“Time to go,” said Charlie. “Right, boys. On my count, lift gently and slowly . . .”
Just as the boys were readying themselves, a shadow fell across the cave entrance. Flora blinked. There stood a large woman—not fat, just a presence, a suggestion of broad shoulders and a strong chin. Her waterproof hood was pulled and knotted tightly around her head; a stray drop of water was hanging off her nose.
“All done,” she announced cheerily. “Tomorrow you’ll all be helping, rain or shine. We’re only taking pity on you because it’s your first day. And it’s nearly time for mud rounders!”
The boys cheered. The woman blinked as she caught sight of Flora.
“Who are you?” she said. “We don’t have any parental accompaniment, I think we made that quite clear.”
“Oh no, I’m—”
“And if you’re an inspector, we need two weeks’ notice in writing, not that it would matter when you turn up, because our standards of service are perfect.”
Flora blinked again.
“No, I’m—”
“She’s just a daft lassie whose dog’s hurt its paw,” said Charlie. “Look at her shoes.”
The woman did so, and burst out laughing.
“Oh, right,” she said. “Are you helping out?” Her tone changed when she talked to Charlie or the boys.
“Yes, Jan!” they shouted.
“Well, that’s great,” she said. “You head down the mountain, then come straight back up; we have a lot of sausages to eat!”
She didn’t look at Flora again.
Chapter Twelve
The boys were, Flora had to admit, incredibly helpful and careful as they threaded the stretcher down the trickier parts until they once more reached the dirt path. Bramble obviously realized they were trying to do right by him, as he didn’t thrash about too much, and didn’t seem to mind the belt. Flora gently skritched his ears when she could and whispered sweet nothings, mostly about sanctimonious Outward Adventures teachers who thought they knew everything. Her wet shoes squelched on the path.
As they approached the farm, she yelled to Fintan, who was crossing the path to feed the chickens, and he waved back and came toward her.
“What the hell happened to Bramble?” he said, his expression concerned. “What did you do to him, Flora?”
“I didn’t do anything to him!” said Flora indignantly. “He tried to climb a waterfall, despite being the dog equivalent of seventy-five years old! He’s an idiot!”
Fintan looked at Charlie, slightly bashfully, Flora noticed.
“Hi, Charlie,” he said. “Sorry about this. What did my sister do?”
“She’s your sister?” said Charlie. “God. You look nothing alike.”
“I’m right here,” said Flora.
“Thank God you were up there,” said Fintan. “Did she really wander up in sneakers? Poor Bramble.”
“I think it’s just a sprain,” said Charlie. “He’ll probably be right as rain in the morning.”
The boys had gently laid the stretcher down.
“Thanks, lads,” said Fintan. “Do you want a . . .?”
“A what?” said Flora.
Fintan’s face creased.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “I was going to say ‘a piece of cake,’ but we don’t have any.”
There were very few days when there hadn’t been a fruitcake standing underneath its covering, waiting for passing guests. The boys looked up expectantly.
“There’s a packet of Hobnobs in my room,” said Flora reluctantly. She’d been hiding them to keep them out of her brothers’ clutches; she still didn’t trust them. “Hang on.”
“No worries,” said Charlie. “We’ve got a nutritious supper up the mountain for them. They live off sugar as it is.”
“Awww,” said one of the boys, but even as he said it, Flora could see he was missing a tooth.
“Okay then.”
“Want a cup of tea? Or a wee dram?” said Fintan.
“Not while I’m working,” said Charlie. “No, I’d better get these guys back up the hill. It’s getting pretty late.”
“It is,” said Fintan.
“I’m sorry,” said Flora. The men nodded.
“Bye now,” said Charlie, but he was talking to Bramble. He patted the dog gently, then he and the boys turned and headed back up the mountain through the softly falling twilight rain.
“You calmed down from your little tantrum then?” said Fintan.
Back in the kitchen, everything was still a complete mess; nothing was washed up, and food was congealing on plates and in saucepans. Flora looked at it and closed her eyes briefly. She put Bramble in his bed next to the range, where, exhausted from his ordeal, he immediately fell asleep. Then she headed off to her bedroom.
Fintan shouted after her.
“If you were looking for those Hobnobs, me and Hamish ate them.”
“I like Hobnobs,” said Hamish. “Buy more Hobnobs, Flora.”
Chapter Thirteen
How is this your job, though?” Lorna groaned the next day. “You sit around and get paid for literally absolutely nothing.”
“I’m waiting for the client,” said Flora. “I’m at his beck and call. And at the moment it’s all beck and no call.”
“Can you get this coffee on expenses?”
“I can,” said Flora, looking down at the Harbor’s Rest’s offering in disgust. “I don’t think I will, though. Out of respect to the concept of coffee.”
She looked around.
“Does Colton Rogers ever come in here?”
Lorna snorted. “Seriously, I don’t think he’s here at all. Nobody sees him.”
Old Maggie, who was a stalwart of Mure’s social scene and sat on the town council, leaned over.
“He sucks money out of this community,” she sniffed, “and gives nothing back. He takes all our beauty and our natural advantages . . . and he spends no money here.”
Lorna glanced at Flora, who shook her head fiercely. She didn’t want Maggie to know Colton was her client.
“He’s like the invisible man,” said Lorna. “You’d think he’d pop in for a pint.”
“I don’t think Americans do that,” said Flora. “I think they just like wheatgrass shots.”
Maggie blinked.
“Well,” she said.
She leaned over again.
“It’s good to see you back, dearie. For the summer?”
“Um, no, just . . . just popping in,” said Flora.
“Your dad will be pleased.”
“You’d think,” said Flora mournfully.
“Oh well,” said Lorna, wary of Flora getting morose again. “We’re happy to see you.”
“Quite right,” said Maggie. “And will you be dancing again? I’m sure Mrs.—”
“No,” said Flora shortly.
Maggie and Lorna exchanged looks.
“Hello!” a loud voice called from the door.
The girls turned around. Standing there was a large, hearty-looking woman Flora didn’t recognize at first.
“LORNA!” the woman boomed.
“Jan,” said Lorna, with none of her normal bouncy friendliness. Flora realized it was the woman from the hill in the rain. “How are things?”
“Not bad, not bad.”
Lorna looked rather dejected, Flora thought.
“Jan, have you met Flora?”
“No,” said Jan.
“Actually, hi, we met yesterday?” said Flora tentatively.
The woman squinted.
“Oh YES!” she bellowed. “You’re the sulky one! Can you believe she marched up the fell without any proper shoes?”