Chapter 28
GREG
I pull up at the cottage much later in the evening, the traffic being much worse than I anticipated. Why weren’t the fuckers all at home drinking eggnog and wrapping presents? But Jim was right. There is someone in the house.Please, God, let it be who I think it is.The car parked out front isn’t the same, but the last one was a rental anyway. In its place is a Jeep Grand Cherokee, something more suited to the Highland weather than the wee thing she’d arrived in last time. As well as the Jeep, the cottage is shining like a beacon with every light in the place switched on.
I park at the side, as usual, and pull out my house keys. I hope to God Isobel is the person inside. As it turns out, I don’t need to use the key as the handle turns under my hand. I feel like there’s a fist wrapped around my heart as I push the door open and step inside.
‘Isob—’
‘You bastard—you rat lying bastard!’ I duck as a piece of fruit—a large orange—goes flying past my head, so close that I feel the hair above my ears rise.
‘You nearly knocked me out!’ I look behind me, out into the garden, though I can’t see when it landed. ‘I bet that thing weighed a half a kilo. You’ll have put a dent in your car.
‘I don’t care!’ she yells from the others side of the kitchen. ‘I hate you!’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t mean that. I’m sorry I haven’t called.’
‘You will be!’ Another orange thumps against the wall. Thank Christ she’s a terrible shot.
‘Of all the cruel things to say—all the lies to tell! You’ll rot in hell, Greg Hamley, you will!’ This time, a cup clatters against the door as I step back, pulling it closed like a shield.
‘Woah, woah, woah, there, Nelly.’ Popping my head around the door, I hold my hand. I’m not sure why I’m treating her like a frightened horse except for the fact I reckon she’s just as dangerous right now. Though not from flying bananas. I’m not sure where the fruit has come from.
‘Woah yourself, you. . . you liar!’
‘What have I done?’ My hands rise in the air along with my question, a pomegranate bouncing off my fingertips. ‘Ow, careful.’
‘Next one’s coming for your dick!’
Behind her, the kitchen cabinets are open, allowing Isobel to turn quickly and reload her ammunition. And she also seems to be wearing an awful lot of clothes.
‘I see you’ve got your clothing chastity belt on again.’
‘That’s like locking the stable door after the horse has bolted! She yells, turning and throwing a tin of beans this time. As promised, she aims them at my junk.
‘Your aim is shite, hen. And why are you wearing your coat?’ And half a dozen sweaters, by the looks of things.
‘It’s cold in here. I can’t find the thermostat, and I don’t know how to start a peat fire!’
‘Watch the family jewels, darlin’.’ I jump as she throws another tin, tomatoes this time.
‘It’s the lies about your family jewels that have brought me here!’
Family jewels? That makes no sense. I don’t know what it is that has her so riled, but I know I won’t get to the bottom of this until she’s calm. I make a dash for the kitchen, a calculated dash, as she turns to pull more tinned produce from the cabinet behind her. I wrap her in my arms, her back to my chest.
‘Let go of me. I’m not done being . . . angry . . . yet.’
‘Darlin’, please. Let’s talk about this sensibly.’ I tighten my arms around her, pressing my nose her hair. ‘God, I’ve missed you so much.’
‘There you go, lying again.’ In my arms, she thrashes. I’m forced to widen my stance as she tries to kick my shins.
‘I’m not lying. And I’m going to let go of you now, but you have to promise not to throw anything at me. Deal?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘No deal, then. So we’ll just stand here all night. Works for me ’cause you’re in my arms, and I’ve missed you so much.’
‘Right.’ The word is mostly a derisive snort. ‘If you missed me, you would’ve called.’
