I lean my cheek against the window and let my eyes fall shut.
SIXTY-SEVEN
CAMERON
“Jesus,” Fraser says as we pull the truck into the yard outside the farmhouse. It’s four p.m., and the sky is greying over our heads. “Alec wasn’t kidding.”
I study the lambing barn. There’s a ragged hole in the roof. My stomach turns uneasily.
Alec sent one single text this morning, as we were packing to leave the hotel in Inverness.
ALEC:
Lambing barn damaged by storm. No injuries to livestock. Need your help to move them when you get back.
He didn’t respond when we tried to call him.
We both climb out of the truck, and I hook my cane out of the back seat. My leg’s weak and burning like a bitch from being stuck in the car, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.
As we approach the barn, it’s clear what happened. One of the old elms was hit by lightning. Several of her branches are charred and black, and her trunk is still smouldering.
Fraser whistles. “Jesus. What are the chances of it getting struck by lightning? It’s the one thing Alec couldn’t secure the place against.”
I don’t answer, pulling open the barn door. The front half of the barn is a mess, with planks and rubble littering the floor. A beam has been knocked loose and is lying across the floor. A hastily erected tarpaulin has been hung from the rafters. On the other side, the ewes and lambs are all penned close together and kept warm by a circle of heaters. They’re oddly quiet as Fraser and I walk through them, our feet crunching through the straw. Viola snuffles at my cane curiously, and I bend down stiffly to rub her head.
“Alec’s going to be losing it,” Fraser says darkly. “’S the worst thing that could happen to him. God, I hope Summer’s okay. Must have scared her. Bet the buildings in London never spontaneously collapse.”
The mention of Summer sets my body aching. We’ve only been apart a day, and I spent the entire time missing her.
Fraser had some words with me on our drive yesterday. Wouldn’t shut up, actually.
“C’mon,” he argued, spinning the steering wheel. “You know she belongs here, mate. You like her. You can’t say you don’t.”
I looked out at the wet grey roads, remembering how much I hate cities. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Well, too bad, ’cause you’re trapped with me, aren’t you? Unless you want to open the door and forward-roll out onto the motorway.”
I considered the car door. There was a click as he turned on the child lock. Twat.
“Listen, mate, I just think you’re being pathetic, is all. I get you’re scared of your feelings, or rejection, or whatever, but?—”
“I’m not scared of rejection,” I’d muttered. “I’m being realistic. She doesn’t want to stay here.”
“How do you know? Have you asked her? She doesn’t even like it in London.”
And on, and on, and on. Fraser had talked at me all through the drive. All through the deliveries. All through dinner. Even when we were getting ready for bed, he’d sat on the edge of my mattress and orated at me with a mouth full of toothpaste. Fraser’s usually easygoing, but when he’s decided to be irritating, he’s a dog with a bone.
It worked though. By this morning, I had to accept that he’s right. Summer has gotten under my skin. I want her with us. I don’t want her to go. I’ve decided to ask her to stay. She’ll probably say no, which is fine. At least I won’t be a coward.
I look around at the mess of the barn. “Let’s find her.”
As we head back outside, I see a figure dressed in a red coat crunching up the drive. It’s Liam, the geriatric postman from the village. He waves at us, waiting for us to join him.
“All right, lads?” he asks. “You survived the night then?” He squints at the barn. “Christ, but that’ll be a task to clear up.”
Fraser nods. “None of the livestock are hurt, but aye, the building is a mess. How’s the village?”
“Streets are soggier than a cod’s bahookie, but everyone made it through. D’you boys need help fixing up your barn? I could round up a crew.”
