Scrap Metal (15 page)

I broke into laughter. I was developing various aches and pains now, and the bridge of my nose was throbbing something fierce, but I also felt stupidly lighthearted. If one type of barrier remained locked in place between me and Cam, others seemed to have dissolved. He’d walked close by my side all the way down from Castle Street, steadied me when I forgot the newly installed automatic door and tried to push it open.

Next up was “Solsbury Hill”
.
Leaning past him to grab a bag of pasta, I gave him the sly hip bump that was now our invitation to the dance. Even if I never got to kiss that sweet expressive mouth, I’d settle for feeling this close to him.

He chuckled and snaked an arm round my waist. “Are you okay?” he asked, pulling me clear of a pyramid of bean tins. “You’re getting a shiner, you know.”

“I’m fine. Kenzie’s all gob and no kilt.”

“Yeah, he’s a pussycat. I didn’t really take his job from him, though, did I?”

“Not a bit of it. That was all over before you arrived.”

“Who was he shouting about back there?”

“What? Oh, when he was calling me a wee mockitt faggot and suchlike?” I hesitated. The trolley was parked across the freezer aisle, but we otherwise had it to ourselves. He’d dropped his hands to my hips. Our movements to the beat of “Solsbury Hill”
were tiny, barely perceptible, but in beautiful synch. Suddenly I wanted to tell him about my first love, the pain and the price of it. “I had a boyfriend at school. We were just friends for years and years, but when we grew up, all that changed. I don’t think either of us even thought about it, we just…loved each other. Screwed the living daylights out of one another too, as Kenzie kindly put it. His name was—”

“Nicky?”

I swung round. There by the checkout, unloading special-offer six-packs of cola onto the conveyor belt, was Archie Drummond. He’d always been a caffeine freak. He was in his civvies, looking very tall and fresh, and thoroughly interested in my companion—not that he was looking Cam in the face. His gaze was fixed on the place where I’d forgotten to let go of his hips.

I released him, not in any hurry. Why should I care if my ex saw this? In fact a faint tingle of satisfaction had begun under my gut. I recalled the first time I’d met him in the street with his new girlfriend, how coolly he’d introduced her. It wouldn’t do him any harm at all to find me dancing in the aisles with the bonniest lad on Arran.

“Archie,” I said. “You all right?”

“I should be asking you. Did you run into the barn door again?”

“I ran into Joe McKenzie. His fist, to be accurate.”

“Oh, shit. He’s been coming off the rails for weeks. Did this just happen?”

“Aye, up outside Malcolm’s fish shop. I’m surprised no one rang for you.”

“I just came off shift.” Archie’s unattended six-packs began to logjam the conveyor belt, but he ignored the cashier’s impatient grunt. “I’ll go and find the stupid bastard now.”

“I wouldn’t bother. Tell you what, though—Jen McKenzie’s gone back to live with her mother at Invercloy. You might want to nip up there and check he’s no’ taking it out on them.”

“All right. So, er…” He leaned forward as if trying to glance past my shoulder. His smile had a trace of unease in it, and once more I felt faintly gratified. “This must be the new farmhand I’ve been hearing so much about.”

I wasn’t sure how he’d heard anything at all. Cameron had barely left Seacliff since his arrival. Still, he’d been out and about in the fields on the quad bike, and I supposed on a place like Arran I wasn’t likely to have kept such treasure to myself for long.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry, Cam. This is Archie Drummond, an old friend of mine. Archie, this is Cameron. Just so we’re clear that I didn’t sack Kenzie for him, he’s a student doing work experience. A volunteer.”

“Well, they say one of those is worth ten pressed men.” Archie stepped forward, his hand outstretched. I hadn’t glanced at Cam during the introduction, and I was surprised to see the look on his face now. He’d shifted so that he was almost concealed behind me. He moved to meet Archie as if he’d been shoved in the back, and he kept his gaze somewhere between the Co-op’s scuffed lino and the far wall as he held out his hand.

I was surprised. His manners, even when caught so desperately short as on the night of his arrival, had always been open and sweet. Now he was colourless, almost sullen. I scarcely heard his greeting to Archie—a bare syllable—and then he fell back, as if seeking shelter.

“Cam? You all right?”

“Yeah. Bit tired maybe.”

“Well, you’ve got a good right.” I floundered, trying to find some way through this encounter suddenly turned awkward and chilly around me. “Cam waded in when Kenzie was getting the better of me. Pretty much saved my neck.”

