July - Chapter Five

Jeremy woke to a vaguely bright, grey light streaming into his room, and a very small, warm bundle burrowed into his side.

He blinked, rasped, “What the fuck?” Pulling up the blanket, he found none other than the cat, her plastic cone mysteriously gone, curled up next to him, fast asleep.

“How did you get in here?” he asked her, but she ignored him, ears twitching. He resigned himself to his fate and spent the next twenty minutes scrolling through his phone, waiting for her to wake up.

Jo had flipped out, beyond ecstatic that he finally had a phone again, and had sent him a rapid-fire chain of Snapchats. The time difference was a bit annoying, but at least, Jeremy reminded himself as he sent her a reply, they could stay in contact.

When his growling stomach became too much to continue ignoring, he scooped the cat into his arms and went downstairs, then made a pot of coffee and four slices of toast. The cat, for her part, seemed content to stay where she was, half in his arms and half in his lap, and Jeremy had to eat one-handed while she licked dregs of butter off his plate.

Back across the ocean, he reflected, he would be at Jo’s house for most of the day, eating popsicles and pulled pork, then sitting by the pool and lighting sparklers as they watched the fireworks. Back across the ocean, it was July 4th. But here, it was just another Tuesday. “Weird,” he said aloud, and the cat chirped in reply.

After a quick shower and a fresh can of food for the cat, he looked out the window and decided to stay indoors, given that the weather had gone grey and drizzly once again. “We still haven’t named you,” he told the cat. She was next to him on the couch in the sitting room, busy washing her face.

Jeremy sucked on his reed, then looked at her and said, “Fluffy?”

No reaction.

He smiled. “You’re too clever for that. Daisy?”

Again, nothing.

“Hah. Message received.” He thought for a moment. “Aragorn?”

That got a vague twitch of the ear.

“Okay, you like weird names.” Jeremy loaded his reed into the clarinet and played a few notes. He looked at her again. “Mozart?”

The cat looked up at him and began to purr.

He let out a laugh. “Mozart it is.”

And with that, the morning began to slide away. Once he worked his way through the scales, he pulled out the sheet music for a Bach Sonata that was his current project, propped it on the side table, and took off.

Mozart paid him little attention as he practiced. Once she finished washing, she tried hopping off the couch, and Jeremy had to lunge to catch her. Mozart ignored this hiccup and went over to her litter pan, then curled up under the armchair and fell asleep.

“Dramatic,” he told her, and went to go pour himself another cup of coffee.

The weather hadn’t improved or changed by lunch time. He scowled at the grey sky as he propped his laptop on the kitchen table and put on some Elton John. “You wouldn’t be very happy about this situation,” he said to Paul’s flat grin. “How this counts as summer is beyond me.”

Lunch was going to be leftovers. Normally, Jeremy would refrain from dancing around to music — Jo had informed him on many occasions that he looked like a drunk goose when he danced — but, there was something about —

“I can’t dig it, the way she tease!” he sang, loud and unapologetic in front of the stove. “That old tough man routine up her sleeve!” He flipped the rice and stirred the chicken. “Living and loving, kissing and hugging—” He thumped his spoon on the sink in time to the drums. “Living and loving with a cat named Hercules—”

“God help me,” came a voice from behind him, and Jeremy’s heart went through his stomach. He whirled round, and immediately felt heat rush into his face.

“This needs to stop,” he said, loud and definitely not embarrassed. “We have a door, and you can’t keep sneaking up on me.”

“Not my fault,” said Colin, sauntering into the kitchen with a grin. “I knocked. Twice. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you couldn’t hear me.” He went over to the laptop and peered at the screen before turning down the volume. “You can’t sing for shit, by the way.”

“How did you get in?” Jeremy demanded. Colin was infuriating. And his boots were getting splotches of mud on the floor.

“The door was unlocked.” He sat down at the table and leaned back in his chair, far too comfortable. At least he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt today, though the utilikilt did nothing to distract from his calves.

“Tch.” Jeremy rolled his eyes at the rice. “Trust my mom. Back in D.C., I got smacked upside the head if I didn’t immediately lock the door when I came in. Now we’re here, and she’s already bending the rules.”

Colin was still grinning. “If it helps, most people don’t know about this place. Plus, what would they steal?”

Now plating his food, Jeremy hummed. “One priceless poster of Paul Newman. Oh, and a clarinet worth at least two thousand dollars.”

“What?” said Colin. Jeremy smirked to see him so taken by surprise. “You’re kidding me. That little flute?”

