“Aidan.”
“Ian.”
The two men looked at each other in silence.
Don’t hit him, please! I watched Aidan’s hands, praying they wouldn’t turn into fists.
“Shit, man. Am I glad you’re here,” Ian said, and stretched out his hand.
I held my breath. Aidan looked directly into my eyes as if begging me to tell him what to do. I stared back, paralysed.
Grandmother once told me that anger hurts the person who feels it much more than the person against whom it is directed. She also said that when we forgive someone, we forgive ourselves.
I slightly tilted my head and Aidan instantly understood. Seeing him grab Ian’s hand and pull him into an embrace made me think of Charlie. I swallowed hard. What a wise woman my grandmother was.
13
Inverness was small and, unlike touristy Edinburgh, well suited to the needs of modern Scots, who came there not to admire its sights, but to get on with their everyday lives.
Finlay’s Pharmacy was a short distance from the Hootanelly, and I was shocked to learn that the hostel where Ian and Charlie rented a room was also just around the corner. Ashamed that I had almost given up looking for her, I squeezed ahead of Ian and ran up the steep hostel staircase.
But I was embarrassingly out of shape. I stopped on the second floor, completely out of breath, and stared down the threadbare corridor. The bass from a boom box hummed through the walls and made the tips of my fingers vibrate.
It seemed to take forever for Bri, Li, and Ian to catch up. Aidan brought up the rear, his eyes on his brother.
“Which room?” I asked, exchanging a nervous glance with my aunts. There was a hint of fear in Bri’s eyes, adding to the queasiness in my stomach.
Ian passed me silently, pressing the paper bag from the pharmacy against his chest, and headed to the end of the corridor—number nineteen. The Scottish coat of arms under the number was missing, probably stolen as a souvenir by a previous backpacker. Ian’s hand was trembling, so it took him several tries before the key slid into the lock.
I don’t know what I had expected—maybe Charlie wrapped in a jumper and scarf, nestled in an armchair with one of her beloved fantasy novels in her lap and a cup of tea in her hand. Maybe the familiar sound of squeaking bedsprings as Charlie dived back under the covers so Grandmother wouldn’t catch her coaxing the thermometer up a few degrees with the help of the lamp on the nightstand—that would get her out of going to church on a Sunday morning.
But there was neither a comfortable chair nor anyone faking illness. The only light came in from the hall and the room had a funky smell, as if it hadn’t been aired out for days. And it was terribly quiet.
Anxiously, I stepped forward, squinting, only able to make out the vague shape of a bunk bed. Ian switched on a little lamp and something moved underneath a huge pile of clothes on the bottom bunk. It looked like someone had dumped a bunch of used clothes from a Salvation Army bag onto the bed.
“She was cold,” Ian said, embarrassed.
I just nodded.
“Paaapa?”
My heart jumped painfully. Charlie had called her father “Carl” since high school, just to annoy him. Worse, the low, cracking voice didn’t sound like my rambunctious cousin at all.
“It’s me, sweetie,” Ian answered hoarsely, with so much tenderness I got goosebumps. “And I brought someone you’ve been waiting for.”
He gently pushed the clothes aside.
I gasped. Charlie had got even thinner. Her face was flushed and gaunt. A few sweaty curls stuck to her forehead as she looked at me with confused, feverish eyes.
“Jo?” she mumbled and closed her eyes, as if struggling to understand.
My throat closed up. I sank down on the edge of the narrow cot and took her hand, which was ice cold and terrifyingly limp. She’s gone back to her natural hair colour, I thought, and felt strangely comforted by the insignificance, the ordinariness of the observation.
I had found Charlie. But, god knows, it was not the reunion I’d imagined.
“She needs a doctor,” Ian said.
“Is it bad?” I whispered, and took the little bag out of Ian’s hand, which he had been cradling like the last ounce of penicillin on a desert island. “What about the medicine from the pharmacy?” I squinted to read the handwritten label. “Bupleu—”
“Bupleurum chinense, Chinese lemon balm root—it’s traditionally thought to reduce a fever. It can’t hurt to make her some tea from it,” Bri said, and she touched Ian’s shoulder. “Get me a kettle, young man.”