“Did he? That’s good.” Archie had folded his arms. There was now a small queue at the checkout, and the cashier had moved on to sighs and drumming fingers, but Archie’s attention was fixed upon Cameron. I knew that look. What had started as anxious, far-from-unwelcome jealousy had focussed to something else. I hadn’t seen much of him in action as a copper, but I’d been out with him once when he’d come across a small-time crack dealer plying his trade in the pub. “Where did you say you were studying, Cameron?”

I cut across Cam’s reply. “He didn’t. It’s a college in Dumfries. Archie, do you have to sound like a great big plod?”

Archie shrugged. He kept his eyes fixed coldly on Cam. “Occupational hazard. What’s the matter, Cam—didn’t he tell you I was the village bobby?”

Cam didn’t react. Then he said, faintly, “Is it okay if I wait for you in the truck, Nichol?”

You don’t have to go.
I nearly said it. If anyone should go it was Archie, preferably with my boot up his backside. Then it struck me that maybe I was being stupid. I’d told the agricultural-student story so many times now I’d started to believe it myself, conveniently forgetting the little I knew of the real one. Maybe Archie recognised him.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, pulling the keys out of my pocket. “Go on. I’ll not be a minute.”

I watched him retreat. He didn’t hurry, but I wondered if that was because he wasn’t quite steady on his feet. He looked thin and defeated.

Deciding that the best defence was a good strong offence, I rounded on Archie. “Oh, that was nice, PC Drummond. Why didn’t you just slam him down over the ice-cream fridge and frisk him?”

Archie was watching him too, his brow rucked up into a frown. Then he turned back to me, spreading his hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I recognised his face.” He sounded genuinely contrite. “Seriously, Nic—I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Then why scare the shit out of him?”

“Well, he’s no reason to be scared of me, if—”

“
Did
you recognise him?”

“I’m not sure. For a minute… No.”

“Leave it alone, then. He’s a good lad. He’s been no end of help with the lambing, and he’s even got Harry eating out of his hand.” That reminded me. We’d been going to pick up the tobacco at the checkout—Reynolds, not Black Ox. “I’ve got to go. Of course I’ll have to wait at the end of this great big queue that you’ve caused.”

“No, no. Put your stuff through with mine.”

I shook my head. “Police corruption. Bloody disgraceful.” But I wanted to get back to Cam, and I helped Archie hoist the rest of his boxes and bags out of the trolley, adding mine to the heap at the end. “It’s not like you to be such a pain in the arse. Is anything wrong?”

“No. Why should it be? Just… How much do you know about him? I never knew Harry to take on anyone sight unseen before.”

“He never knew anyone who’d work for nothing but a bed and a bowl of
min-choirce
.”

“Harry’s porridge? Your lad can keep that down?” Archie blew out his cheeks, whistled softly. “The right farm boy finally came along. Look, I really am sorry. Tell him so for me, will you?” He gave the enraged checkout girl what he probably thought was a winning smile and handed over his card. “Er, he does seem nice, actually, Nic. A wee bit dishy, I could say. Are the pair of you—?”

“
Archie
.” I didn’t care what the likes of Cashier Morag thought of me and mine, but Archie used to mind intensely. I didn’t know what it meant that he was forgetting himself in public like this, but I was sure he’d regret it. “No, as a matter of fact. But keep your voice down.”

“Oh, good.”

Now what the hell did that mean? I didn’t have time to wonder. Archie had taken his card back and was slinging groceries vigorously into his trolley at the far end of the desk. His grin was bright and unreadable. “You know it’s Reggie Fletcher’s birthday next week?” he said, backing away. “He’s meeting me and a few of the lads for drinks in the Barley on Friday night. You should come, Nicky. We hardly see you anymore.”

The weather had changed. A fine rain was drifting in veils across the hillside beyond the Co-op car park. A few birch leaves, gold coins from last autumn, were clinging to the roof of the red Toyota truck. The air carried a deep fresh tang after the stuffy grocery aisles—moss and resin, and a trace of diesel from the incoming ferry. I could hear her distant thrum.

Cam was curled up in the passenger seat. He’d propped his feet against the dash. I was beginning to work out that it was typical of him to have taken his shoes off before he did so, even in Harry’s ancient farm runabout. His head was tipped back, his eyes closed. The springtime had arrived with him—I’d grown used to seeing him in sunlight. But it didn’t shine on anybody all the time. Just now he was pale as the rainy sky, a fragile shape behind glass.

