Highland Fling

by Anna Larner

  In response, Moira held Eve, resting her face into Eve’s neck.

  Eve caressed Moira’s hair, stroking through the soft curls, pausing to lift Moira’s face and lips to hers, somewhat tentatively kissing Moira’s top lip and then her bottom lip.

  Moira opened her mouth slightly, allowing Eve to kiss her. With her arms tucked around Eve’s waist, Moira repeated the same pattern with Eve’s lips, and then they kissed together.

  The sensation was so powerful, that Eve felt instantly weak.

  Eve leant in to Moira, breathing her in with each kiss. Moira smelt of fresh air; she smelt of wildflowers, of earth, of gorse, and pine; she smelt of Newland. Eve held Moira’s sides. She could feel Moira’s shirt, the softness of the brushed cotton, the warmth of her. As their kissing deepened, Eve felt an intense need for Moira, a need to be close to her, to touch her. She gently slipped her hands underneath Moira’s shirt; she could feel Moira’s skin, soft and warm.

  Moira was kissing Eve intently, urgently, pulling Eve into her.

  Eve’s hands explored Moira’s back, feeling Moira’s bra strap under them.

  Beep. Beep.

  Eve felt Moira jump. She stopped kissing Eve.

  Eve said breathlessly, “I’m sorry, it’s my phone.”

  With their intense, delicate intimacy painfully shattered, Moira released her hold of Eve.

  Eve retrieved her phone from her pocket and read the text. U okay? It was Roxanne. Eve shook her head. “It’s nothing.” Eve dropped her hand to Moira’s hand and held it.

  “You’d better go home—your family will be worried.” Moira’s voice sounded full of emotion, full of feeling.

  “No, it’s not from them. It’s okay.” Eve held Moira’s hand tightly. “I could come later tonight? To yours.” Eve searched Moira’s face.

  Moira said gently, “I’m sorry, I can’t make tonight.”

  “Sure, yes, of course.”

  Moira stroked Eve’s cheek, her expression tender and soft, as she said, “Tomorrow. How about tomorrow?”

  “Yes—although I won’t be able to come till late. I’ll need to wait until my family have gone to bed. Say, eleven?”

  “Tomorrow night then.”

  Moira let go of Eve’s hand, turned, and walked away.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Saturday night was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Fun?” Eve raised an eyebrow at Esther’s assessment.

  “You know what I mean. In fact, it was good to see you relax, let your hair down a bit.”

  Eve was drying the wine glasses from Monday night’s supper, whilst Esther washed up.

  “Why, do you think I’m too uptight?” Eve asked, her head tilted questioningly.

  “Well, perhaps not uptight, just careful. Not that that’s a bad thing.”

  There seemed to Eve to be an incredible irony in the conversation she was having with Esther. She knew why Esther had formed that opinion. Up until this week, Eve would have agreed that she liked to be sure, that she would hold back her feelings. But, with Moira, she had been anything but careful, anything but uptight. Moira.

  “Eve.”

  “Huh?”

  “I think it’s dry.” Esther gestured to the glass in Eve’s hand.

  “Oh, right.” Eve put down the glass she had polished to a brilliant shine.

  Esther asked casually, “So, have you seen our neighbour since the dance?”

  “What?” Eve pulled down her bottom lip and frowned as if trying really hard to remember who Moira was, let alone whether she had seen her recently.

  “It’s just, well, I saw you,” Esther said, leaning in slightly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “After the dance—with Moira.”

  Eve felt instantly exposed.

  “I wasn’t being nosy. I’d got up to get a drink and happened to look out the kitchen window and there you both were.”

  Eve nodded. “We were just saying goodnight, you know, a goodnight hug.”

  “A hug?”

  “Yes—why, what did you see?”

  “You seemed to be just talking. She hugged you? See, I knew she liked you.”

  Henry appeared from the living room, grabbed a lemon and a knife, and said, “Don’t mind me, as you were.”

  Oh my God. Eve held the tea towel in front of her, as if it offered protection from Esther’s probing.

