Scrap Metal (9 page)

To his credit he stayed still. “Nichol, that’s a…”

“Bloody great barnyard rat, aye.” I bit my lip. You didn’t laugh at such offerings. “I’m so sorry.”

“Any particular…reason for this?”

“Yes. It means that, out of the two of us, you’re the one she thinks needs feeding up.”

“All right. Grand. And what’s the etiquette, please?”

“Well, to really make her happy you’d pretend to eat it, but you’re doing pretty well not to scream and run away.”

“Not really. I’m just paralysed with horror. You do know it’s still warm?”

That did it for me. I creased up. Thankfully Clover had finished her business and was leaving, stalking away with her tail in a satisfied interrogative. She was heading towards my room, as if she’d never broken her habit of spending her nights there.

“Oh, Cam, I’m sorry. That’s gross even by my standards. Are you all right?”

“Fine. Can I move my foot now?”

I sobbed and choked on laughter. I snatched a breath to stop it. It hurt, like gravel shifting inside me, made my chest feel like it was full of sunshine and blood. “Aye. Come on—we’d best do these late rounds. Get into some of your new things, especially thick socks, and I’ll meet you downstairs.” I bent down and gingerly picked up the rat by its long pink tail. “Shall I dispose of this? Or will you be wanting him for later?”

“Och,
Nichol
.”

It was almost dark by the time we set off, the only light left in the sky a serpent of rose gold across the sea. Our famed Arran sunsets had been wiped out by rain for so long that I was reluctant to spoil it, but I flicked the quad bike’s beams to full as we left the track and struck out over the fields.

I took it easy in deference to my passenger. It was a long time since Archie had deigned to hell around on a bike with me, but I knew it was a rough ride. The quads were single-seaters technically, one and a half at a stretch—or a crush, more like it. The pillion either hung on to the back of the saddle, or…

I hit a tussock and bounced the bike hard. Cameron gave a startled yelp then burst into wild laughter. I pulled up, grinning too. God, what a sound—unfettered, like a kid’s. “Sorry. You okay?”

“Aye. Nearly went crack over nips into yon bloody bush, but I’m fine.”

“Crack over nips, eh? What a nice Larkhall lad.” I let the engine idle. “I know we’ve barely met and all, but if you hang on to me, you’ll be safer.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Course not.”

He put his arms around me tentatively. I gave his hand an encouraging pat—it was only a business arrangement after all, never sparking the slightest frisson in me when Kenzie was hitching a ride—and he closed his grip.

That was better. We had a lot of ground to cover, and now I could give it some welly. After the first good bump or two, he got the idea and hung on properly. I picked up speed and felt him duck his head against my shoulder to shelter from the wind. “All right back there?”

“Yes. Go faster if you like.”

I chuckled. “Fun, is it?”

“Hell, yeah.”

I closed my fist on the throttle and took off. His grip was powerful. Whatever the reasons for his loss of weight, they hadn’t yet impinged on the essential inner force of him. I could take a lot of his skinny warmth at my back, I decided, gunning the quad up to the last crest before the long slope towards the cliff’s edge and the sea. From there I’d get an idea of the task ahead, how far the flock had scattered, if any looked like they had new lambs at foot. Fill up the bale feeders, see to any casualties, begin the endless round of fence checks…

“God almighty. Stop.”

I braked so hard he nearly went over my shoulder. “What? Did I hit something?”

“No. I just want to see… It’s so beautiful.”

“Jesus.” I snapped off the engine. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. But look at it.”

I was looking. I looked at this landscape every day, through sea frets, rain, or just the mists of my exhaustion. I didn’t need him to tell me it was lovely, on those rare days when it cracked open its casket of jewels.

Or did I? That serpent band of light had found its reflection, its shimmering twin, in the sea. The air between them was on fire, casting the cliffs in bronze, throwing a weird burnished radiance right into the zenith. Ailsa Craig island burned on the horizon, its sugarloaf turned into a pyramid, as if Giza had set sail from its sands and paused here on some unimaginable journey, to Atlantis maybe. Yes, I’d been looking. But I hadn’t seen it in months.

Cam dismounted from the bike and came to stand beside me. “Incredible place,” he said softly. “What’s it called?”

“Just Seacliff, as far as I know—like the family. Seacliff Farm.”

