The Sister Surprise by Abigail Mann (read full novel TXT) 📗

‘Nah, I didn’t want to wake you up early.’

‘Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I set my alarm for six. I really thought you hadn’t started yet, or I would have come and found you.’

‘Pfff, can’t remember what it feels like to sleep past half four.’

‘That sounds … quite inhumane,’ I say, no longer wondering at the dark circles underneath his eyes.

‘Don’t I know it. Come find me in the barn when you’re ready,’ says Kian, holding his hands over the Aga before pulling gloves back on.

‘I’m ready now.’

Kian bites his lip and tucks his tracksuit bottoms into a pair of thick socks. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind getting that mucky?’ he says, gesturing to the fluorescent orange and pink Pac-a-mac I borrowed off Mum.

‘Yeah, it’s fine. This is old anyway.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

***

I bow my head into the wind as I head towards the open barn door, where light leaks into the darkness of the yard. It looks every bit like the setting for a murder.

The sound of a ripcord engine stutters into life and trips through the air. Inside the barn, Kian is kicking dried clods of mud from the underside of a quad bike chassis, an oily rag flung over his shoulder.

When he sees me, he brushes straw from the bottom of a Thermos and hands it over, drinking from his own with a dopey smile on his face. I sniff the air.

‘Hey, how come you get coffee and I get peppermint tea?’ I say.

‘Call me a caffeine martyr. At least one of us needs to be alert when we get on these things, but we needn’t both endure a triple espresso to get outside in the mornings. It’s a slippery slope, Ava, and it ends with migraines and unpredictable bowel movements.’

‘Wow. Say no more.’

‘Sorry. Blame the guys down the cattle market. A bad influence, the lot of them,’ he says, grinning.

‘Is that a pub?’

‘Ha! No. It’s literally a market where we sell cattle. And a bunch of other things, but largely they fall within the big three: trotters, testicles, and tractor parts. The testicles are attached to the animal. The rams, bulls, cockerels, you know? They’re breeders. We rent them out.’

‘Like farmyard gigolos?’

‘Essentially, yes.’

I draw a semi-circle in the muck with the toe of my trainer. ‘I’ll have to go out later to meet some of the others who live round here,’ I say, my heart quickening at the thought.

‘Yeah, if you like. There’s an egg delivery later in the week. Ross is on the list,’ says Kian, giving me a nudge with his elbow.

A smile tickles my mouth, but I bite my cheek to keep it down. ‘Notable customer, is he?’ I ask, folding my arms. I must remain professional, because for all intents and purposes, I’m still working, even if the majority of my new colleagues have trotters and defecate in the same trough they eat from.

‘Oh, aye. Extremely notable, especially amongst female members of the community.’

I squat and pretend to examine the overlapping tubes and wires that feed into the bike. ‘What’s the crowd like in Kilroch?’ I ask.

‘Mostly older. Some young families. Then there’s a big gap. There’s not a huge amount in the way of opportunities for people our age. I’ve got a couple of mates who come back for the odd weekend and a family friend who lives close by. She’s sweet.’

‘It’ll be nice to get a sense of the place.’

‘I’ll get you in the thick of it, don’t you worry. They all know about you, mind.’

I fiddle with a length of straw and try to appear aloof. ‘How come?’

‘You heard of Belisha beacons? A big fire on a pole, lit to pass warnings through the Highlands quicker than a man on a horse with a scroll or whatever they wrote on back then. It’s the same concept now, except she’s called Donna and is a fifty-five-year-old woman who spends most of her time commenting on who’s left their curtains closed past seven o’clock on a weekday. It’s partly why we don’t have a constable here, there’s nothing that gets past our Donna.’

I pull myself up and knock back my tea, which pools in my belly, warm and sweet. This farming business isn’t so bad. So far, the quantity of tea breaks is spot on.

‘You ready?’ says Kian, his voice strained, mid-stretch.

‘For what?’

Kian twists the key to the quad bike. The ignition putters out twice before ticking over into a steady grumble. The smell of fuel fills the barn. Just when he allows himself to look smug, the engine cuts out again.

‘Ah, shit,’ says Kian.

‘Has it maybe … got enough fuel?’

‘Aye, a full tank.’

Well. There goes my short-lived contribution. Kian reties the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms and kicks the chassis a few times, throwing me a frog-like smile when the engine jumps into life.

‘You played Mario Kart before?’ says Kian, rubbing his hands down the front of his chest.

‘Yeah, sure. This is basically the same, right?’ I reply, swinging my leg over the seat.

‘No, it’s the opposite. When you want to speed up, be really careful. The throttle is loose. I smacked my chin on the handlebars testing it out last week.’

‘Maybe if I ran alongside you instead?’ I suggest, as Kian wheels his own quad bike out from behind the hay stack.

‘You’ll be fine. Just follow me and don’t do anything drastic,’ he says. ‘This is the quickest way to get round the farm. Or you can get on the back of mine? Be warned though, you’ll get the splashback when we go through a puddle.’

I lower myself back down onto the seat and twist the key until the engine jumps to life beneath me, sending jolts up my arms that ricochet to the back of my skull until my eyes feel loose in their sockets. Kian pulls up alongside and nods.

‘Let’s do this.’

Chapter 12

By the time I reach a speed I’m comfortable with, my sore knuckles are white from hovering