He sprinted from the room as if Lucifer himself were chasing him—or chasing Charlie.
My tense stomach felt like a tiny, shrivelled balloon. When was the last time I’d eaten an actual meal?
“This way, the poor guy can do something useful rather than just being in the way.” Bri leaned forward and felt Charlie’s forehead.
My cousin seemed completely out of it, neither awake nor asleep. She writhed around in the foul-smelling clothes and mumbled to herself incoherently.
“I don’t think it’s life threatening,” said Bri. “But it’s not just ordinary flu and, if I’m not mistaken, her fever is nothing ordinary either. I’m also worried about the rash on her arms. She does need a doctor—right away if possible.”
“That might be a problem,” Aidan replied. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, like a bodyguard. I fought the urge to throw myself into his arms, sobbing. “It’s Saturday night, and on top of that, there’s the music festival happening. We most likely won’t find a doctor willing to make a house call tonight. They’ll just refer us to the clinic.”
“We still have to try,” I snapped, glaring at Aidan as if Charlie’s condition was his fault.
“Of course we’ll try.” He smiled at me, apparently not offended, and pulled out his mobile phone.
I wanted to apologise, but the moment passed. Ian stumbled in with an electric kettle, which he filled with water at a little sink. He spilled some when he put it down on the nightstand and, cursing quietly, looked for a socket.
Li pushed him aside gently. She poured half of the water down the sink, then plugged the kettle into an outlet right next to the nightstand.
“The doctor will be here any moment,” she said casually, and turned on the kettle.
The machine started to crackle immediately, as if it wanted to prove it was more efficient than it looked. I took my eyes off it to stare at Li, who was smiling at her smartphone.
“Antoine says it will take him about fifteen minutes to get here.”
She put the phone back into her handbag with a satisfied expression and stroked Ian’s head. He was shivering and looked ill himself.
“I think that the Chinese lemon balm would do you some good, too, young man. A warning, though—it’s quite bitter. A spoonful of honey would be perfect, but you probably don’t have any.”
Watching Li take care of Ian that way took me right back to our childhood and all the times she had comforted little Charlie—the skinned knees, Band-Aids, the tantrums, the sassy grins—until what Li had said finally registered.
“Monsieur Barneau is in Inverness?”
“Of course he’s here.” Li blushed and looked at Bri almost defiantly. “He worked as a doctor for more than fifty years. Our Charlie will be in expert hands.”
Bri frowned. “Well, let’s hope your musketeer knows as much about medicine as he does about fancy food.”
I’m sorry I was so brusque with you on the phone. I’m sure you had your reasons for this trip. But I need you here. The office needs you, too. So, please come back at once.
With love, Justus
P.S.: Frau Feinlaub can’t find the Hohlberg file. Did you put it on the shelf?
I stared at the display and had no idea how I was supposed to feel. I was sick of feeling hurt and too exhausted to be more than slightly upset that my fiancé was unable, even now, to keep our private and professional lives separate. It
wasn’t really Justus’s fault. He was just being himself—pragmatic, practical, goal-orientated, everything he had been these past nine years.
“Everything all right?” Aidan asked.
I switched off the phone. “How long has he been in there?” I mumbled, not really looking for a response.
I knew it had been exactly twenty-two minutes since Monsieur Barneau had come up the steps, greeted Li with a daring kiss on the cheek, and then ushered us politely out the door—all except Bri. He asked her to stay and assist him since he had heard impressive things about her medical knowledge.
I had to smile, thinking of it. Taken by surprise, Bri had no rejoinder for once, so she just followed the physician and quietly closed the door behind them. Monsieur Barneau was clearly a sly fox who knew how to win over the enemy camp.
Ian perched on an old heater at the end of the hall, looking out the window while Li made him drink the herbal infusion originally meant for Charlie. The atmosphere out here felt oppressive—all of our fear swirling around below the tasselled ceiling lamps.
