‘No, no. You have it.’
He fills the cup. ‘Here. Have this. I can drink from the flask. Hope black’s okay for you?’
‘Yes, perfect. Thank you.’ We both sit on the tree trunk where I sip the coffee, grateful now for the warmth of the cup in my hands. ‘Itisa bit chilly out here.’
‘Yeah. Beautiful though, isn’t it? And a good time to see who else is around.’
‘Who else?’ I ask, puzzled. He seems to be scanning the area around the forest’s edge. ‘Not abear, is it?’ I smile.
‘Not as far as I know.’ He smiles too and sips from his flask, seeming so different from the terse, stove-poking man of last night. ‘Let’s wait,’ he suggests. And so we do just that, and as the sky lightens from pink and orange to a wash of pale blue, it strikes me that I have no urge to fill the silence now. Because it feels anything but awkward as we sit and wait and watch.
And then it happens. There’s a small rustling noise as, from out of the woods, a red squirrel appears. It stops, looking around in jerky movements.
I glance at Oliver. ‘Wow,’ I mouth silently.
He nods, eyes widening. This squirrel is smaller and leaner than the plump greys that frolicked around our Glasgow garden when I was a child. Its coat is deep rust-red, its eyes beady bright as it scampers in short bursts, stopping to scratch among the leaves and pine needles on the ground. Having found some kind of snack, it clutches it with both paws like a child gripping a hot dog. Then another squirrel appears, and then another.
We watch, transfixed by the spectacle. And as the sun rises and the squirrels enjoy their breakfast, I sense something happening to me.
All the stress and worry about Eddie and Frank – and Dad too. That’s always there, a niggling undercurrent of anxiety over whether he’sreallyokay, stuck in that second-floor flat all alone. But all of that seems to blow away now like a dandelion seed on the breeze. Sitting here, with a man I barely know, I feel entirely at peace.
Time passes. I don’t know much because neither of us want to make a sudden move that might scare the squirrels away. Then something startles them – another animal or bird – and they flee.
‘That was amazing,’ I announce as we get up.
‘Quite something, aren’t they?’ There are no beleaguered teacher vibes now. Oliver’s blue eyes are bright, his demeanour relaxed. Clearly a little older than Suki, I’d put him at late forties. He’s pulled off his beanie now. There’s a hint of grey around his temples, and his face is lightly tanned and slightly weathered around the eyes. He seems like a man who’s happiest outdoors.
‘I’ve never seen red squirrels before,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks for showing me.’
‘We’re lucky they came out,’ he says, then seems to hesitate. ‘Erm … can I just say I’m sorry?’
I look at him in surprise. ‘What for?’
He exhales, running a hand back over neatly cropped hair. ‘I owe you an apology, Carly. The way I was when I came to pick you up – and the rest of it. I want you to know how sorry I am about last night.’
Chapter Twenty-four
I tell him it was my fault for getting lost but Oliver won’t have it. ‘It’s easily done around here,’ he says. ‘One wrong turn and there’s no signal or landmarks …’ He pauses. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind. But that’s no excuse.’
‘Really, it’s okay,’ I insist.
He shrugs, looking genuinely sorry. ‘Bit awkward last night, wasn’t it?’
I hesitate, wondering how to put it tactfully. ‘It seems like a bit of an odd mix, that’s all …’
Oliver nods. ‘I think my sister had some kind of agenda.’
‘What kind of agenda?’ I ask, intrigued.
‘Oh, Suki means well. I mean, she’s great. Really. But, uh … since my wife and I split she’s made it her mission to fix me up—’
‘You mean, matchmaking you?’ I cut in.
‘Yeah.’ He chuckles. He seems like a man who’s got ittogether, with an air of easy confidence. I can’t imagine he needs, or wants, anyone to organise his life.
‘Does she think you can’t manage on your own?’ I ask.
‘Uh, not exactly. At least I hope not. But Suki’s always had this thing of wanting everyone she cares about to be all settled and happy, in their cosy little unit.’
