Page 45 of Highland Getaway
‘Notnice? That’s one way of putting it,’ I reply, incensed. ‘It’s an outright threat, Hunter,andit proves beyond doubt that someone’s been going into my room. You can’t possibly think I did this myself by mistake, can you?’
‘No. No, I don’t think you did it yourself, and I don’t think it’s a mistake, either,’ he replies, in a soothing tone, which I can imagine him using to speak to Hannah when she’s mid-tantrum. ‘Idothink there’s a possibility that it’s supposed to be some kind of practical joke, but—’ he holds up a hand as I start to protest this ‘—even if it is, it’s not funny, and it has to stop. Right now.’
‘Oh. Right, well .?.?. good,’ I reply, surprised he isn’t trying to argue with me, or convince me I’m wrong. ‘I’m glad we’re on the same page. It .?.?. it really scared me, Hunter. Whoever did this musthateme. I just don’t feel safe knowing someone’s going around stabbing turnips just to get at me.’
Hunter holds up the turnip in question again, and we both stare at it, as if it might start speaking and reveal all the answers.
‘Leave it with me,’ he says at last. ‘I’ll speak to Dante. This is really his domain more than mine.’
‘Um, yeah,’ I reply, sitting down beside him on the couch with a softwhump. ‘Sorry, I should probably have gone to him first. It’s just .?.?. well, you’re the only one I trust.’
‘And youcantrust me, Rosie,’ he says, his face serious. ‘I’ll get to the bottom of this. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. You’re safe here, I promise.’
For a second, I think he’s going to reach out and hug me; I even raise my arms slightly in anticipation of it, but just as he leans towards me, there’s a loud bang, and Hannah comes bursting back into the room, making Hunter and I spring guiltily apart.
‘Look, Rosie,’ Hannah says, handing me a piece of paper. ‘I finished my drawing. What do you think?’
This time, the drawing depicts a perfectly round person balanced precariously on top of what looks like a very large, very deformed, dog-type animal. The person’s legs are the same blue as the denim of the jeans I was wearing earlier, but there’s a huge pink blob at the top, which I guess is supposed to be . . .
‘That’s your bum,’ says Hannah happily. ‘Daddy told me all about it.’
‘I, um, told her about what happened on the beach,’ says Hunter, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. ‘With Bex, and the ponies.’
‘And my bum,’ I add, kind of enjoying his obvious discomfort.
‘No! I .?.?. well, I .?.?. I might have mentioned it in passing.’
He’s actually blushing now.
This would almost be fun, if it wasn’t happening because I flashed everyone on the beach. And also because of the whole turnip-and-dirk thing, which, to be totally honest, makes it hard to laugh atanything, really.
‘Er, I think I’ll go and try to catch Dante now, actually,’ Hunter says, getting quickly to his feet. ‘I’ll take Hannah with me. D’you want to wait here for us?’
‘Um, if that’s OK with you?’ I reply. ‘I don’t exactly fancy the thought of going back to my room on my own, when there’s—’
Hunter shoots me a warning glance, his eyes flicking down towards his daughter.
‘When there’s so much fun I could be having here,’ I finish instead. ‘Isn’t that right, Hannah?’
‘Oh, tons,’ replies Hannah. ‘Have you ever played Minecraft before? Because I can teach you when we get back, if not.’
They head for the door, Hunter carrying the turnip in one hand and the dirk in the other. I notice he leaves Stevie behind, though, and I can’t help but feel reassured by his doggy presence because, silly though it might sound to be freaked out by a turnip, of all things, I am, nevertheless, fairly freaked out by thisparticularturnip, which I guess is never going to make it into that soup Ian insisted on giving me the recipe for now.
Shame.
I feel safe here with Stevie, though; and with Hunter, too, when he gets back. The question is, though – just how safe am I going to be once I head back to my room on my own?
* * *
By the time Hunter and Hannah get back, I’ve given up on pacing the living room floor and have set up camp in the kitchen instead, where I’m busy making a sauce to go with the pasta I found in the back of one of the cupboards.
‘Wow. What happened in here?’ says Hunter, standing in the doorway, still with the turnip in his hand. ‘Have I been robbed?’
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I reply, looking up from the stove. ‘I wanted to do something to keep my mind off . . . well,things.?.?. while I was waiting for you to get back. I hope this is OK?’
‘Aye,’ Hunter says, running a hand through his hair as he gazes around at the gleaming surfaces of the little kitchen, which betray the fact that it was slightly more than just a quick tidy-up. ‘Aye, this is just fine by me. You really didn’t have to do all this, though, Rosie.’
‘Oh, it’s no problem,’ I assure him, dishing the pasta into bowls. ‘I like cooking. And cleaning, actually. It’s quite therapeutic.’
