by Abigail Mann
‘If you use my version, sure. Duncan’s angle is more Hot Fuzz than Line of Duty.’
Moira nods, tucking the duvet more tightly round her leg. ‘He sounds awful to work with.’
‘That’s what’s so weird, he’s actually not. I barely saw him until this whole DNA fiasco started. There’s a lot of people I thought would stoop this low before he did. The man wears tank tops to work every day. How can you lack a perceivable code of ethics and wear hand-knitted bloody tank tops?’
‘People surprise you.’
‘Isn’t that the truth,’ I say, pushing my plate onto the coffee table. I don’t want to give Moira the impression that I’m forcing normalcy on to a completely abnormal situation, so I hang back and let her dictate the pace. She bites her thumbnail, her eyes flicking left and right as though tennis is playing on the ancient box television opposite.
Moira drops her hand and faces me.
‘Why didn’t you send me a message on The Ancestry Project? Right back at the start? That would have been easier than coming all the way up here.’
‘I thought about it. I don’t know, it didn’t feel right. I wasn’t sure I’d even find you, but I clearly underestimated quite how small Kilroch is. Besides, Mum has always given me an ambiguous answer as to what she was doing here, so I wanted to find out myself. I only knew that she’d been involved in the occupation of the oil rig when I saw her in a newspaper clipping at the church, then when Ross explained the damage it caused the village, I started to understand why she might have been keen to distance herself from it.’
Moira nods slowly. ‘And you’ve got that to deal with when you go back?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, my mouth tight. ‘Speaking of which, when are you going to talk to Jacqui?’ I ask, running a finger along the plate rim to scoop up the last oily smears of cheese.
‘Today, I guess. The thought makes me feel all weird and squirmy, like there’s a giant slug writhing around in my stomach. If she knew about you and didn’t tell me, I want to know why. Eurgh, it’s horrible. I can’t tell if it’s the coffee or the thought of that conversation that’s making me need a nervous poo.’
‘Welcome to my world,’ I say. ‘I don’t think food has stayed inside me for more than a few hours since I found out about you.’
‘Sorry about that,’ says Moira, wrinkling her nose. ‘This is a lot to face up to. You’ve had a head start.’
I nod. ‘I couldn’t anticipate how that live stream would go. Straight afterwards, I had so many messages from people at work asking me what I was going to do but I couldn’t tell my arse from my elbow. When I came up on the sleeper train, I still hadn’t processed it all. I’d compartmentalised this trip as a work assignment and only the “proper journalists” got to go on those, so I stupidly thought that it was a sign I was progressing in my career. It sounds so lame now. The thing is, when I found you, it felt like everything I valued was at risk, including whether you’d accept me as a sister. I was such a control freak about it – who I was going to tell, when I was going to tell them. I thought I’d be able to manage the consequences, but I was only finding new ways to cut off my feelings.’
Moira pushes her overgrown fringe back, thinking. ‘You see, that’s so alien to me because I can’t help but overshare. I’ll tell anyone anything. I told Old Bert down the docks about my first period and I still don’t think he’s recovered.’
I laugh, tension easing from my knotted shoulders.
‘I wish I could be more like that.’
‘You can be. Look, answer this question and imagine that you’re me. What was it like meeting Dad last night?’
I groan. ‘I don’t want to upset you. He’s your dad, you have a relationship with him.’
‘That’s by-the-by at this point,’ she says, her face sympathetic.
‘OK. I felt completely overwhelmed, mainly because I thought he’d come back to life.’
Moira snorts, but holds her hands up when she catches sight of my face. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she says. ‘It is a tiny bit funny, though.’
‘You kept talking about him in the past tense!’
‘Yeah, because he’s worked offshore for the last ten years. It’s complicated between us. Anyway, we’re not talking about me.’
I compose myself, closing my eyes. ‘I also feel … willingly misled by him. I’m not just angry for me, but Mum too. It’s pretty fucked up he let her assume he was dead. At the very least, if he didn’t want to take on any parental responsibility, he should have owned up to it. It makes me feel like I wasn’t worth the effort.’ Moira bites her lip and nods along, encouraging me. ‘And … disappointed. Then I felt guilty about feeling disappointed by him, because he doesn’t owe me anything and I’ve had a nice life.’
