“Hey, Charlie, are you OK?”
She stretched a concerned hand out to cup my cheek as Ginger greeted me, tail a blur. Rosie’s a toucher, and I love it—I miss being touched. She seems wise beyond her years, or at least considerably wiser than me.
Told her about the pig, and she listened patiently, nodding along.
“OK. We can sort the pig,” Rosie said calmly. “What else is wrong?”
“What? Oh, nothing else,” I said, as the panic beat through me. “I’m fine!”
She tilted her head. Ginger sat down firmly on my foot, as if to say, “You’re going nowhere.”
“Really, I’m fine!”
“OK.” She smiled. “Well, when you’re ready to talk about whatever it is—about anything—I’m here. Just in case you needed to hear that.”
Had to look down at Ginger because my eyes were suddenly full of tears. It’s hard, isn’t it, when someone is nice to you in a moment when it would be totally impossible to be nice to yourself?
“Why don’t you come in?” Rosie said after a moment. “Here, Ginger—come, give the woman some space. I was just about to head out to get movie-night snacks for Red and a couple of the other B&Bers, but they can wait, if you want a cup of tea.”
I hesitated as Ginger dashed back inside. Would love to get to know Rosie a little better. And the B&B looked so inviting behind her, witha cozy rug on the hall floor and a dark-blue Aga cast-iron stove just visible in the kitchen beyond. But when I have this want-to-disappear feeling, doing something like sitting trapped in someone’s kitchen for the duration of a cup of tea, trying to act like I’m not absolutely steeped in fear and self-loathing, is kind of impossible. Particularly if the person is perceptive. I’m good at pretending to be fine, but Rosie has already proven herself to be dangerously skilled at reading me.
“I’d absolutely love to, but can we rain check?” I said. “I think I just need to get home and shower. I’m kind of…piggy.”
“Well, if you’re sure…Before you go, can I borrow your phone?” Rosie asked. “Marly’s out, but she’ll round up the pig if I can get hold of her. Mine’s inside somewhere.”
This was said with characteristically dreamy vagueness. Rosie does give the impression of being a person who misplaces things. Passed her mine, and she fumbled around with it for so long that I laughed.
“You want me to show you how to call someone? Wow, you’ve ended up in the real depths of my apps there, shall I…”
“Sorry! I’m useless.”
“You’re lovely,” I told her, and she smiled at me.
“Please do come around for that tea sometime, Charlie.”
Her expression was almost wistful. Assured her we’d have tea soon and headed back to the stables, trying to figure out whether that exchange had made me feel more or less miserable. Rosie and Marly are so inquisitive. I want a friendly island community, but ideally the kind of friendly that isn’t especially interested in the life I had before I got here. Incurious friendly.
The sort of friendly that still allows me to keep my secrets.
Just came home after a slow shift at the farm shop and found Jones making coffee and a bacon sandwich. He didn’t offer me one—notthat I’d have said yes, but still. Our wary truce felt more fragile than ever. Since the pig event, I’ve been squirreling myself away in the small bedroom, barely meeting his eyes when we’ve crossed paths, and definitely haven’t done my fair share of the cleaning and cooking. Have been telling myself I’m only doing what he wanted—he said keep to ourselves, didn’t he?
“Have you managed to explore the island much yet?” he asked as he rifled through the cupboards for the ketchup. He looks good from behind. Something about the muscular shoulders and narrow waist combo. From the front you notice the scowl and the biceps, and maybe overlook the fact that his build’s actually quite athletic.
“You’ve not been getting out and about much,” he continued.
I stopped checking him out.
“I went for a run this morning,” I said, irritated.
“That’s where you went first thing?”
“Oh, so you did know I’d gone out.”
“It’s hard not to notice you. Here, I mean—with the two of us practically on top of each other.”
My brain, immediately: remember what it felt like when Jones was looking down at you, arm braced above your head, hips against yours, pinning you to the wall?
…Because, yes, there may be a secondary reason I’ve been avoiding Jones. It’s hard enough to act normal with another person when I’m having one of these phases, but add in the fact that said person has seen me swoon in their arms as they save me from a rampaging pig? It would be too much for anybody, no?
