We sit there and we kiss, completely lost in each other, until Hunter pulls away at last.
‘Rosie,’ he says, his expression unusually serious. ‘I—’
But I never find out what he was about to say, because the rustling sound of leaves underfoot intrudes into this little private world we’ve created, and we leap apart, me almost throwing myself off Hunter’s lap just moments before Sabrina Bates appears through a gap in the trees, looking significantly less well-groomed than she usually does.
‘Oh, er, hi,’ she says, looking too dazed to even question what we’re doing here, in the middle of a maze. ‘I don’t suppose one of you could show me how to get out of this thing, could you?’
Chapter 24
Hunter walks Sabrina and I out of the maze and back to the hotel, where Sabrina, who’s been silent the entire way back, her eyes red from crying, mutters a quick thank you before leaving us alone in the lobby.
I turn to Hunter to speak to him, but, before I can even figure out what it is I want to say, Agnes appears, a wide smile on her pretty face.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she says. ‘I’ve just left a tray in your room. The bus for the funfair leaves in an hour, so there’s no formal dinner tonight. I left you some scones, too; I noticed you liked the last lot I brought you.’
I smile gratefully at her.
‘Thanks, Agnes,’ I say. ‘I, er, guess I’ll see you later, then?’ I add, looking up at Hunter, who hesitates, as if he’s about to say something, but just nods silently, before heading off in the direction of his apartment.
I’m disappointed not to have any more time to talk to him, but I’m feeling much better after our encounter in the maze, so I go upstairs to my room, where I find that, as well as leaving me considerably more food than I suspect she was supposed to, Agnes has also run me a bath and turned down the bed, ready for my return.
I shiver slightly at the sight of it. Agnes has carefully laid my pyjamas out on the quilt, and put a foil-wrapped chocolate on the pillow, but the thought of sleeping in here tonight is something that no amount of chocolate is going to make me feel good about. I’m so nervous, in fact, that I wedge a chair under the door handle, like people do in horror movies, before getting into the bath.
Well, you can’t be too careful, can you?
Despite my fears, though, the hour until the bus leaves passes without incident, and I head back down to the minibus, which I manage to board this timewithoutgrabbing anyone’s head.
So far, so good.
The village fair turns out to be not so much a fair as it is a few food trucks and stalls grouped around the same little square the market was held in yesterday, which is now also home to a handful of fairground rides, including a slightly perilous-looking Ferris wheel, and one of those old-fashioned carousels, from which music rises and falls in time with the painted horses.
I jump down from the minibus, and immediately look around for Hunter and Hannah, who’re nowhere to be seen. Instead, I follow the other influencers across the square, which has been strung with fairy lights. They twinkle merrily against the dark sky, giving the place a magical feel, even in the face of the increasingly strong wind, which makes the lights and bunting sway to and fro above us.
The scent of cinnamon and toffee fills the air, and over in a corner next to the Waltzer, I spot Ian presiding over the same market stall he was manning yesterday, which now has the words ‘Ian’s Tatties’ painted above it in a very slapdash manner that suggests Ian probably did it himself – possibly while under the influence.
‘Hi, Ian,’ I say, waiting for a gap in customers before I wander over. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.’
‘No choice, Rosie,’ he says sadly, ladling something pale and lumpy into a cardboard container. ‘The farm just isn’t making enough money on its own, so I’m having to moonlight. Izzie’s the same.’
He points across the square to where a little tent has been set up, with a rather terrifying photo of Izzie herself on the front of it. A sign next to the door advertises tarot readings and fortune telling, and I briefly wonder if I should pop over and ask her if she thinks there’s any possibility of a future for Hunter and me. Then it occurs to me that Izzie hasn’t exactly been doing a great job of predicting anything else that’s happened this week, and decide to stay put.
‘Now, what can I get you, Rosie?’ asks Ian, bringing me back to reality. ‘We’ve got tattie scones, skirlie tatties, tattie hash, or stovies. Or I could do you a baked tattie, if you’d prefer?’
I’m not remotely hungry after all that food Agnes left me, but I know Ian needs the money even more than I do right now, so I decide to buy something anyway.
‘Um, I’ll take the stovies, thanks,’ I reply, choosing the one thing on the menu that appears not to involve ‘tatties’, only to be handed a dish of the same pale slush I saw Ian ladling out earlier, which turns out to be surprisingly delicious – and very much potato-based.
‘How are you getting on with your letter to the Laird?’ I ask, tucking in to the stovies. ‘Have you made a start on it yet?’
‘Och, we’re leaving that to Callum,’ Ian replies, handing another customer a tattie scone in a paper bag. ‘He’s got a real way with words, that one. Could talk the hind legs off a donkey, so he could.’
‘Right.’ I take another forkful of food to hide my surprise at this. ‘Well, I hope the Laird at least agrees to read it, once it’s done.’
‘That’s if the Laird’s still alive,’ says a gloomy voice from behind me. I turn to see Yasmin, still with her sunglasses perched on top of her head, even though it’s not at all sunny, standing eating a toffee apple. ‘We shouldn’t assume that he is.’
‘Wh—why wouldn’t he bealive?’ I stutter.
‘Well, none of us have actuallyseenthis “Laird”, have we?’ she says, unperturbed. ‘And that handyman guy was being really cagey about him earlier, didn’t you think? It was like he didn’t want us to speak to him. It made me wonder if he’s bumped him off or something?’