‘You were hardly going to feel indifferent, were you?’ Moira smiles, but I can tell this is difficult for her as well. ‘Phew, someone open a window, there are too many emotions in here!’ she says, laughing. ‘I know we’re adults, but my parents are arguably more adult than we are and so they owe both of us a few explanations. I’ve got an idea, but I have a feeling you’re not going to like it. I don’t either, but it’s got to be done. Come with me to talk to Mum and Dad. There’s too much that’s been left unsaid. We’ll get it all out in the open and if it’s a car crash, me and you can get fish and chips and drink vodka mixers until we have vinegar tears. How’s that for an offer?’
My stomach lurches, but seeing as I’ve got less than forty-eight hours until my train leaves from Inverness, I nod, my mouth stuck between a grimace and a smile. ‘You’re right. I don’t want it to be really bloody awkward in the future. What we need is to be more American.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Talk it out.’
‘Then hug it out?’ says Moira, her eyes bright.
‘Baby steps, sis,’ I say, grinning.
Moira smiles and slaps her thighs. ‘Right! We’ll have to do it today. Dad’s over in Fort William on a job from tonight and I never know how long he’ll be away for, so it’s the only chance we’ve got.’
I stretch, breaking into a yawn so wide it makes my jaw hurt. I look at the ancient VHS player on the TV cabinet, the clock blinking back at me. Ross will be partway through the All Saints’ service by now and he still doesn’t know what happened at the ceilidh. Should I have gone to church, to show support? Sing hymns extra loudly from the front pew? Is that what the not-quite-girlfriends of ministers do? Probably not. It’s another minefield to deal with, but not right now.
‘Have you got the day off?’ asks Moira.
I look outside, where the wind had blown the sodden trees dry. It’s still so early that lilac streaks across the sky, the sunrise cutting through the room in marmalade hues.
‘Technically, yes, but I want to help Kian get the farm spruced up for the inspection later.’
Moira stretches and tucks the duvet tighter round us both.
‘Before that, how about another coffee and a quick episode of Gilmore Girls? I know for a fact that Kian owns all seven seasons on video and I’m in no rush to go home.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
Chapter 35
‘I knew it was a bad idea to give you a clipboard,’ says Kian. His eyes are ringed with dark circles but there’s a glint behind them like broken glass buffed smooth in the North Sea. He leans against the fence and pulls his hood up, smiling contentedly as the sun breaks through the cloud, making us squint. Moira arches her back in a stretch and yawns so widely that she stumbles.
‘Ouch. I definitely pulled a muscle in my groin at aerobics this week,’ she says, rubbing the top of her thigh.
‘That’s because you tried to keep up with Eileen when Whitney Houston came on,’ I say.
‘I’ve never seen a person perform a grapevine so aggressively,’ says Moira, looking up to Kian. ‘She’s like an angry crab.’
Ever since Max’s phone call, I’ve woken up each day with one foot planted in Kilroch and the other tap dancing with anxious
thoughts of returning to London. Thankfully, I’ve been up before sunrise for the past couple of days to help Kian prepare the farm for today’s university survey, which has eaten into the ‘dead time’ I’d usually reserve for sliding down a helter-skelter of neurosis.
Kian picks up a bucket of dirty water and sloshes it into the wallow, which we’ve tried to make inaccessible by fencing it off for the day. If the vaccinations had been hard, washing the pigs with an extendable hose and a bottle of dog shampoo was worse. I’m wet through and the padding of my bra has soaked up so much water that it’s like I’m carrying two medicine balls on the front of my chest. The pigs, on the other hand, loved it. What started out as an organised system quickly descended into a scene reminiscent of the one foam party I’d attended whilst at university. The pigs writhed and squealed, bubbles frothing, and bodies jostled against one another whilst I blasted them with a hose and Moira scrubbed the worst offenders with a Brillo pad.
‘All right,’ says Kian, slapping his cheeks. ‘What’s left?’
