He sits heavily on the edge of her bed and pulls on his new trainers, aware that he is definitely sulking, and also aware how unattractive it must be. Then he kisses Carmel goodbye and travels home in an Uber, ashamed now of his behaviour, as if itwas an embarrassing jacket – called ‘The Sulk’ – that he can’t shrug off.
He’ll make it up to her tomorrow night, he decides. Tomorrow, they will spend the entire night together, and Joel can’t wait.
14
FOUR DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS
It’s too much, Michael insisted last night. He couldn’t expect them to look after everything here. It was a lovely idea, and fantastically kind of them – but no.
However, as a trio, Pearl, Lena and Shelley are quite a force, and they insisted that everything would be fine. That as a make-up artist, a charity’s content writer and a care home receptionist they were fully equipped to look after his guests.
He’d looked baffled at that part. ‘We’re used topeople,’ Shelley insisted. ‘And we’re hard working and organised and can cope with whatever’s thrown at us.’And two of us have kids,she wanted to add.D’you think we’re not used to dealing all kinds of demands?
By the time a third bottle of wine was finished, Michael had agreed to at least check if flights were available. And to okay a visit with Krissy, of course. So first he messaged her, and then set down his phone and looked at Pearl. ‘She really wants me to come down,’ he said. ‘She’d wanted to suggest it but thought there was no chance. She knows I can’t just up and leave this place on a whim.’
‘Well, you can now,’ Pearl said firmly as he got up, and they hugged. Then Shelley hugged him, and Lena too. It was clear then that Michael was unaccustomed to such displays of affection and he quickly stepped away, professional-host demeanour now firmly back in place.
‘Are you absolutely sure about this?’ he asked.
‘Of course we are!’ Shelley beamed at him.
‘It’s not just the wine talking?’
‘No,’ Lena insisted. ‘It’s crazy you being here when you could be there. Imagine how you’ll feel if you don’t do it?’
Michael still looked doubtful. ‘Okay then, if you’re absolutely set on this.’ His gaze skimmed the room. ‘There’s a lot to go through, to tell you about. But I think we’d better do that in the morning, if that’s all right?’
‘’Course it is,’ Pearl said firmly. ‘Now off you go and book your flights.’
And now, on a bright and frost-sparkly morning, Michael greets them a little blearily in the kitchen. ‘How are you?’ Pearl asks as he pushes back his rumpled hair. It’s outgrown its cut, but it suits him.
‘Okay. I’m all good.’
She smiles. ‘So you’ve booked your flight?’
‘Yep, I have. Nothing from Inverness, and nothing available from Glasgow to Heathrow either. That’s where Krissy’s staying – at an airport hotel. But I managed to get one from Glasgow to Stansted so that’ll do fine…’ He pauses, looking apologetic. ‘I need to head off pretty soon. Can I show you everything? I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s time for me to do the full Scottish breakfast. But there’s plenty of bacon and eggs and?—’
‘Please don’t worry about that,’ Lena says quickly. ‘We can look after ourselves.’
His looks suggests that he is still uncertain about leaving. But he murmurs, ‘I’m sure you can,’ and then, as if to distracthimself, he gives Stan his breakfast. ‘Dog food’s in the utility room. A cupful, twice a day?—’
‘We can look after Stan,’ Shelley says impatiently.
‘Right. Okay. You’ll find fire lighters and tonnes of old newspaper in there too. For the fire…’ He catches himself. ‘Sorry, I’m stating the obvious.’
‘Michael, we’ll figure it all out,’ Pearl says. ‘Why not give us a whistle-stop tour and then you can go?’
So that’s what he does, taking them out into the rambling garden with its vegetable patch and herb pots and several rickety outbuildings. The frosty grass crunches underfoot and their breath forms puffs of white in the sharp morning air. Beyond the garden a misty haze hangs low over the still waters of the loch.
Stan potters around them as Michael leads the three women past the raspberry canes to the bottom of the garden. Here the hens live in a little wooden house and a wire mesh-covered run.
‘Oh, they’re gorgeous!’ As Shelley bobs down to ground level, her instinct is to capture them in photos. With plumage ranging through pale beige, rust red and black with white speckles, she hadn’t realised they were quite so beautiful. ‘Look at their little pink combs and dangly bits under their chins!’ she announces, but Michael is in no mood for such fripperies.
‘So, their food’s in the big tub in the shed…’ He indicates a hut almost entirely swathed in ivy. ‘There’s a tap there too. All you need to do is keep their feeder and water dispenser topped up, and make sure their water doesn’t freeze…’
‘Don’t they get cold?’ Lena asks, shivering now in her lambswool sweater and jeans.
‘They don’t mind it,’ Michael replies. ‘They just puff up their feathers and they’ll go into the house if they want to.’