Aidan sat down next to me on the staircase. It was narrow, so his knees inadvertently touched my thigh—but I didn’t move away. His nearness was comforting, and right now I needed solace.
I didn’t care if that made me selfish. My hand sought his and I leaned my head against his shoulder. For a moment, I luxuriated in the belief that his heart stopped for a second before it continued its calm and steady beating.
“Everything will be all right, mo chridhe,” he whispered into my hair.
I closed my eyes, wanting to believe him.
I knew I should move, but I sat there listening to his heartbeat until I lost all sense of time.
When I opened my eyes again, they fell on a well-polished pair of dress shoes. Monsieur Barneau stood in front of us, a solemn expression on his face.
Bri had been right—this was more than a simple flu. Charlie had scarlet fever.
Monsieur Barneau and Li went to Finlay’s Pharmacy for antibiotics and we decided to take Charlie back to Kincraig. I didn’t want her to stay in this horrible hostel one minute longer than necessary, and taking her to the local hospital was simply not acceptable to me.
“Charlie doesn’t need nurses and cold rooms—she needs pillows with little flowers,” I tried to explain, earning a raised eyebrow from Aidan and a grin from Bri.
Aidan finally gave up trying to talk me into a hospital stay and went to get the car. He returned soon after with Li and Monsieur Barneau in tow. Under his arm, he carried a woollen blanket that reeked of dog.
“Genuine Scottish virgin wool, ma’am,” Aidan assured me. “We can add little flowers later.”
After the doctor had given Charlie an injection, we wrapped her in the dog blanket, which was no easy task. She kicked and thrashed about until, exhausted, she surrendered, and Aidan lifted her like a doll. He slowly carried her to the staircase with Ian at his side.
Ian was devastated. He had not only underestimated Charlie’s illness, but it was obvious he was tormented by self-reproach for not having called a doctor. On top of it all, his physically stronger big brother had taken over.
Sensing Ian’s distress, Aidan stopped halfway down the stairs. “She’s gonna be all right, pal,” he said. “Pull yourself together and try not to fall down the stairs. I don’t want to show up at Finola’s door with two invalids.”
Ian laughed drily. “You could just tell Aunt Fi that you had to beat some sense into your stupid little brother again.”
“No way,” Aidan replied. “Apart from the fact that none of my smacks have helped anything before, she’d probably kill me before I could finish the sentence.”
“You might be right there.” Ian cleared his throat and added, more seriously, “At least about the second part.”
“What about the first part? Don’t tell me our last row magically taught you some common sense.”
I bent over the railing to get a better look at the two brothers. Ian was staring at Charlie’s sleeping face. His body suddenly relaxed and he broke into a huge smile.
“Maybe. Or maybe all it takes to see things differently is the right girl,” he said. He took a deep breath as if preparing to leap into an ice-cold lake.
“I’d like to come home with you, Aidan. Would that be okay with you . . . and Dad?”
Aidan’s face was inscrutable. “Let’s talk about it later. Right now, open the door for me. Your little lassie weighs more than one would suspect.”
While Ian ran down the steps two at a time, Aidan looked down at Charlie and mumbled something I couldn’t hear. Then he continued down the stairs, his walk straighter and more relaxed than before.
Two hours later, I could almost pretend that the bleak room at the hostel had never existed. Charlie was sleeping soundly in a real bed, under a duvet that outclassed even my mother’s eiderdown quilts. The little room smelled of fresh linen and flowers. A thermos with tea and a plate of scones stood on the sideboard. It was warm, it was clean, and I’d stopped counting how many times I’d mentally fallen on my knees in front of Finola since our arrival at O’Farrell’s Guesthouse.
“Thank god! Her fever is breaking.”
Sighing with relief, Li set aside the thermometer and stroked her grandniece’s head. I had been standing at the window, not letting Charlie out of my sight. Now my knees went weak and I leaned against the sill for support.