“Seriously? That’s wild. Crazy romantic.”

I stole a glance at him. The transfiguring light had caught him too. If anything deserved to be on the cover of a book…

“Not really,” I said, gruff in proportion with my desire to tell him so. To undo my grip on the quad’s handlebars and reach for him. I did let go with one hand, but only to point at the glittering water then the towering faces of rock that lined the shore. “It’s pretty basic really. Sea. Cliff.” I turned in the saddle and gestured back the way we’d come, where Harry’s windows had taken the sunset, almost as if he’d put on all the lights and kindled a comfortable fire. “Farm.”

“Nichol, did you ever see…?” Cam paused, and I frowned at the unsteady hitch in his voice. I couldn’t have upset him, could I? “Did you ever see a film called
Young Frankenstein
?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s one of my favourites.”

“Do you remember when Igor’s driving Professor Frankenstein home to the castle, and they hear something howling, and the girl says, ‘Werewolf!’? And Frankenstein says, ‘Werewolf?’, and…”

“And Igor starts pointing and says, ‘There, wolf. There, castle.’ Okay, okay, I get it.” I shook my head, helplessly mirroring his smile. “Fair enough. I don’t know how I got so blind to it all. Or so grumpy about it, for that matter.”

“Are you kidding me? You must have been through hell.”

His voice had changed completely. Now its huskiness was something else—a sympathy that passed like a blade through my hard-won defences. God, and I wasn’t going to have to reach for him—he had put out a hand to me, careful but unafraid. I held very still while he brushed his fingertips across my fringe.

“Were you very lonely?”

Desolate.
I hadn’t known till now. I didn’t bloody want to know. If I let that come to surface, he would see it. He was a stranger, a runaway. A criminal, to take the view that Archie Drummond would, an unknown who had broken into my life and would like as not be gone in the morning.

“Sometimes,” I managed. I couldn’t say more. If I opened my mouth again, he would see how badly I wanted him to kiss it.

Oh, God. He saw anyway. A sweet concentration gathered in his eyes. He leaned a little towards me. I heard the wind in the gorse, the whisper of the sea far below us then nothing but the pulse of my own blood.

“Cameron…”

He twitched as if I’d woken him. He scanned my face anxiously, a pallor shadowing his own. “Sorry,” he said, stepping back. “This isn’t getting the sheep sheared, is it? Hadn’t we better get on?”

I wondered what he’d seen to put him off. I was suddenly cold, despite the milder wind and my layered-up clothes. I told myself I was relieved—what the hell had I been thinking?

“Feeding them and checking their fences will do for tonight,” I said. The serpent in the sky was almost gone, a vast world’s-edge dark coming down. “It’s a big enough job, though. Come on.”

Chapter Five

Next morning I left Cam to sleep while I tackled my early work. He’d done well the night before, watching attentively while I patched a length of fence then offering to fix the next himself, bumping round uncomplainingly with me to round up the stragglers. I passed his door quietly. There’d be plenty for him to do later—and, perversely, after months of solitude, I needed some time to myself. What would have happened if he hadn’t backed off? That was easy. Either he’d have woken up in my bed or I’d have surfaced in a cramped-up tangle with him in his single. I’d have slept with him, blind with hunger, no questions asked.

And that was insane. I needed to look at my own motivations. Would I have flung myself at any willing stranger who’d crossed my path? Well, there had been Archie. He felt like a distant memory though, pale as the light appearing in the east as I hauled bales out of the trailer. I tried to substitute his image for Cam’s in my head. I tried the same with a whole range of my Edinburgh boyfriends then a couple of idealised gay wet dreams from films and TV. No, not a flicker. It was as if a current had switched itself on when I’d laid eyes on Cam and a whole lot of others had switched off.

I didn’t understand. I was at once relieved that he’d put the brakes on and mortified. I’d started to feel quite confident of my pulling power in Edinburgh. Those had all been quickies though, nothing that had to stand up under scrutiny in daylight. A quickie was all Archie had come back for yesterday. He’d found me perfectly resistible five years ago, when I’d been begging him not to break us. Maybe a one-off was all I was good for, my obvious enthusiasm the only qualification required.