  “Seriously, Eve, I think she’s got the hots for you.”

  “Really? Nah.” Oh my God.

  “Well, my bet is she’s a fully paid-up member of your team.”

  Eve squeezed out, “My team?”

  “You know—the girls’ team.” Esther nudged Eve playfully.

  Eve shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it, maybe, who knows?”

  Esther gave Eve a sceptical look.

  The truth was that Eve didn’t know. She didn’t know if Moira played for the girls’ team—at least, not whether she played full-time. She could tell from their kissing that she enjoyed being with Eve, but to assume that Moira was gay was perhaps assuming too much. She knew they could talk more tonight, that she could check before they…before they what?

  “Eve?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Eve watched Esther walk away, shaking her head.

  Everything in that moment felt surreal. With every breath that she denied any feeling for Moira she could feel herself wanting her more. Moira was so present for Eve and absent from her at the same time. She looked at her watch. I must get ready.

  In the hour or so leading up to eleven, Eve showered and tried on every outfit she had brought with her. She sat on the edge of her bed, half buried in all of her clothes. Even the clothes she had discarded to be washed were lying on the bed for outfit consideration. Eve let herself imagine a passionate scenario where Moira was lifting, say, her jumper off her, only then to imagine the likelihood of the jumper creating a static charge that left her hair alarmingly wild. No, she wouldn’t wear a jumper. Eve complimented herself, that even in her fantasies she was nothing if not practical. A shirt then? Eve had set aside her travel home outfit. Could her light blue cotton vest and blue linen shirt be worn tonight and, perhaps, still be clean enough to travel home in? Eve held up her muddy jeans and gave them a sharp shake. They’d be fine to wear—wouldn’t they? As a matter of habit, Eve briefly wondered whether she should ring Roxanne for advice.

  If Eve was honest, there was something about Roxanne’s reaction to Moira that had left her feeling hurt, her feelings called into question, undermined. The thought of telling Roxanne about what happened in the Whisky Still didn’t feel right. It all felt too private, serious, and certainly not for the scrutiny, ridicule, or amusement of others.

  Lying on her bed, waiting for eleven, Eve felt sensitive, hyperaware, kind of raw. She felt unsettled. It was almost as if Eve could feel the onset of change.

  *

  As she waited for Eve, Moira drank two double whiskies and rearranged the cushions on her sofa at least three times. She changed her outfit twice. Her first outfit was formal—dark trousers, a white blouse, and a blazer. It looked, she decided, like she was about to go to an interview, rather than on a date. A date? Moira wasn’t sure what this was. Was it a date? If it was a date, what did that mean? Did it mean they would kiss again? She absently traced her lips with her finger. She recalled what it had felt like to be kissed by Eve, to kiss her, to hold her. It felt really good, it felt right. Kissing Eve, holding her, it was what Moira wanted to do, and what she wanted to do again tonight.

  And yet, as she chose her second outfit, Moira stood in front of her bedroom mirror, dressed just in her underwear. She should have gone out today and brought a fancier bra, just in case. Just in case what? Was Eve going to see her bra, her breasts? Was that what Moira wanted? Her heart had begun to race. Moira’s bra was white, cotton, and mostly plain, except for a small bow in between the two cups. She looked at her knickers—also white, cotton, and plain. She should hav
e bought new knickers too. Moira began to feel upset. She sat heavily on her bed.

  She struggled to understand what Eve saw in her. Why would Eve fancy her? She looked at her body. What would it feel like for Eve if she touched her? She ran her hand over her breasts; they felt warm and soft, enveloped in cotton. She moved her hand over her torso, her stomach. Moira was fit, active, and yet age had shaped how she looked, and moreover, how she felt about herself. She wished she was more toned. She felt the curve of her stomach. Eve’s body felt firm. Moira swallowed. What if Eve wanted to touch her, for them to be together? Moira’s throat was tight, she felt panicked. What was she doing? Eve was so much younger than her, she lived miles away and she…Moira paused and took a long intake of breath. Her mouth felt dry. Her head ached. What on earth was she thinking?

