Two Kinds Of Truth(67)

I simply can’t believe what Callum is capable of, to see how far he will go. To ask his own brother to sleep with me, to switch places, for God’s sake. My night with Jamie comes rushing back like a tidal wave, an intense swell that having sex with him evokes, the one that’s swept me out beyond the breakers. My body now floats in an eternal sea of ecstasy. He’s kind and considerate, totally unlike Callum, but then I think back to the night of the pub quiz. Callum came to bed late, and our lovemaking was the best it had ever been, but it was Callum. No matter how drunk I may have seemed that night, I was not drunk enough not to know my own husband.

I dry myself, grab my spare pair of jeans and a warm arran jumper, then clean my teeth and scoop my honey-blond hair up into a top-knot. I go back into the bedroom and hunt down my phone, relieved to see it’s switched off by my bed. I turn it on and scroll through my contacts, hitting a number which then rings three times.

“Hey, Maddie. Finally. I thought you might have left without saying goodbye.”

I try to hold back the tears and my voice crackles with the effort.

“Can we meet up?” I ask.

“Sure; like when?” Bridget replies.

“Like now?”

There’s a pause.

“Maddie, is everything okay?”

“No, and I need to talk to you…please.”

“Of course. Where would you like to meet?”

“Somewhere local. How about in town?”

“Too public, and I sense you need a little privacy. How about coming over to my place? We won’t be disturbed here.”

“That would be perfect. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No, not at all. Does your car have satnav?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Good, then write down my postcode and make your way over as soon as you’re ready.”

I hurry down the stairs and into the living room in search of a pen and paper. I’m turning over a pile of old magazines and newspapers littering a dark oak coffee table when I spot a small writing pad and pen by the Trill telephone Jamie insists will be worth a small fortune someday.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say, and scribble down the directions.

“Just head straight for Allanfearn and keep the Moray Firth to your left and you’ll not go far wrong,” Bridget advises.

“That’s great,” I say. “I’m on my way.”

I grab my handbag and search inside and am soon clutching the spare set of car keys. Hurrying down the stairs, I lift my coat from off the peg, shoving my feet inside the first pair of boots that fit.

Outside, I head straight for the red hatchback and climb into the driver’s seat, and am just spinning the car around when Jamie and Callum come out of the farmhouse. I press my foot to the accelerator that little bit harder when Jamie makes a dash towards me. His hand hits the roof of the car as he tries to stop it, but I refuse to slow down, my mind now focused on where I need to be.

***

I drive carefully, slowly, and watch Balinriach Farm disappear in my rear-view mirror. I switch my eyes back to the road ahead and reach a T-junction, indicate, and turn left onto the A96. The sky above me is grey and miserable and I wonder if more snow is on its way.

Switching on the radio, I try to find an upbeat song, something to take my mind off what’s happened at home. Home, what a joke. I glance out of the window, to see a large fold of Highland cattle grazing in a field, the farmer busy dropping off bundles of hay. He’s thickset, stocky, and wearing a flat cap. He reminds me of Alasdair and a wave of guilt washes over me. I should be making my way to the hospital not searching for a shoulder to cry on, but there’s no turning back now. I need to speak to Bridget, to tell her everything.

I find a local station playing the latest top ten hits, but the sound is jarring to my ears, just noise, and I can’t stand such an assault right now. I switch the radio off, grateful for the sudden peace and quiet.

The satnav breaks through the silence to tell me to take the next right. I slide the wheel through my fingers and ease off the accelerator, now heading inland, towards open countryside. A patchwork of dark earth and fallen snow wraps itself around me. In the distance, slate blue water sits peacefully along the horizon.

I drive down the country lanes much more slowly. The snow hasn’t been cleared here, being off the beaten track, and I feel the ABS kick in when I hit a patch of black ice. I suffer a shudder of unease, and for the first time, I wish Bridget didn’t live in such a remote area.

The wind blows wildly as I turn onto a narrow dirt track, a signpost up ahead welcoming me to Achnamara cottage. The moment I draw up outside, I’m in awe of the place. It has large eco-friendly windows everywhere, even in the roof. I step out of the car and the front door opens. Bridget waves and I hurry over.

“Did you find me easily enough?” she calls, and as soon as I reach the doorstep, she hugs me tight.

“Yes, the satnav brought me straight to your door, although the weather could be a little kinder.”

“If it was kinder, it wouldn’t be Scotland,” she laughs. Bridget stands aside to let me pass then closes the door and pulls a thick tartan curtain across the doorframe.

“I’ve already put the kettle on,” she says, turning to face me. “Unless you’d care for something a little stronger?”

I smile. “No, tea’s fine. Thanks.”