Jeremy shrugged and sat down. “Well, maybe. We bought it second hand, but the previous owner never really played it, so it was considered to be at value. Most people don’t buy their instruments, just rent them or practice on the mouthpiece at home.”

“But not you, Yankee?” Colin prodded, beginning to smile again.

“Not me,” Jeremy agreed, around a mouthful of food. “I’m just so special, you know?”

“Bullshit.” Colin raised an eyebrow. “You put the kettle on.”

“I did.” Jeremy squinted at Colin and pointed at him with his fork. “But don’t go thinking I’m trainable. I only did it as a matter of courtesy.”

Something in Colin’s eyes glinted but he kept smiling. “You know we aren’t staying?”

“Of course,” Jeremy replied. “I assumed you had a Thermos in one of your many pockets.”

Colin’s smile slid away. Scowling, he reached down and produced a red plaid Thermos, the old-fashioned kind, assumedly from one of the pockets in his utilikilt.

“Oh my God.” Jeremy began to grin. He hadn’t thought he would be right.

“What’s that you’re eating?” Colin asked him. “Chicken?”

“Poulet aux Noix,” Jeremy said, knowing a redirection when he got one. “Basically chicken and cashews.” Then, feeling bold, “Want to try some?"

Colin perked up. “Sure.”

He slid the plate over, and Colin loaded a fork with chicken and rice. He hummed as he chewed, then slid the plate back. “Your mum makes such good food.” He seemed oddly wistful.

Jeremy smirked. “Hate to break it to you, but I made this one.”

“You cook?” Colin blinked at him. “In that case, it’s shit.”

“Uh huh.”

“Give me another bite.”

They left soon after that, once Jeremy had put on a few more layers and found his windbreaker. Colin had shaken his head at the Converse and made Jeremy dig out his Timberlands, even though he had only worn them on the worst snow days back in D.C. After a quick goodbye to Mozart, they left the house, and Jeremy stopped short when he saw an old white truck parked on the side of the road.

“Is that rust-heap yours?” he said to Colin, and got a punch on the arm in reply.

“Respect the Beast,” Colin retorted as they clambered into the cab. He pulled out the Thermos — now full of milky tea — and put it in the cupholder.

Even though the outside of the truck was filthy and caked in dirt, the inside was practically meticulous. No food wrappers, or old energy drink cans, or forgotten grocery lists, all of which Jeremy was accustomed to seeing in Jo’s car. There were even rubber floor mats, and underneath Jeremy’s seat, a large canvas bag. The truck looked to be at least twenty years old; Jeremy noted that it was stick-shift, and that there was a faded effigy of the green Power Puff girl dangling from the rear-view mirror. Bubbles? he thought. No, Buttercup.

Colin started it up and patted the dashboard as the engine roared in reply. “That’s a good Beast,” he said, and Jeremy had to try very hard not to laugh.

“I didn’t know you drove,” Jeremy said. They pulled away from the house, continuing to the end of the one-way road. The engine had a very particular sound, a low thrum backed by a constant put-put-put. Was this normal? he wondered.

Colin nodded. “Got to. I prefer walking, but the farms are so far apart it isn’t sustainable. And we need it for more practical reasons, like chores or in case of emergency.”

“I still don’t understand the opposite-side-of-the-road thing.” Jeremy shook his head as Colin popped a u-turn and headed back the way they came.

“Neither do we,” Colin said. His coat rustled as he wiggled in his seat; he was apparently incapable of sitting still. “I think it’s good cause for rebellion, but no one listens to me.”

“Yes, because the Scottish revolts went so well in the past.” They were going through the forest now, and once they reached the intersection, Colin turned left, heading towards the castle.

“Oh, and you’re an expert on revolution, are you?” Colin said, smirking. He drove one handed, sitting in a leisurely sort of way, and when he shifted gears, he did so with a relaxed, confident roll of his body. It was practically indecent, and Jeremy found himself blushing.

“Yes, I think so.” Jeremy cleared his throat. “I believe we won the last one.”

“Oh, right. That little skirmish in the eighteenth century.”

Jeremy hummed. They were passing the castle now, then the road curved inland, dipping back into the forest as they headed north. “If you usually drive, why were you on foot yesterday?”

“My dad needed the truck on the farm.” Colin shifted in his seat again. “Plus I only had the one job, apart from returning the cat. Have you named her yet?”

“Mozart.” Jeremy smirked.

“What about him?”