  Moira spent half an hour sitting motionless, in her single chair, a whisky glass resting in her lap, her sideboard lamp lit, staring into an empty hearth. She looked to her door at the sound of Eve knocking once, and then a second time.

  Moira’s heart ached at the thought of Eve standing alone, hurt, and confused as to why Moira hadn’t opened her door. But she couldn’t—she just couldn’t. How could she have been so stupid in the first place to let things get this far? Eve deserved better, better than her.

  She heard Eve call out, “Moira. Hi, it’s me, Eve.”

  At the sound of Eve’s voice, Moira approached the unopened door and stood numbly, silently, her hand resting on the handle, tears itching at her neck. She heard Eve call her name one last time and then her footsteps against the gravel as she walked away.

  *

  When Eve opened her eyes the following morning, every movement of her body hurt. It felt like she had been beaten up. She had slept in her clothes, the imprints of zip and buttons marked pink against her pale skin, like tattoos of her despair.

  She blinked blearily at the light at the window. Her bedroom curtains were open. Slumping in the window seat, she leant her head numbly against the cold glass. Moira’s hens were loose and pecking at their feed but there was no sign of Moira. Eve tightly folded her arms, suppressing an impulse to shudder.

  Eve knew she had to see Moira, even if just for a moment—just a moment to help her understand what had made Moira change her mind, if that’s what had happened. Eve’s thoughts raced, seeking out scenarios to ease her pain. Moira could have been called out to an emergency. Yes, or she got held up somewhere. She wouldn’t have just stood her up. Would she?

  Eve looked at her watch. It was eight o’clock. She rushed from the window seat, out of her room, and headed downstairs.

  “I’m going to get some air, Dad.”

  Henry looked up from his morning paper. “You okay?”

  “Yep.” Eve pulled on her coat, glancing at Henry’s puzzled expression.

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “Take care then,” he said. It looked like he wanted to say more but thought better of it.

  Eve left with a brisk, “Bye, then.”

  Moira’s croft gave nothing away, betrayed none of the heartbreak it had witnessed last night.

  Please answer, Moira, please. Eve’s knuckles ached from knocking in vain at Moira’s door. She could feel herself becoming upset; it was all she could do not to cry.

  Moira’s Land Rover was no longer parked in the driveway. Eve tried to think what she should do. Should she try the education centre? She wouldn’t need to disturb Moira for long. Just long enough for Moira to explain what had happened. Yes. And then they could arrange to meet again, couldn’t they?

  The journey to the centre seemed extra-long and hard. When Eve arrived, feeling hot and bothered, she could see Alice clearing some painting pots away, humming as she worked. Eve knocked on the side of the open door.

  “Hi”—Eve took a deep breath—“I was wondering if Moira was about.”

  “Oh.” Alice straightened herself up. It looked like an unpleasant smell had just wafted under her nose. “She’s gone away for the rest of this week, to prepare for a wilderness education course we run in the Cairngorms. It was meant to be next week but…” Alice shrugged.

  Eve’s heart sank and ached painfully in her chest. She began to feel sick.

  “Have I missed her, then?” Eve said, with a hopeless, desolate tone. She briefly placed her hand in front of her mouth. It felt like she was about to puke her heart up, leaving the bloody organ to shudder on the floor by the painting sink. “I’m going home in a few days, you see.”

  Alice swallowed hard. “Well, you can leave a message if you like.” Not waiting for the answer, she turned away from Eve.

  “No, it’s okay, thank you.”

  Alice carried on with the work she was doing, as if Eve was not in the room. Eve numbly turned around and closed the centre’s door behind her.

  Eve could not remember walking back to Loch View. All she knew was that her coat and shoes had been discarded on the floor of the porch, and she was standing in the hallway in her stocking feet and thinking. Thinking about Moira.

  I could leave her a message. I’ll write her a note, yes, a note explaining that I’d like to see her before we, before I…Eve swallowed down the upset at the thought of not seeing Moira again.

  Furtively, tearing a page from the back of the visitor book, and using a worn-down pencil that wrote everything in a hazy double mark, Eve scribbled.