I run my finger down the list. ‘We’ve done everything apart from … Is this right?’ I look between Kian and Moira. ‘Rub coconut oil on the pigs’ ears?’
Kian vaults over the fence and disappears inside the shipping container, returning with a tub tucked under his arm.
‘Yep. I read about it on a forum. Well, technically it was a Crufts forum and the thread was about showing miniature dachshunds, but it’s got to be the same concept, right?’ he says, unscrewing the lid.
‘They’ll end up eating each other,’ says Moira.
‘Nah, this is way too refined for them,’ says Kian, smearing some on the back of his hand. Moira grabs his wrist and pulls it towards her, inhaling.
‘Mmm. Yeah, I’d eat you if you were covered in that.’ Moira relinquishes her grasp, her neck growing pink. ‘I mean, it smells good. It smells like it would taste nice, but I’d have to cook you first. Ha! People taste a bit like pork, don’t they? Apparently.’
Moira fixes her gaze at a spot on the floor, her lips puckered like she’s bitten into a lemon. Kian rubs his hands clean on his trousers and flings an arm over her shoulders.
‘I’ll bear it in mind, little one,’ says Kian. ‘I better let you guys get off for the big family reunion.’
‘Ah, don’t call it that,’ I say, screwing up my face.
‘It’s going to be absolutely fine,’ says Moira, rolling her eyes at Kian. ‘Now everything is sort of in the open, we’re just going to talk it out, aren’t we, Ava?’
I nod like the Churchill dog, but my stomach twinges with nerves.
‘What time are you meeting?’ says Kian.
‘Four o’clock at the tearoom,’ says Moira, glancing up at the sun. ‘We’ve got a little while yet.’
‘I’ll finish these lot,’ says Kian, the tub of coconut oil pinched between his knees. ‘I’ll see how long the university lot stick around for, but I’ll come find you guys afterwards.’
‘Wear your posh overalls!’ calls Moira over her shoulder.
‘They’re the same as my regular overalls,’ replies Kian, as half a dozen pigs trot towards him.
‘They’re less mucky!’
We head back up the track as sharp squeals erupt from the pig enclosure. Moira hooks her arm through mine and sighs.
‘That was … an interesting technique,’ I say.
‘Why can’t I flirt like a normal person?’
I laugh and squeeze her arm. ‘Well … offering to eat him isn’t what I’d call subtle, but I think he needs a more direct approach. Just specify which part you want to eat next time.’
Moira gasps and smacks my arm, making me laugh. As we near the farmhouse, a pick-up truck loaded with a small forklift bumps into the yard and pulls into a circle. John climbs out of the driving seat.
‘All right? Ava, Moira,’ he says, nodding to each of us. ‘I didn’t know your old man was back. I passed him in the harbour just now.’
‘Yeah, he is, but he’s heading off again tonight,’ says Moira.
‘Must be why Jacqui’s had her hair done. It’s always a giveaway. I’ll have to catch him before he goes,’ says John. He folds his arms, a wry smile hidden beneath a wiry beard. ‘He still owes me for a blackjack game last spring, but he says he can’t get his head around PayPal. That’s likely, eh?’ says John, giving us a nod as he heads down the lane on foot. ‘Tell Andrew to look me up before he heads off, will you?’
Moira pins a smile to her face until he disappears.
‘Are you going to do that? I ask.
‘No. It causes more hassle than it’s worth. I like John, but he has these weird “alpha male” moments. It’s all the guys I grew up with. They cringed at their dads for doing the same thing. Not Kian, though.’
We scrape the mud from our boots on a metal plate by the kitchen door. As I bend down to pull off my boots, my back pocket buzzes, as does Moira’s hoodie pouch. We both scramble for our phones, dependent on the ever-changing wind direction for updates from The Beyond.
‘Eurgh. My course mate is freaking out about our group project,’ says Moira, scrolling through her phone. ‘Even though I’ve already submitted it. What have you got?’ she asks.
‘OH MY GOD,’ I screech, causing a trio of softly scratching chickens to jump in the air, stubby wings flapping rogue feathers loose.