Jeremy stared at him, then a moment later—

“Oh, you absolute prat. You named her Mozart?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Colin seemed outraged, but it was obvious that he was trying not to laugh. “What did she do to deserve that? What’s wrong with a good, normal name?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Socks?”

“Socks,” Jeremy repeated. “I am not naming a cat ‘Socks.’ Besides, she doesn’t have different-colored paws.”

Colin shook his head. “Is he your favorite composer, then?”

“One of them,” Jeremy said. “But I wasn’t about to call her Mancini.”

“Thank God for that.” Colin kept his eyes on the road, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

As they continued north, the land seemed to unwind in front of them, spooling out in rolling hills and clustering trees, interspersed by fields and pastures. Soon, Jeremy was seeing more sheep and cows than he could count, and the air took on a distinct odor of manure and wet grass.

Colin caught him wincing and smirked. “That’s the smell of Scotland, Yankee. Better get used to it.”

“I don’t have to get used to anything, you silly Scottish hush-puppy,” Jeremy said in French.

Colin responded in what sounded like gobbledygook, absolute gibberish.

Jeremy stared at him. Was that Gaelic?

Colin smirked and continued speaking, his voice fluid and velvet and entirely unhelpful.

“You’re being a toenail,” said Jeremy, switching to Spanish.

Colin sighed through his nose. “Figures you’re trilingual,” he said. He glanced at Jeremy, raised an eyebrow. “Have you finished showing off yet?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

They reached the first farm about ten minutes later. Colin turned off the main road and up a long gravel driveway. As they approached a large stone house near an adjacent series of barns — all of it surrounded by wet green fields — the cows looked up from chewing cud and a few even jogged to the fence.

“Why do they look like that?” Jeremy wondered aloud.

Colin spared him a glance. “Rude.” He shook his head. “They’re Highland cows. Color of Irn Bru and the coat of a longhaired cat.”

Irn Bru. Jeremy knew that one. A neon orange Scottish soda that Angus had pointed out — “It’s my special weekend treat, laddie!” — and that Jeremy had been too wary to try. And it was true, about the cows — they had very long hair. “Is it my imagination, or do you sound bitter?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” They were approaching the house now, and Colin veered off to the side, cutting across the massive parking circle between the house and the barns. “I love animals that get themselves stuck in barbed wire at least twice a day.” He parked in front of the first barn and switched off the engine. “Come on. Let’s see how the ladies are doing.”

“Ladies?” said Jeremy.

“Aye, Yankee. Grab my bag, will you?” With that, he hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut.

“Grab my bag,” Jeremy mimicked, but rolled his eyes and did as he was told, almost falling over as he dismounted from the cab. Dumb trucks and dumb heavy bags.

Next to the barn, Colin was hailed by a ruddy, portly, bald, and bearded middle-aged man, who took Colin by the hand and thumped him on the back, saying, “Good to see you, lad!”

“Getting on, Mr. MacArthur?” Colin said, offering a toothy grin.

“Well enough, well enough. Enjoyed that bit of sunshine the other day.” Mr. MacArthur cast an appraising look on Jeremy, who wondered if he ever stopped smiling. “And who’s this?”

“Oh, my assistant,” said Colin, his tone far too off-handed for Jeremy’s liking. “Jeremy, this is George MacArthur.”

“Pleased,” said Mr. MacArthur, grasping Jeremy by the hand and pumping it enthusiastically.

“Likewise,” Jeremy gasped, unable to think past the searing pain in his right hand. The man shook like he smiled — with vigor.

“Hang on.” Mr. MacArthur dropped his hand and took an appreciative step back. “You’re that new American boy, come over here with your mum.”

“Ah, yes,” said Jeremy, unable to gauge his tone.

“I’ve taken him under my wing,” Colin announced, clapping a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, causing his eyes to water and his feet to sink half an inch into the mud. At this rate, his entire body was going to be black and blue. “Apprentice-like.”

“Well, welcome to Scotland,” said Mr. MacArthur. “This one won’t steer you wrong — just don’t challenge him to a drinking contest.” He winked.

Colin laughed and headed for the entrance to the barn. “Trust me, Mr. MacArthur, he wouldn’t dream of it!”

Jeremy followed him into the enormous space, an open floor intercut by stone slabs and wooden barriers that created stalls along both sides of the barn. The ground was covered in mud and hay, and a fuzzy warmth permeated the air.

Jeremy caught the distinct scent of animal — salty heat — mixed with the sharp tang of cow dung. Most of the stalls that he could see were empty, but then he heard a familiar bellow, and he followed Colin to a large, penned-in area. They crossed over a threshold, and Jeremy blinked at the animals before him. Three cows, and the three smaller cows standing by their sides, looked back at him, swishing their tails.