  Dear Moira,

  Was that too formal? Eve was determined to keep the tone of the note breezy. The last thing she wanted was to make Moira feel bad. Eve lingered over the white page, hovering pencil over paper as if waiting for the words to write themselves.

  I am very sorry that I missed you. I go home this Saturday (11th).

  Eve added the date in brackets, to avoid any confusion.

  Hope to see you before I go. Eve

  Eve decided that the note should be factual, rather than emotional in content, in case someone else should read it by accident. She would find a quiet moment to post the note through Moira’s letter box. What more can I do? Her irrational heart told her to declare her undying love for Moira to her family that instant, and then to rush to the Cairngorms and rescue Moira from her life without her. Her rational head told her she didn’t know what Moira was feeling, and how was she going to get to the Cairngorms, and where were they in any case. All Eve could do now was wait and hope.

  *

  Friday came and it was the end of a long week for Moira. The time spent in the Cairngorms had not just been about teaching, it had been about decisions. Or rather, as Moira came to frustratingly realize, indecisions. Most evenings, sitting by an open fire outside her cabin, drinking drams of whisky, she would decide to be brave and to see Eve one last time. We need to talk. I need to see her again. But by the morning, in the daylight, she would change her mind and wonder at her madness for even entertaining further time alone with Eve.

  Yet, driving past Loch View on her way home, Moira wanted so desperately to catch just a glimpse of Eve. And then finding Eve’s note…Hope to see you before I go. Eve. Moira read the note four times as she sat, still wearing her coat and boots, in her armchair.

  “What are you doing, for goodness’ sake, woman? Enough.” She repeated out loud, “Enough.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Moira knew when she heard the soft knocking at her door that it was Eve. She told herself that she hadn’t been deliberately waiting, hoping for her to come, that routine tasks had simply kept her busy until late.

  But what tasks? She looked around her living room. Her bag lay unpacked by her stairs, her post remained unopened on the table. Her boots that she’d only just removed were tucked by the side of her armchair. And her coat, still warm, rested in her lap, as she’d sat into the evening, consumed in thoughts of Eve.

  Her week away had made nothing clearer. All she knew for certain was that if Eve came to her door one last time and Moira didn’t answer, then it, whatever it was, would be over. Perhaps it was already. Perhaps Eve was just here to say goodbye. Afte
r all, Moira had stood her up, with no explanation or apology. Surely that was unforgivable.

  Moira stood and walked to the door. She hesitated, her forehead resting briefly against the cold grains of wood. If only she could discern one emotion from all the conflicting emotions surging through her. Would should she do? Thoughts were hopeless. All she had left was her instinct.

  Moira opened the door.

  “I saw your light on,” Eve said breathlessly. “I thought I’d check. I didn’t know whether you’d come home or…hi.”

  “Hi.” Moira folded her arms in front of her.

  “I came over to knock for you, Monday night.” Eve swallowed “I must have missed you or something.”

  Moira looked down.

  Eve’s voice faltered with the question, “Well, I left you a note. Did you get it?”

  Moira nodded.

  Moira’s silence made Eve fear the worst. You don’t want me here, do you? “Look, it’s okay, Moira, if you didn’t, don’t, I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

  “Do you want a coffee?” Moira asked, her question catching Eve by surprise.

  “A coffee? Yes. Yes, please.” Eve felt an overwhelming sense of relief. “Thank you.”

  Moira simply nodded in reply.

  Eve stood in the middle of Moira’s sitting room, feeling very much as she looked—unprepared. When she’d noticed, with a start, that Moira’s light was on, she had rushed across to her croft, without thought to how she might look. The laces of her shoes were undone and the bottoms of her jeans were wet with dew. Her shirt was untucked, the sleeves unbuttoned at her wrists. Eve strongly suspected that she was channelling vagrant rather than Vogue.

  Eve took a deep breath and said, “Alice told me that you’ve been working in the Cairngorms this past week. Did it go well—your work?” Keep it breezy Eve, light and breezy.