STUART:Mason has reassured me it’s pretty much impossible to die on the West Highland Way, so I guess you’re ignoring me. Thanks so very much.
STUART:Ross is picking you up at eight.
STUART:Answer your fucking phone!
And then this morning:
STUART: The bride’s sister! ARE YOU INSANE? Get your arse back here this instant, you ungrateful neanderthal.
I turn back to Rowan. “So. Fancy a lift?”
* * *
“Your brother found you then,” Ewan says as we pull up at the campsite.
Ross and I are sitting in the front. I can see Ross glancing at Rowan in the rearview mirror every few seconds, his mind obviously whirring with questions. None of us has spoken a word since we got in the car. Well, Ross tried, and I told him to fuck off. For once, he obliged. Rowan is quiet, huddled into her down jacket, pressed as far into the corner as she can possibly manage.
I can’t blame her. If I were her, I’d be doing the same.
“No thanks to you,” I retort.
Ewan is sitting on top of his hiking bag, crutches resting on his legs. There are two other bags next to his: Lila and Priya’s presumably, although they're nowhere in sight.
“Ah, couldn’t help it, could I? I’m a good Samaritan, me. Just trying to help a lad find his lost brother.”
“You could have texted me.”
“Don’t have your number, do I.”
“Prick.”
“You wound me, old man.”
I slam the car door closed. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a train to catch?”
Ewan sighs. “Cancelled, mate. Every single bloody one. Guess we’re all stranded here.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope. Lila and Priya have gone to get a coffee. I said I’d mind the bags.” He shrugs. “Guess it’s another night camping.”
Rowan emerges from the Jeep’s other side. “Did you say coffee?”
“Yeah, there’s a van around the corner.”
“Thank the holy lord,” she exclaims, turning to me. “You still need to pack up your tent, right? Great. Coffee? Coffee, coffee, coffee?”
Ross and I nod. Yes, coffee is what I need. Anything to get me through the rest of this day.
I’m not looking forward to arriving at the farm. Between the stress of organising the wedding, and the bollocking Stuart is about to give me, reality is crashing down on me. Hard. And I’m not ready for it.
I think longingly of the morning I could have had: another round with Rowan, wet and soft and moaning in my arms. The lazy, slow sex of the day after, when the initial rush of need is sated, hours exploring each other’s bodies, learning every inch of her.
“Right.” I shake my head to dispel the thought. “I’m going to pack up. Don’t cause any trouble. Do you understand?”
Ross puts up his hands, his eyes round as a kicked puppy. “Who? Me?”
I glare at him. This coming from the man who has ruined every single family gathering we’ve ever had, whether it’s the time he ate an entire birthday cake and vomited it over grandma’s lap, or play-wrestled Mason into the Christmas tree, ruining the decorations Ma spent hours making, or the time both of them ended up in hospital after they decided to sneak into the bull’s pen in the middle of the night and it almost trampled them to death.