“Afternoon, my beauties!” Colin said, going up to the nearest cow and rubbing her nose. “We’re looking well today.”

Jeremy put down the bag, carefully avoiding a fresh, steaming pile of dung. “Aren’t these the same cows that you were complaining about just a few minutes ago?”

“Never, my pet,” Colin cooed at one of the calves, patting him on the head. “Don’t listen to him.” The calf mooed in reply.

Jeremy smirked and leaned against the wall. “I believe you compared them to cats?”

“The bad man lies,” Colin stage-whispered to the calf. He was gently patting and pressing down the neck and body of one of the mothers, his hands taking gauges and measurements that Jeremy didn’t know and couldn’t identify. Although, Jeremy had to admit, these cows are very cute.

“What is it you’re checking for?” Jeremy asked. “Are they sick?”

“Nah.” Colin ruffled a calf’s head before moving on to the next mother. “But these ladies were the last ones to deliver this past calving, and they’ve got to have their routine check-up. And,” he added, pointing to two of the calves, “this one cut himself on the barbed wire, and the other’s got a hot-spot. Got to check that neither is infected, and don’t want to risk stressing the mother.”

Jeremy frowned. “What do you mean, stressing the mother?”

Colin, now checking the last cow, said, “They’re still bonded at this age, still drinking milk. If we take the calf from the cow, it stresses her out, so when we do check-ups, we do them both at the same time. Last thing we need is a cow in a panic, eh, poppet?” He patted the cow and dropped to his knees to inspect her calf.

Jeremy looked away. It was much easier to think of Colin as an asshole if he didn’t see Colin doing this, gazing at something with such open affection and concern.

Once his preliminary examinations were done, Colin moved quickly, methodically, with an efficiency that was impressive and yet not lacking in sincerity. Jeremy played the dutiful assistant, handing Colin his instruments — stethoscope, gloves, various creams — as he needed them, and stood, quite comfortably, on the sidelines, until—

“Yankee.” Colin was kneeling by the third calf, the one with the hot-spot. “Come here.”

Jeremy blinked. “What?”

“I need you to keep ahold of his harness.” Colin stood up, jar of cream in one hand and scissors in the other. “His hot-spot is under his right shoulder, and he keeps trying to bite me whenever I get close. Stay by his head, keep a firm grip, and distract him while I get the cream on.”

“Distract him?” Jeremy repeated, his voice going higher than usual. “With what?”

Colin shrugged. “Your nonexistent sense of humor? Come on, it won’t be difficult.”

“You say that now, but what about later, when I’ve got a chunk of my arm missing?”

Colin did the sigh-through-his-nose thing again. “Are you always so dramatic? Buck up, this is literally the easiest task I could give you.”

“Literally?” Jeremy mimicked, but went over to the calf just the same. “Careful, you’re starting to talk like me.”

“Over my dead body.” Colin was smirking as he knelt by the calf, pointing to a part of the harness. “Hold him there, and keep a firm grip. He’ll toss his head about a bit, but keep looking at him and keep talking.”

“All right.” With an admitted degree of hesitation, Jeremy reached out and took the harness in hand. The skin beneath it was warm and fuzzy with new hair, and the calf blinked up at him with dark eyes.

“That’s it,” Colin said, ducking down and getting to work.

Jeremy felt the calf tense up and try to turn its head, so he held firm and started to talk. “You know, you look just like one of Jo’s old vintage coats. I’m not trying to be rude, but the resemblance is uncanny, and she really loved that coat.” The calf had stopped moving, and was staring at him. “The last time she wore it was to a Lady Gaga concert, and I know you don’t know who that is, but…”

On and on he went, almost on autopilot, while Colin worked away. Some minutes later, Colin finally stood up and nodded. “Let him go.”

Jeremy let out a sigh of relief — his knees were starting to ache from squatting — and did so. The calf immediately stepped away and turned its head, trying to see what Colin had done, and bleating when it couldn’t.

“Little terror,” said Colin, rubbing the calf’s head with his clean hand. Jeremy noticed a small pile of the calf’s hair on the ground, which Colin scooped up before turning to Jeremy, who looked at him with some surprise. Colin’s face was closed-off, and he wasn’t smiling. “Come on, Yankee.”

They exited the pen and headed for the door, Jeremy wondering why Colin was suddenly so grumpy. Didn’t I do a good job with the calf?