I slammed the bale feeder gate shut without looking and jammed my hand in the steel bar. Yanking it free, I doubled up until the pain subsided. If I let go, howled and swore, I’d scare the contentedly munching ewes who’d turned up for their breakfast. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d pushed Archie’s rejection aside and moved on. I knew how to work the bale gates. Teenage insecurities were for mainlanders, not farmers. I squinted at the hole the catch had torn in my knuckle. Quite deep, but my tetanus shots were up to date. I sucked it, wiped it on the back of my jeans and got back on the quad bike.

On my way up the lane to the farm I paused for a second, listening. I could hear the roar of the other quad. That was weird—I’d told Harry it was broken past redemption. It would be just my luck if he’d come down this morning, turned the key and had it spring back to life. But when I came into the barnyard he was standing beside it, hands on his hips, his face an odd mix of suspicion and wonder. Cameron was flat on his back on the cobbles, wedging a panel into place, closely watched by Vixen, Gyp and Floss.

I pulled up beside this interesting group. Cameron started guiltily, as if caught red-handed. “Morning, gentlemen,” I said. “Everything all right?”

Harry looked at me. “Yon lad’s fixed the bike.”

“I can see that, Granda.”

“You’re a bonny lad, Nichol. But you couldnae fix a bent straw.”

I nodded. I was nobody’s mechanic. And I hadn’t been Harry’s bonny lad for as long as I could remember, which took the sting out of the observation. “What did he do to it?”

“Devil’s work, it looked like.”

Cameron sat up. His face was streaked with engine oil. “The ignition was gone,” he said. “That’s why it wouldn’t start. But you can, er…bypass the ignition.” Flora poked her face over his shoulder, as if to inspect his work, and he gave her a nervous pat. “It won’t work from the key anymore, but if you gaffer-tape these wires together, then pull them apart when you want it to stop…” He demonstrated, making the engine snarl into life and fall silent. “I can put a switch or a button on it if you like, if I can get the part. But for now at least it works.”

“Aye, it does that.” Harry got onto the bike. Reaching down, he gave Cam a clap on the shoulder I knew from experience would leave a mark, probably the only thanks he’d ever get. “There’s
min-choirce
on the stove, Nichol, if yon lad wants his breakfast.” He revved the engine, and the dogs leapt up onto the bike behind them, perching with unlikely balance. “Or lunch, I should call it at this hour.”

Well, it was almost seven o’clock. I watched him roar out of the yard. Then I put a hand down and helped hoist Cam onto his feet. He had put on his new overalls but still somehow looked more ready for a catwalk than a day on the farm. I steadied him. “Did you just hot-wire my grandfather’s bike?”

“I came down and he was struggling with it. I thought I’d have a go.”

That’s a Glasgow carjacker’s trick.
I thought about saying it, but he looked apprehensive enough already. And he’d never tried to kid me he’d been training for the priesthood there. I decided someone in my family ought to be gracious. “Nice job. Thanks very much.”

“It’s nothing. I’m quite good at that kind of thing. I’ll have a bash at anything else you’ve got that needs fixing up.”

“In that case you’d best come and fortify yourself with some of Harry’s
min-choirce
, if you can stomach it.”

“What’s
min-choirce
?”

“Porridge, with a dash of pepper to stop you catching cold. It’s actually quite good if you can keep it down.”

“Sounds fine to me. I’m pretty hungry.” He gave me a shamefaced smile. “Again.”

“That’s all right. The one thing Harry never kept us short on is food. Fuel for his machines, and you’ll burn it off, believe me. Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead. And…” He glanced at his wrist. I could see a mark where a watch had been, but it was gone now. I didn’t like to think of the circumstances that had forced him to part with it. “Apparently too long. Do you always get up this early?”

“During lambing, yes.”

“Well, tomorrow wake me up too. I want to earn my keep, Nichol, if you and your granddad are letting me stay here. I want to work.”

I took him up on it. Harry did too, returning from his rounds with a list of errands and odd jobs he’d apparently gone off on purpose to compose. Cameron set to, creosoting planks for a new pen, clambering about with me on the barn roof to assess the need for new tiles, native wit and an unembarrassed willingness to ask questions serving where his experience failed. Only when we got a delivery of fencing staves from Brodick did Cameron vanish into the house, and I wondered if between us the old man and I had slaved him into the need for a nap. Then I was too busy dealing with shouting delivery lads and armfuls of wood to give it thought.