Two Kinds Of Truth(13)

“But I can help, too,” I pout.

“No, that’s just it; you can’t. Those heifers can be dangerous, and the market isn’t safe for a greenhorn like yourself. The bottom line is that it’s no place for a woman.”

I throw back the covers, refusing to listen. He’s implying I’m a liability and that’s simply ridiculous. This is our holiday and I don’t mind where we go…as long as we’re together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll dress up as a bloke,” I joke. “I’ll put on a pair of jeans and borrow one of Alasdair’s flat caps.”

I put the tray aside and jump out of bed, but Callum uses his body to bar me from taking another step.

“Look, Maddie, I said no for a reason.”

I shrug. “I hear you, but I’d like to come, anyway.”

He stiffens, pushing his shoulders back, his eyes tightening in frustration, but I stand my ground. He’s so close now, our chests almost touching. I stare at his lips as I wait for him to say something—anything. I desperately want to go with him, but it’s clear by his expression that he’s not about to change his mind.

“It’s simply not a good idea,” he finally explains with a sigh. “Plus, the cattle pens stink to high heaven and the filth is ankle deep. The men are coarse and foul-mouthed, and I simply wouldn’t want—”

“Your wife stopping you from having fun with the boys?”

Callum takes a step back. “No. What I was actually going to say was, my wife having to tolerate such disgusting conditions.”

“But I don’t mind.”

“Aye, be that as it may, but I do. Besides, I’ve spoken to Jamie and he says that if the vet gets here by midday, he’ll take you to see the ducks in my place.”

I throw back my head and laugh for the first time, forcing the tension between us to ease.

“You make me sound like I’m a five-year-old,” I snort, admitting to myself that I’m not going to get my own way this time.

He smiles back at me and the stiffness leaves his body. “Whatever you say, daffy,” and a look of relief spreads across his face.

A car horn beeps, and I go to the window, sliding back the net curtain to see granda inside a Range Rover, behind which a livestock trailer’s been hitched.

“I’ll be back long before dark,” Callum promises, and he gives me a peck on the cheek before dashing off, his boots thumping down the stairs.

I push open the window to see Callum climbing into the Range Rover and taking over at the wheel. I’m positive he’ll sense me watching him and will him to look up at me. I find I’m holding my breath, hoping against hope that that special bond between us is still intact. It’s silly of me to think like this, most likely building myself up for a fall, and sure enough, seconds pass, and to my dismay, his eyes not once search out mine.

Inside, I’m crushed, but I try to think rationally. After all, he’s busy doing what any half decent grandson would do for his elderly relative. My attention is still on my husband when he thrusts the gearstick into first, hits the accelerator and drives away.





Chapter 4


The breakfast tray lies abandoned on the bed, the coffee stone cold. I can no longer stomach food or even the thought of it. With a heavy heart, I head for the shower, climb inside the cubicle and hit the power button. A stream of hot water hits my face and I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. I enjoy the sensation until my skin tingles with the heat, whereupon I open my eyes and get on with scrubbing myself clean. When I climb out, I wrap a thick purple towel around my body. The cold slabs of slate beneath my feet would normally seep through my soles, but I don’t let them, walking on my tiptoes over to the basin. A layer of condensation clouds the mirror, and I wipe it clean with the flat of my hand, staring at my revealed reflection. A lonely figure stares back and I’m forced to turn my face away.

I get dressed and head over to the cattle shed, to see how Jamie’s doing. The distinctive smell of the farm fills my nostrils, the stench of cattle dung and urine overpowering, so I pinch my nostrils together until I get used to it. I’m dressed in an old pair of jeans, a polo necked jumper and a waterproof coat I found behind the front door of the cottage. I’m also wearing a pair of wellington boots that I brought especially for the trip. They’re bright pink with colourful blue and yellow daisies stencilled on them. It had been Kiera who’d helped me pick them out, and I smile, remembering her insisting I purchase them so they would remind me of her. And she was right, they do.

As soon as I enter the shed, I hear Jamie shout “Whoa, will ye stay still, ye stupid idiot. Ye cannae go out until you’ve been seen.” He’s in one of the metal pens, slurry splashed all over his bright yellow jacket, a layer of thick khaki-coloured manure. He’s oblivious, though, his only concern is for the animal.

His strong hands stroke the back of a large golden-brown beast, its head secure in a cattle crush. I don’t know much about cattle, but what I do know is that these Highland varieties are one of Britain’s most distinctive breeds. With long, thick flowing coats and majestic, sweeping horns, these animals are truly exceptional. When I’m only a few feet away, it lets out a deep-bellied groan. The bull is clearly in pain and continues to bellow, its large bulbous eyes now staring right at me, a surge of hot breath shooting from its nostrils. It’s cold inside the shed and the bull’s vapours fill the air, reminding me of steam issuing from a boiling kettle.