, I guess it is really,’ he admits. ‘And anyway,’ he adds quickly, not meeting my gaze as he flicks through a book, ‘it’s much nicer, you being here.’
Trying to keep down a smile, I realise something has tilted a little tonight. I can sense a charge, like electricity between us, as the hours go by. ‘I love being here,’ I say. ‘You know that.’ And he looks up and our eyes meet, and we hold each other’s gaze, just for a moment.
‘I’m glad,’ he says, getting up to make more tea.
Now Fergus looks thoughtful. ‘So, what about you? Where will you live now that Osprey House is on the market?’