Colin tossed the hair and his gloves into a large trash can by the exit, turned to a large metal sink that Jeremy hadn’t noticed before, and rinsed off his hands. “You’ll want to wash, as well,” he said. “Just in case.”

Jeremy obeyed, putting down Colin’s bag to do so. The water was cold and his fingers quickly froze. There weren’t any towels, so he made do by rubbing his hands on his jeans before shoving them in his pockets with a shiver.

Colin, who had shouldered his bag and was doing something on his phone — which, up until this point, Jeremy hadn’t known to exist — barely glanced at him before heading out into the yard. Jeremy followed with a frown.

“What’s next?”

“Gonna take a quick stroll around the pasture.”

Colin led the way, turning to the nearest gate and taking Jeremy through into the field beyond. The drizzle had developed into a steady light rain, and both of the boys zipped up their windbreakers in response.

The field itself was massive — Jeremy was realizing that the MacArthurs were big fry as far as farming was concerned — and the cows were scattered throughout, some of them standing in clusters and others wandering alone. There had to be several hundred in this field, at the very least, and Jeremy wondered if Colin was really going to walk through and check each one individually. Underneath his feet, the grass was springy and wet, kicking up a lively scent that was almost enough to distract from the overwhelming odor of cow dung. In front of him, Colin was walking at a steady pace, heading for the largest group of cows. Jeremy reminded himself not to look at his ass.

A few half-hearted bellows greeted them as they approached, and Jeremy hung back while Colin made his way through the herd, chatting to them as he checked them over. He was focused, intent, leaving Jeremy to his thoughts.

Time passed, rain fell, and Jeremy got a little bit colder. He found himself leaning against the fence and staring off at the nearby woods, the endless trees and their rolling, billowing leaves. Green is the most infinite color, he thought, and wiped at his glasses.

“Ready?” came Colin’s voice, and Jeremy turned to see him waiting. The ends of Colin’s hair peeked out from underneath his hood, curling wet and dark red in the damp. Jeremy gave a brief thought to the state of his own hair and fought a wave of panic.

“Sure,” he said, and off they went.

The next — and last — farm on Colin’s agenda was another twenty minutes away. Jeremy made the mistake of checking his hair in the truck’s rear view mirror and swore loudly.

That got a smile out of Colin, though he kept his eyes on the road. “What’s wrong, Yankee?”

“I look like an old shoe brush.”

Colin flashed him a smirk. “Only on days ending in -y.”

Once they got to the farm, Jeremy found himself beset by a small herd of—

“Sheep,” he said, intelligently.

Colin nodded. “Well spotted.”

The sheep were friendly, perhaps too much so.

“They think you have food,” Colin said. A lamb approached him, bleating, then, without warning, jumped up. Colin caught the lamb and tucked it under his arm.

“You don’t say,” said Jeremy. The sheep were pressing in towards him, nudging his pockets and his hands with their muzzles. “They’re very greedy, for fluffy animals.”

“Fluffiness does not preclude greediness.” Colin patted the lamb.

“Preclude? That’s a fancy word for a farm boy,” Jeremy needled.

Colin scowled at him, then turned around and headed for the barn. They were out in the middle of the field, and the farm’s owner was nowhere in sight. Jeremy wasn’t sure what to do, but there was a sheep chewing on his windbreaker, so he hitched the backpack further up his shoulders and decided to follow Colin.

The barn was warm and dark, clearly older than the one at the last farm. Jeremy blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness, and pulled down his hood. Colin was about ten feet away from him, standing by what looked like a rusty pile of metal, talking to a tall woman with long brown hair done up in an intricate braided crown. Her gaze, at once wary and calculating, darted to Jeremy, and Colin broke off mid-sentence.

“Ah, right,” said Colin. “This is Jeremy, my extra pair of hands. Jeremy, this is Irene.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Jeremy, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm and assertive, and she met his gaze with clear blue eyes.

“Likewise,” said Irene. Jeremy couldn’t help admiring her outfit, which he could only describe as Scottish-chic — dark, fitted jeans, knee-high boots, a long-sleeved tartan shirt, and a heather-green quilted vest. The difference between her and Mr. MacArthur was night and day.

“Irene inherited the farm from her uncle about a year ago,” said Colin. “I’ve been helping her get it all fixed up and running.”

“Oh,” said Jeremy, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Did you meet the sheep?” Irene asked him.

“Yes, they’re very friendly.” Jeremy held up the corner of his windbreaker, which was streaked with greenish saliva.

