Priya ducks her head and busies herself with her other lace. “Can’t trust anyone these days,” I hear her mutter in a tone far beyond her years.
Lila looks at me, her eyes expectant.
“I should get on.” It’s my turn to mutter as I shuffle backwards, jabbing a thumb towards my waiting bag. “You know, places to be, miles to cover.”
Wow. I should apply to be a news presenter, what with my eloquence and extensive vocabulary.
Somehow, my bag feels even heavier than yesterday, and I almost trip over my undone laces in my haste to get away.
What is wrong with me?I don’t stop to do up my shoes until I’m out of sight, shame pricking my cheeks. Lila is nice. She gave me coffee, lovely, life-affirming coffee, and made me laugh. So why did I run away? But the thought of hours on the trail, small-talk about the weather and the pain in our feet inevitably petering out and turning to difficult-to-answer questions such as “Why are you out here?” or “What do you do?” or “Have you got a boyfriend?” or even “Where do you live?” fills me with dread.
And now instead of a gentle meander along the banks of the loch with a charming woman and her music-obsessed daughter, I’m once again on my own, stuck with the thoughts in my head, which aren’t, when I reflect on it, such good company after all.
Chapter Seven
Angus
Five, four, three, two, one. I lift my head from the water with a gasp.
“FUCK!”
The sound echoes across the loch, breaking the stillness of dawn.
No matter the season – be it the depths of the winter or the height of summer – the loch is always fucking cold. And no matter how many times I drag my arse in, I never get used to how ice-bollockingly freezing it is, or over the feeling of euphoria that arrives once I’m done. But right now, my fingers are tingling and I can’t feel my toes and each breath is a struggle to keep steady, even, calm.
I focus on that. The hardship. Kick my legs and swim out further, ignoring my body’s protests. I need this.
It makes me feel alive.
At last, when my breathing has normalised and I’m used to the ache in my bones, I’m ready to get out. I swim to shore and retrieve the lightweight towel on top of my pack. Every inch of my skin tingles, a warm flush across my body.
It feels good.
Rowan’s eyes flash into my mind, that hint of sadness in them.
I shake my head. But there it is: her closed expression, the clench of her jaw. She left her beer half-drunk. A girl who knows her way around an IPA.
I should have been kinder. But the question came out of nowhere, and before I knew it, I was walking away. Should have said something though, shouldn’t I?
But women with eyes like Rowan are dangerous. That smile, the way her full lips part to show the glint of her teeth. The little gap between them. The dimple at the corner of her mouth. Eyes and smiles like that make you feel things.
And I’m done with feeling things.
Feeling things leads to wanting things, and wanting things leads to needing things. And there is no room in my life for that.
To distract myself, I grab my phone with the hand that isn’t clutching my towel and type a message to Stuart. He’s the brains – and money – behind the farm’s transformation. It hasn’t been easy. Only tough work and tougher decisions, like selling half of the paddock space, and finally admitting that I can’t work the land on my own – and that I’m not willing to ask my brothers to give up their own lives to help.
And the worst part. The herd. They were Da’s pride and joy, the one thing he clung to when he lost all hope. It’s been almost as hard to lose them as it was to lose him.
But to have any chance of surviving, they had to go.
Angus:How’s the farm?
Stuart replies immediately, three dots appearing almost as soon as I finish typing.
Stuart:Two days. I’m impressed. Mason said you wouldn’t last two hours.
Angus:Mason can go fuck himself.
