Flora had absolutely no wish to hear what Daddy had to say. She tugged down her ridiculous kilt for the last bloody time, her own face bright red, conscious that people would be wondering where she was and what she was up to, then backed away. She was going to find the Land Rover and get out of there; she wanted nothing more to do with Charlie, Jan, Joel, Inge-Britt, Murians, Londoners, Americans, or basically anyone else on earth.
She caught sight of the ongoing party as she left. Colton was still grandstanding in the middle of it, but the music now sounded grating to her ears, the happy sounds of people having a good time were like the silly twitterings of birds in a zoo, and the beautiful warm, happy rooms were ruined, as if someone had turned on a nasty fluorescent light and shown every line on people’s faces, every mark on their clothes; and soon everything would turn dark and dingy and fade away.
Chapter Thirty-six
Flora had sobered up enough to give Lorna a lift home from the Rock. On the way she’d told her what had happened with Charlie and Jan.
“And what’s her bloody dad got to do with it?” she had finished, furious. “She’s a grown woman. She should act like one.”
“Yeah, about that,” Lorna had said, genuinely hating to be the bearer of bad news. “He’s Fraser Mathieson. That’s Jan Mathieson.”
“Fraser Mathieson, member of the town council?” said Flora quietly.
“Um, yup,” said Lorna.
“Fraser Mathieson, the island’s richest man? Apart from Colton? Oh crap,” said Flora. “God, men are nobbers.”
“I liked Charlie.”
“I wasn’t even talking about him,” said Flora glumly, and went on to tell Lorna about Joel and Inge-Britt. “Everything sucks ass.”
They carried on online when they reached their respective homes. Kai and Lorna had never met, but they were getting acquainted on WhatsApp and were absolutely united, and it was helping, it really was. Flora sat by the light of the dying fire, drinking tea to try and make herself feel better, though it wasn’t working. Thank God for Bramble, who had his big head in her lap, occasionally gently licking her hand, as if bestowing tiny kisses.
Nobber, typed Lorna.
Awful, awful man, said Kai. Would you like us to have him killed for you?
That would be nice.
I’ll get some poison from Saif’s medicine cabinet! added Lorna.
I’ll put fish in his desk drawer.
Flora smiled and sighed and tucked into some cookies she’d left behind in the kitchen, thinking they’d probably need sustenance later. That was the thing about dancing and heartache: it made you hungrier than you’d think. She had heard there were girls who just faded away when they were sad. Flora was not one of those girls.
She was almost smiling when she heard a car pull up at the door. She frowned. Her father had returned with Innes and Hamish a while ago and they were now all tucked up in bed; she could make out her father’s snoring from here. Agot had had to be dragged away from the party, loudly protesting; she had danced every dance, often simply appearing in front of the first available man and demanding he partner her. Heaven knows what she was going to be like at fourteen.
So who was this then?
For a tiny second, a bit of her thought it might be Joel, come to beg or say sorry, that he’d much prefer a mousy legal aide to some six-foot blond Icelandic Amazon. But of course he didn’t have a car here. She’d been driving him about. She shook her head, furious with herself again for being such an idiot. Oh God! It suddenly struck her: when he had seen her dancing, had he been laughing? Was that what she’d seen on his face? Amusement? Ridicule at her funny little rural ways? She felt her face burn red. This evening had started so well, had gone so amazingly; she couldn’t have counted up the compliments about the food. And now here she was back in the stupid old kitchen, staring at her tea. Again.
Or could it be Charlie? His kiss had been strong and heartfelt and had awakened something in her, something she hadn’t felt for so long . . . she didn’t even want to think how long. All this time, with work and confusion and grief and a silly unobtainable crush that kept her from looking around, she’d been ignoring herself, what she needed, what she wanted. She touched her mouth experimentally. It felt puffy. Just to feel wanted again, to feel desired . . . to know it was still there . . .
Whoever was outside didn’t seem to be coming in. She crept to the kitchen window, but the lights were off. She could just make out two heads moving in the windshield—it was a large Range Rover—then suddenly realized that she could be seen with the light from the fire behind her and scuttled away.
Seconds later, Fintan pushed through the kitchen door and the car drove away, bumping down the rocky path.
Flora looked up and went to pour another cup of tea.
“What time do you call this?” she said in a teasing tone, trying to cover up her own heartache.
Fintan looked at her and smiled a slow smile, then blinked, equally slowly. He looked a little dazed.
“Sorry. Sorry, I . . . Yeah. Colton offered me a lift home.”
“Colton offered you a lift home?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Are you sure he hadn’t drunk too much whisky?”
“Oh yeah,” said Fintan, taking the tea gratefully. “He totally had. I thought it was bumpy coming home.”
“FINN!”
“No, it’s okay, Officer Clark was passed out under the cake table when I left. It was stripped clean, by the way. People were licking plates. You really aren’t half bad.”
Flora frowned and ignored the compliment as she poured some milk into his cup.
“So . . .”
Fintan bit his lip and tried to hide his smirk.
“Mm?”
“Well . . .”
“Flora, if you want to ask, just ask.”
“I do want to ask. Does Dad know?”
“Why? Do you think the shock would kill him?”
Flora shook her head.
“I don’t know why it never occurred to me,” she said.
“Because you never gave us a second thought.”
“That’s not true.”
“You know it is, Flora. You know it. You left and you never thought of us again, up here, shoveling cowshit.”
“Stop it,” said Flora. “Please. I’m exhausted. Please can we not fight anymore? Tonight should have been good. It was good.”
“Oh no, it’s fine, we don’t have to fight. Fintan’s gay now, wow, isn’t that amazing, your family’s almost cool enough for a mainland girl.”
“Fintan!” Flora was properly crying now, furious that she could barely get the words out.
“Yeah, now you’ve got something acceptable for your smart metropolitan friends, eh?”
She took a deep breath, stood up, and looked him straight in the eye.
“What, so you had a boyfriend before I came back? Before you met Colton?”
Fintan didn’t answer.
“So you were already breaking out of your old life and trying to make a go of catering and setting things up and making your own way . . . before I came back?”
There was a long pause. Fintan shrugged.
“I was all right.”
“Or you could say, thank you, sis, for introducing me to Colton.”
He looked at her, and they were both up to the brim with pain. Eventually Fintan shrugged.
“I’m sorry.”
Flora swallowed.
“I’m sorry too.”
They sat down together at the old table, Fintan fiddling with his spoon.
“The funeral . . .”
“I said some stuff I didn’t mean.”
Fintan nodded.
“So you never came back at all.”
“I was ashamed.”