Irene gave him an almost-smile. “What hospitality.” She turned back to Colin. “I believe that’s everything. See you next week?”

Colin nodded. “Aye, take care.”

“You as well.” She gave the lamb — which was still under Colin’s arm — a rub on the head before walking away, leaving in the opposite direction. Her footsteps echoed in the empty barn, and she faded into a vague silhouette, disappearing into the bright light radiating from the far entrance.

Colin looked at Jeremy and raised an eyebrow. “Ready for a bit of leg work?”

‘Leg work’ turned out to mean strolling the perimeter and seeing where the fence was falling apart or completely broken.

“How does this count as vet duties?” Jeremy wanted to know. He had already taken Colin’s toolkit out of the backpack and was watching as he hammered a loose plank back into place.

“It doesn’t,” Colin grunted, giving the plank a tug to make sure it stayed. “Apart from checking on the animals, I’m sort of a handyman-for-hire. I do odd jobs, and Irene needs all the help she can get.”

They moved on. The lamb, which Colin had long since put down, was following them at a close distance, snacking on the grass and bleating in turn. It did the latter as Colin knelt to inspect a loose strand of barbed wire, and he grinned and said, “Shut up.”

The lamb ignored him and continued to bleat.

“Does he have a name?” Jeremy said.

Colin shook his head and went about reattaching the wire.

“I’ll name him, then.” Jeremy looked at the lamb, and the lamb looked back at him. The lamb’s eyes were a deep black, and his tongue flashed pink as he let out another bleat. “Reginald,” said Jeremy, and the lamb blinked at him.

Colin let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re not naming him after Elton John?”

“And I think it’s gonna be a long long time ’til touchdown brings me ’round again to fly,” Jeremy belted out, startling several sheep. He spun on the spot and finished, “I’m not the man they think I am at home, no, no, no, no!”

“I’m a rocketmaaaaan,” sang Colin, his voice rich and strong. He shook his head again. “Your singing hasn’t improved.”

“That’s not how the song goes,” Jeremy wheedled.

Colin looked up at him, a grin flickering across his face. “You’re mad.”

Jeremy grinned back. “So are you.” He turned to the field beyond the fence, spread his arms wide, and sang as loud as he could: “Rocketman… Burning out his fuse up here alone!”

Behind him, he heard Colin begin to laugh, and he felt his stomach swell with warmth.

Well, he thought, maybe I can put up with a crush if it means having a friend.

----------------------------------------

“So what’s her deal, then?” said Jeremy.

Colin frowned, swallowed his mouthful of tea. “Huh?”

They were sitting in the truck’s cab, parked somewhere along the western shore of the island at the top of a medium-sized cliff. The land around them was deserted; Colin had pulled off the main road and followed a dirt track through a brief patch of forest, and then, suddenly, there was the ocean, and they were right on top of it. Jeremy had a feeling that this was a private spot of Colin’s, and tried not to feel too pleased that he was granted such privileged access.

Rain fell around them in a steady patter, accompanied by the dulcet tones of Radio 4 from the truck’s old but functional stereo. The Thermos of tea was half-empty, and steadily warming Jeremy from the inside-out. This was helpful, since, despite the fact that he and Colin were fairly wet, Colin had yet to turn on the heat in the truck, and Jeremy wasn’t about to ask.

“Irene,” said Jeremy. “She seems a bit, I dunno.”

“Right.” Colin fell back into his brooding stare, gaze fixed on the steady horizon. He passed the Thermos back to Jeremy, who took another swig. “She’s a bit of a loner. Her family is one of the bigger ones on the island, but very exclusive, and quite wealthy. They’ve been in the wool and lamb trade for God knows how long, probably since the beginning of time.”

Jeremy felt a funny quiver in his stomach. “Oh. That’s why you didn’t name the lamb.”

Colin gave a slow nod and fidgeted.

“Wait.” Now it was Jeremy’s turn to frown. “If they’re rich, why’s her farm falling apart?”

Colin let out a sigh and fidgeted again. “Irene’s uncle was sort of the black sheep of the family, at least of his generation. She’s much the same way; she left the island as soon as she could, and I don’t think she would’ve come back if he hadn’t given her that farm. He didn’t have much money, so he’s the one who struggled with maintaining it,” Colin added. “He was ill, for a long time too, but he did his best.”

“Wow.” Jeremy let that sink in for a minute. He pictured growing old and weak in that warm barn and shivered involuntarily. “That’s… very sad.”

“Yeah,” said Colin, but his voice sounded far away. He was looking at the horizon like he was waiting for it to crack open.