I opened the driver’s door carefully, afraid he’d fallen asleep, but he unfolded and flashed me an uncertain smile. I lifted the shopping bags over into the backseat and climbed in beside him. “Here,” I said, holding out the packet of Reynolds. “I picked up this for you.”

“Ta. Here, I—I’ll give you the money.”

“No. Just give it to him. He’ll be pleased.” We fell silent. The misty rain drew patterns on the windshield. After a moment I sighed and reached out a hand to his wrist. “I’m so glad you came with me to Brodick and met my nice friends.”

He snorted faintly. “Yeah, it was fun. I…I nearly kept walking.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be. Did your friend recognise me?”

“No.” I tightened my grip, rubbing my thumb over the delicate bone. “He was just being an arse. In fact he told me to say he was sorry.”

“Nichol, why do you let me stay? You’ve only got my word that I haven’t done something…” He trailed off, voice scraping dryly. “Something terrible.”

“Your word’s all I need.” I realised as I said it that it was true. I couldn’t rationalise it—could only see, in flashing replay, the moment when he’d shot past me to wrestle Joe McKenzie to the ground. I trusted him. “Forget Archie, okay? Let me take you to lunch. Preferably where nobody knows me, though on this island that’s a tall order.”

“I think I want to go home.”

The ferry had almost reached dock. Her song had slowly risen, making the Toyota’s elderly windows shiver in their frames. She was always bigger than I remembered, a moving wall of red and black in my rearview, engines vibrating as her pilot manoeuvred her parallel to the wharf.

The sight of her met my conviction—pretty deep, I could now admit to myself—that no good man would want to stay with me for long. Of course Cam would want to go home, now that the heat that had chased him out here had died down. He’d had a life over there on the mainland, even if he never breathed a word of it to me. Family, a boyfriend. Maybe the equivalent of the old man whose tobacco he had set reverentially down on the dashboard, even if his duties there were only visits to a grave.

Then I understood. My heart gave a great painful lurch of relief. He wasn’t looking at the ferry. I was glad I hadn’t voiced my warning that he’d have to wait while they refuelled her and restocked her cafe with crisps and extortionately priced sarnies. The fact was that recently I’d started to think of the farm as
home
again too.

I gave his wrist a squeeze and let it go, took off the handbrake and put the truck into first for the gear start she now required to get her off her marks. “Come on,” I said, trying not to smile. “We’re still on a day off, at home or not. I’ll fix us something when we get back—a picnic, if the rain stops.”

I steered the truck up out of Brodick, past the fancy Victorian villas in their rhododendron seclusion and out onto the moor. I loved this road, and once beyond the speed-restriction boundary I put my foot down, aiming for the distant shape of Holy Isle. It was a nice straight run as far as the curves down into Lamlash bay, and the Toyota knew the way, even if I had to help her out a bit with the pattern of new potholes that appeared on every trip. I swung her around one neatly then spoiled it by hitting the next couple hard. “Ouch. Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am. Can you slow up, Lewis Hamilton?”

I glanced at my passenger. His hands were clamped together on his lap and his jaw was set.

“You all right?” I asked, easing off the gas. “You’re the colour of last week’s cod.”

“Thanks. I’m okay. Just…not sure I’m on for a picnic lunch.”

“You feel sick?” Alarm seized me. I hadn’t really seen the first part of his fight with Kenzie. “Did you get a bang on the head earlier? Are you hurt?”

“No. Maybe it’s just your Christ-awful driving.”

“You loved it on the way down. You kept asking me to go faster.”

“I know. There’s no pleasing some folks, is there?” He swallowed dryly. “Now I need you to stop.”

“Oh. Oh, okay.” I patted the white-knuckled knot of his hands. “Can you hang on five seconds? I can get right off the road just here.”

“Wherever. Just stop.”

I pulled into a layby on the next curve. It was a viewpoint stop for Holy Isle, but poor Cam wasn’t interested in the landscape. He undid his seat belt and half fell out of the truck. I stayed where I was to give him some privacy, then when the sounds he was making became distressed, I got out too, grabbing a box of tissues from the back. He’d made it as far as the verge and was crouched there shivering, his head down. It was raining pretty hard.