“So it won’t be long until the little monster is up and getting on our nerves again?” Bri came out of the bathroom with an armful of Charlie’s dirty laundry. “Can someone tell me whatever happened to normal, white lingerie with a touch of lace?” She dumped the dark garments into a hamper as if wishing it was a dustbin.
My laugh was too loud, too forced, entirely inappropriate for this room and this moment.
“When was the last time you had something to eat, young lady?” Bri asked in the awkward silence that followed.
I waved dismissively. I was a little queasy, but food was the least of my problems. For some reason, now that everything was going to be okay, I suddenly found myself fighting back tears. I cringed with embarrassment, ashamed at losing control in front of my great-aunts, practically inviting Bri to call me a cry-baby.
My aunts exchanged meaningful glances.
“I think I’ll go to the kitchen to check on the others,” Li said casually. “That soup on the stove smells delicious.”
Bri crossed her arms. “Besides, it would be rude to stand up Mrs. O’Farrell for dinner again, don’t you think?”
Li nodded. “It’s really kind of her to cook for us so late. And the room she prepared for Antoine is just lovely. I mean . . . it’s . . . the view, you see—the lake.”
Bri knitted her brow. “The view, Li?”
“Well, the lake, of course—”
“Mrs. O’Farrell gave your Frenchman a room in the west wing.”
“Right,” Li chirped, smiling innocently.
“Loch Insh is east of us, Li. Whatever you were admiring in Antoine’s room, it definitely was not Loch Insh,” Bri snarled.
“Listen, you two,” I said. “Why don’t you both go let the men know that Charlie’s doing better? I’ll join you in just a minute.”
“You’ve got to eat something, child. You look green around the gills,” Li objected, visibly grateful to have escaped her sister’s fangs.
“Please.” I looked to Bri for help, blinking frantically.
“You heard the girl.” Bri motioned to the door with her chin.
A tear spilled over and ran down my cheek.
“But even Ian agreed to eat something. Josie really should come with us and—”
“We’re going, Li. Now.”
Only after the door closed gently and I was sure that Charlie’s wheezing and my own shallow breathing were the only sounds in the room did I put my forehead against the cool windowpane and allow myself to cry.
When I finally straightened up a few minutes later, my throat felt sore, b
ut a weight had lifted. I pulled the sleeve of my ugly jumper over my hand and wiped my face and then the window with the scratchy wool. I snuffled impolitely and cleared my throat several times. After making sure Charlie was still asleep, I tried the breathing technique Mama had picked up at some find-your-inner-centre seminar—inhaling slowly through the nose and exhaling in three short breaths out the mouth. After I did this three times, my inner centre grumbled and I had to giggle. I opened the window to cool off, and was taken aback by amazing sights that hadn’t been there before. Of course, they had been there before, but I’d been so preoccupied I hadn’t noticed them.
The moon was pouring a milky-white path from the middle of the lake to the jetty. A glimpse of an immaculate starry sky opened up where the pitch-black peaks of the Cairngorms poked through the clouds. A sweet, peaty scent filled my lungs and awoke memories of freshly mowed grass and bread toasting over the campfires Bri lit for us children in the back garden. Pines creaked and whispered in the wind. I saw eyes gleaming at me from the bushes before an animal silently slipped away. It was a night that made fairy tales come true, if you believed in that sort of thing.
I quietly closed the window and looked at the bed. A white foot stuck out from under the blanket. I went to the bathroom, closed the door, and reached for the light switch.
Charlie’s wet laundry was everywhere. I fished a sports bra out of the sink and hung it next to matching underwear on the bathtub’s tap.
I pulled the hiking backpack from the bath and shook it. Empty. I turned it inside out. Only a single sock dropped at my feet—a soiled reproach for snooping. But I pushed aside my guilty conscience. After all, it was impossible to speak to my cousin right now, and I’d gone through an awful lot to end up in this chaotic bathroom.
I spotted Charlie’s purse on the floor. I was so jittery that it took forever to open the purse’s zip. Then I unceremoniously emptied the contents onto the bath mat.
Kissed by the Rain Page 18
