there . . . feeling lonely among crowds, making herself busy because somehow not being busy was associated with failure, cramming her calendar full of events she didn’t really want to do, because she lived in London and how else was she supposed to manage?
No more wandering down into the village on a morning when she could see the changes from the day before: the new colors and flowers pouring out of the sides of the roads, the trees getting thicker every day, the loch mist burning off before she’d had her second cup of coffee. The noisy quiet of the countryside—the birds and the occasional growl in the woods, the sound of the wind in the fireplace—and the sweet smell of burning whisky wood. Pigeons eating old McDonald’s leftovers didn’t have quite the appeal of the herons that took off from the very tip of the loch like ballerinas.
Well. There was a lot happening. A lot coming up. She should just get through it a bit at a time.
Chapter 59
Lissa looked around the little cottage. It was as if she’d never lived there at all, now that she’d neatly packed her black carry-on case and emptied out the jam jar full of wildflowers.
Why, she found herself wondering now, had she not put up a picture? Set the books up on shelves rather than scattering them underneath her bed? She must have been in such a bad state when she arrived. The cottage was beautiful, and she could have made it even lovelier. Especially now that she knew Cormac wouldn’t have minded.
She thought about him briefly, imagined him walking in. In her head, he was alternately very tall and very short and stocky; sometimes he had a beard and then he absolutely didn’t—nurses never had beards anyway, in case they had to do mouth to mouth. Also, if he’d been in the army . . .
He hadn’t mentioned Yazzie again, might even still be seeing her anyway. And she hoped he hadn’t discussed her with Jake . . . They wouldn’t, surely? They were Highland blokes—surely they’d just be discussing who’d won at the shinty.
She realized she’d actually had the conscious thought Who’d won at the shinty. God, she had changed.
When she got back from London, she vowed. She would make it beautiful, for the time she had left of June, when it never got dark and the air softened, and she was so looking forward to it, although she reminded herself to bring superstrength midge spray back with her. They must sell something in London for people going to the tropics. Something must kill those pesky mites.
She couldn’t help it, though. Imagining. What it would be like if he walked through the door and grabbed her and . . .
She was being ridiculous, she realized. But also it was good: good that she was thinking about a chap again. It had been so very long since her mind hadn’t felt closed, confused, frightened all the time. Even her ability to daydream, to fantasize, seemed to have been turned off by the anxiety; the luxury of even believing in a brighter future for herself. That had been lost; now it seemed to have been found. Even if, of course, it was nonsense.
Still. They were meeting. After the trial. Better than that: he had promised to take her out to lunch and she had (and she felt guilty about it) not even told her mum or Kim-Ange, even though she knew they were both longing to see her. This was bad, but it was going to be such an awful day, and only the thought of Cormac was keeping her hanging on.
Her Skype bonged, and she groaned.
ANITA WAS FULLY dressed and had two suitcases by the side of her kitchen table.
“Is this a bad time?” said Lissa, not wanting to point out that Anita had called her.
“Pfft,” said Anita, glancing nervously at a pile of paperwork on the kitchen table. “Apparently I’m passport monitor and it’s making me very nervous.”
“Perhaps try some deep breathing exercises,” said Lissa, then immediately felt bad. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
But Anita was looking around anxiously. “Where is that sodding cat?” she was saying to herself.
Just at that exact moment, a cat shot past the screen, so fast it was just a blur, pursued by two rampaging children.
“Not on the road! Not on the road!”
Lissa found herself thinking about Nina and Zoe, baby John pottering about the farmyard with his dad and Zoe’s little tribe cavorting about the