I realise I do feel chilled. He begins to move away and, out of nowhere, a memory of the rejection I felt in London surges over me. It’s absurd, I know. He’s not leaving me, he’s just being thoughtful. But the wounds of Piers’s abandonment must go deeper than I’d recognised.
‘There you go again, still trying to look after everyone.’ I mean it lightly but it comes out wrong, sounding petulant and accusing.
‘And there you go again, frightened of letting anyone take care of you in case they hurt you,’ he replies. There’s an edge of irritation to his words that makes me draw back, trying to read his expression. But the shadows obscure his face and he turns away to go inside.
I sigh and stand, too, before he can return with a blanket. The thought of it makes me feel claustrophobic and his words have stung me. It’s too late now; the spell has been well and truly broken. I go in and switch on the light, start clearing the supper things into the sink, running the taps, wiping the countertop.
Davy stands in the doorway, the plaid rug in his hands no longer needed. He folds it carefully over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, smoothing the creases.
‘I’ll be going then,’ he says.
I nod, busily scrubbing a saucepan, not meeting his eyes.
He comes over and gently removes the scouring pad from my hand, then wraps me in a hug.
I don’t know where this evening went wrong. Perhaps we’ve both got too used to living on our own. Perhaps we’re just too different. Or perhaps the wall I’ve built around my feelings over the years is simply too much for anyone – even him – to dismantle. It all seems so complicated suddenly, letting someone else in, having to work at a relationship, and I long for the simplicity of my solitary life with Daisy, even though I know how lonely it can be.
‘Sorry,’ I say, burying my face against his shirt. ‘But don’t try and rescue me, just like you try to rescue everyone else because you couldn’t rescue your mum and your brother.’
He pulls away, hurt. Then he shakes his head and picks up his jacket. He turns to go, hesitates, looks back at me, the expression in his eyes wounded.
‘I’m not trying to rescue you, Lexie,’ he says. ‘I’m trying to love you.’
I surface through layers of troubled dreams, trying to make sense of the sounds that have woken me. There’s been a week of calm weather and so the sudden storm that’s blown in while I was sleeping is bewildering, howling like a banshee as it flings itself at the walls of the cottage with a fury that seems to have come out of nowhere. There’s another sound, too, steadier and more insistent than the wind and rain. At last I realise it’s the ringing of the telephone and a surge of alarm grips me. It’s the middle of the night. Who on earth could be calling?
I bump into the door jamb, jarring my shoulder as I hurry downstairs and snatch the receiver from its cradle, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that Daisy hasn’t been woken by the din.
‘Lexie, is Davy there with you?’ It’s Bridie, her voice pitched high with panic.
‘No. I haven’t seen him for a few days.’ Not since the night I said such hurtful things to him, but I don’t tell her that.
‘He went off in the boat yesterday. Said he was heading out for a couple of days’ fishing while the weather was good. It was forecast to change but not this fast.’
Her panic is catching, pulling me in, and my mind starts to spin in a whirlpool of fear.
‘Did he say exactly where he was going?’ I ask, trying to keep calm so I can think more clearly.
‘No. Just that he’d be out at sea. Oh, Lexie, what should we do?’
‘I’ll call the coastguard. See if they’ve heard anything from him on the radio. He may have gone into Gairloch or be sheltering in Gruinard Bay. If not, I’ll tell them he’s missing so they can put out a search. I’ll phone you back as soon as I’ve spoken to them.’
I’m still on the phone when Bridie arrives at the front door, unable to bear waiting alone. She’s soaked to the skin, having cycled through the storm, and I hand her a towel to dry her hair. She starts to shake uncontrollably.