Page 6 of One for the Road
Her sigh was slow and far too heavy for a seven-year-old. “Daddy says sugar will rot my teeth.”
“I’ll make the sugar-free stuff.” And it would taste like shit, but I’d choke it down for her.
Teddy’s nod was small. Placating. Like it washerjob to be the strong one.
I felt my spine collapse back against the seat; the vertebrae no longer capable of holding the weight of my failure. Even the time I’d accidentally rubbed nipple cream on her gums instead of teething gel in a sleep-deprived daze couldn’t compare to this.
In silence, we stared at the cottage like it might shape-shift before our eyes. Or like a tornado would blow through and whisk us away.
My gaze drifted over to the property attached. It looked empty. Equally as small. A little barren, but neat and tidy. No peeling paint.
Probably another holiday rental.
“Shall we go and check it out?” I urged Teddy.
She sighed again, but got out the car, clutching Bluebell bunny closely. I went to open the shared gate between the properties, which gave way under a single push. Literally gave way, clattering onto the mossy stone path. Her shoulders drooped. “We can fix that,” I promised, wringing out the ends of my hair from the earlier downpour.
The perfect metaphor for my life lately.
The front door hadn’t fared much better, the white paint chipping to reveal rotten wood beneath, but the key slid easily inside the lock, and it swung inwards with only the smallest of creaks. My heart thundered, then swelled in relief. The inside was better than the outside, at least.
Sure, it smelled a little musty from disuse. The agency that ran out of Fort William, on the mainland, had informed me in our emails that it had been shut up throughout the winter season. And sure, the entire cottage would have fit inside our old porch. But that meant less cleaning. And it was a bonus that it came fully furnished.
Teddy hesitated in the doorway, pushing her glasses back up her nose.
“Cool, right?” My boots made a low squelching noise as I spun in a slow circle in the tiny open-plan living space. “Now we can be in the same room while I’m baking and you’re watching TV.”
“I guess,” she said. I’d never heard anyone sound less convinced. “Why are the walls brown?”
Good question.
“Well . . . some people like that colour. But we’re allowed to paint, I already checked. How about yellow? Or blue? You love blue.”
She shrugged, finally stepping inside. I bit my lip, giving her space to feel her feelings. She’d always been a serious wee girl, even as a toddler. Whereas my feelings bubbled so close to the surface, they often leaked from my eyes in water form. Good or bad.
Teddy took after Cameron. Well – theoldCameron. The man I’d thought he was when I’d fallen in love with him. He’d always been steady, calm and practical. The kind ofperson everyone trusted, including me. And I rarely trusted anyone.
Moving further into the kitchen, I smoothed my hand over the cheap pine cabinets then toed the linoleum floor that was starting to peel in the corner. I closed my eyes, trying to picture how this place might be in the summer, windows open to the salty sea air. Flowers in the garden. Baking in the kitchen, the smell of sugar and cinnamon filling up the cracks in the walls. Apple pie, just the way Granny Pat used to make it. Helping Teddy with her homework at the kitchen table, both of our hearts a little more healed.
The image wasn’t perfect. There were still so many unanswered questions: how we’d get by; how Cameron and I would co-parent in this mess. But for Teddy, I would damn sure make it work.
Teddy, clearly unimpressed, perched on the very edge of the sagging sofa. “Why is there a door in the middle of the room?”
“What?”
“The door?” She pointed and I turned, spotting the out-of-place wooden frame. “Is that my bedroom?”
It couldn’t be. The bedrooms were at the back of the property. A cupboard most likely. “Maybe it’s the Narnia door. Think I’ll find Mr Tumnus behind here?” I waggled my eyebrows, hoping to make her laugh. “Or maybe it’s where all the ghosties live.”
She didn’t even crack a smile.Same, kid, same.
Testing the brass handle, it swung open easily. At best, I’d expected to find old cleaning supplies. Maybe a random selection of Tupperware lids. At worst, a dead body stuffed inside a suitcase. I mean, it was already the shittiest week on record, I may as well round it out with a stint on the ten o’clock news.
What I found on the other side was so much worse.
I’d always liked to imagine I’d be calm in the face of danger. The seventy-fourth winner of the Hunger Games. The good Samaritan giving up my space on a life raft. But when masculine blue eyes behind round-framed glasses met mine, I screamed like the devil was chasing me.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is private property.” The man was fully dressed,thank God. But he leapt to his feet, tipping his chair like I’d walked in on him in the bathroom.