‘What? What is it?’ says Moira.
‘My mum,’ I say, verging on a whisper. ‘She’s in Scotland.’
‘Why’s she up here?’
I read her message again.
Good morning, darling! Guess who got the sleeper train up! Me! My cabin mate (Ricardo) helped me recover your number because I pressed something and it disappeared. Anyway, Grace got in touch. Earth Mamas Grace—Grace who made pitta breads on a camp fire? That Grace. She’s living near Leith so I thought that I’d come up seeing as the two of you are in the same place. I’m just getting off the train! Tell me where you are and I’ll buy us some lunch. XOXO MUM XOXO
Another text comes through, sent last night but only now reaching my phone:
RED ALERT! LORRIE’S ON THE WAY TO SCOTLAND. Mum just got back from yours – completely twatted – and told me. I know this might be Bad News but I CANNOT COPE WITH THE DRAMA OF IT ALL. LOVE IT. As your oldest friend I hope that everything is fine and dandy but this is also the most exciting thing to happen in my sad single life since I found a bluebottle in my panko crumbs at the Whitechapel Wagamamas. UPDATE ME ASAP. Love you!
‘What am I going to do?! Mum thinks I’m in Edinburgh working in an office.’
‘Weird-looking office,’ says Moira, looking around. ‘Maybe you should go there? Head her off?’
‘I can’t! This is the only chance I’ve got to talk to Andrew before I have to leave again for I-don’t-know-how-long. I need to be here.’
‘Well, the only other option is to get her up to Kilroch.’
I bite my lip so hard I almost give myself an edgy piercing.
‘I’ll go check the sheep; you call her back whilst you’ve got reception. Stay calm.’
‘I’m feeling the opposite of calm.’
‘This could be a good thing. Phone her!’
I shiver on the doorstep and hold my phone to my ear, hardly moving for fear of losing reception when I step inside. Mum picks up on the third ring.
‘I thought that would get your attention!’ she says. ‘Surprise!’
‘Mum. There’s 501 things I need to explain to you, but before I do, you need to get on another train. One to Inverness.’
Chapter 36
‘I’d have packed a balaclava if I’d known I was heading this far north,’ says Mum, stepping out of the car. Ross walks round to the boot and flips it open, taking out a small suitcase with a big purple ribbon tied around the handle. I step off the kerb and scoop her into a hug. She’s wearing one of her favourite jumpers rolled up to the elbow, paired with a woolly hat that has slipped over her eyebrows. She tightens her arms around my shoulders, e
ven though I’m a few inches taller than her and it should really be the other way round.
‘I’ve missed you,’ I say into her hair. It smells of the cottage, beeswax conditioner, and the stale air that lingers in community halls, but it’s delicate enough to cut through the farm smells I’ve been enveloped in for weeks now, the ammonia and straw, damp turf, pine trees, and petrol.
As I step away to look at her, Ross lightly touches my shoulder. ‘Hey, I’m going to head back to the church. Call me if you need to, OK?’ He kisses me on the forehead and I notice for the first time that he doesn’t give a furtive glance up the road to see if anyone is watching.
‘Thanks. Honestly. I really appreciate it.’ I reach for his hand and he folds my fingers into his palm, his thumb grazing my knuckles. He steps back, keys in hand.
‘Hey, no worries. Glad I could help. Lorrie, it was a pleasure. Speak soon?’
‘Hope so!’ she says, perky all of a sudden.
He drives up the hill, leaving us clutching each other on the pavement. Mum takes a deep breath and looks up and down the road, fiddling with the zipper on my coat.
‘Of all the things I couldn’t predict, you and that priest is at the top of my list. I didn’t raise you to be religious.’
‘He’s not a priest, but he is a minister. The rules are different. Our relationship isn’t … spiritual, as much as it is—’
‘Say no more. They didn’t make them like that when your grandma marched me to church twice every Sunday. I probably would have been more enthusiastic.’ For two people who have candid conversations about the menstrual cycle over tea and cake, we’ve never been so good at The Big Topics. Tiptoeing around them in a conversational Morris dance is more our style. Here, there’s no time to waste.
