Two Kinds Of Truth(54)

Jamie shrugs. “It was a pleasure. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

I nod. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Aye, so would I.”

I can’t help but look up into his eyes. They’re soft and meaningful yet hypnotising, all at the same time.

“Would you like to come in for coffee?”

“Maddie, I dinnae think that would be a guid idea.”

“Why ever not?”

He heaves a sigh. “I think ye ken why.”

I drop my gaze, and even in the darkness, I feel my cheeks burn. I try to make light of his rejection, laughing lightly, but it sounds false, even to me.

I turn away from him. “Goodnight, Jamie. Sleep tight,” but I don’t wait for his reply. Instead, I hurry inside the cottage and shut the door behind me, where I chide myself over and over. After all, I’ve just set myself up for a fall.

I drag my tired feet, one by one, up the wooden stairs. Once I reach my bedroom, I take off my boots and drop, exhausted, onto the bed. I close my eyes, and behind their lids, an array of dancers move along the ground in bare feet. A wind blows through their hair, their heads covered in a halo of wild roses, cyclamen and pretty snowdrops.

Letting out a sigh, I open my eyes. My head is still buzzing and I need to unwind. I get up and place Claire’s cloak on a hook behind the bedroom door, along with the hessian bag, then take out my mobile phone and place it on the bedside table. At the dressing table, I take the feathers and beads out of my hair, unzip my dress and allow it to fall to the floor. Once I’ve stripped off my thermals, I stand there, in front of the mirror, in just my underwear. I stare at my reflection. Although I’m tired, I can see there’s a healthy glow to my skin and the fresh air has done wonders for my complexion. I un-braid my hair and force my fingers through the tight waves. It falls softly down my back and I stroke a stray curl away from my face.

I slide my hand down to my stomach and wonder what it must be like to conceive a baby naturally, then I feel for the thumping heartbeat, the ten tiny fingers and the ten tiny toes. I close my eyes and pretend I know. The bond, though, between mother and baby does not swell. There is no umbilical cord, just an empty womb which will never hold love. A lone tear spills down my cheek and once again I stare at my own reflection. The face that stares back is lonely and sad.

In the bathroom, I switch on the shower and wait until white steam covers the glass before I climb inside the cubicle. Hot water splashes against my skin and the sensation sends shivers down my spine. As I wash away the grime and dirt of the day, Ally pushes her way into my thoughts. Flashbacks of what she said to me at the festival leave me cold: “It’s time he came back to where he belongs, to where we both belong”. Head down, I press my hands against the shower wall. I can still hear Ally scream “He’s always been mine”, and I let out a choking sob, afraid I’m about to lose my husband. “It was simple circumstances that tore us apart,” she now yells inside my head.

I switch off the shower and snatch a towel from the rail. As I rub myself dry, Ally’s sneering face is all the while in the forefront of my mind. When I finish, I throw the towel onto the floor and put on a set of warm pyjamas, then get into bed and switch off the light. I snuggle down and close my eyes. It’s like the night sky but without the stars. I refuse, though, to let Ally stay inside my head, but just as I’m dozing off, I hear a faint buzz and reach for my phone. One eye open, I press the button which lights up the screen. It’s a text message from Callum: “I tried to ring you, but it went straight to voicemail. I’ll try again in the morning”.

I place the phone back onto the bedside table. It’s too late to call him back now. I pull the covers over my head and turn over, my hand gliding across the spot where Callum should be.





Chapter 11


“Maddie, for Christ sake, will ye get up. Granda’s taken a turn for the worse and I need ye.”

I sit bolt upright, my eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s no one in my bedroom, so I hurry to the window, pull the net curtain aside and look out. Jamie’s there, gesturing for me to go to him, and so I scurry to the end of the bed and snatch my jeans. I dive to the wardrobe, grabbing the first things to hand: a thin blouse and a padded jacket. I tear off my nightclothes and push my arms through the sleeves, press my feet into the fur lined boots I wore the day before, and I’m down the stairs and out onto the drive.

“What’s happened?” I ask, pulling the jacket closer when the wind tries to tear if from my body.

“I dinnae know for sure. ’Twas my turn to get up with the fold this morning, and when I returned, granda was in the kitchen, sitting in his chair, clutching his chest.”

“Have you phoned for an ambulance?”

“Aye, but they said it could be over half an hour before they get here.”

“Then we have to take him ourselves. If he’s having chest pains, we can’t wait that long for them to arrive.”

We dash over to the farmhouse and into the kitchen.

A knot of fear twists in the pit of my stomach when I see granda slumped in one of the fireside chairs. His face is deathly pale and his lips are turning blue. I rush over and crouch down beside him.

“Oh, dear God. Granda, are you okay?” He mumbles something, but I can’t quite hear him, so I move a little closer and a wheeze escapes his lips.