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

shell. I have a strong desire to perform an aggressive dance behind her; one that involves an excess of middle fingers and a silent scream. Imagining it will have to suffice.

‘There are sixty-three,’ she says, throwing me a look that suggests I fell predictably short of her expectations.

‘Oh.’

‘So I’ll have the missing egg by eight o’clock tomorrow.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You’ll bring me the missing egg by eight o’clock in the morning.’

‘Eight o’clock?’

‘Aye.’

‘I could run to the shop next door and get one for you.’

‘No, I only use Bantam eggs for my cakes. I like Gillian, but her hens are no’ up to scratch. Like I said, I’ll have the missing egg by tomorrow morning.’

‘Not a problem,’ I say as sweetly as possible. I glance towards the door. There are no prams blocking the aisle. Jacqui’s hasn’t got a weapon within reach (unless you count a spatula). Escape route clear. I sidle along the bench towards the doorway.

‘Where did you say you were from, Ava?’

She’s using my name! A small success. I cough to clear my throat.

‘London.’

Jacqui rolls her eyes. ‘I may have lived in a village my whole life, but I know that London is made up of boroughs.’

‘Oh, right. south London. Dulwich.’

I’ve panicked. I could have made up something. It’s her strangely pervasive, low-key aggression making me feel on edge. Admitting where Mum and I live was definitely on my list of no-go talking points.

‘And you’re up here to help on Braehead Farm because …?’

‘I wanted to get outdoors. A break from work. Well, the kind of work I did, anyway. Computer stuff. This work makes my body hurt.’

Jacqui clearly doesn’t care about my answer because she doesn’t comment on it.

‘I ask because people don’t often come here without a reason. We’re not the Isle of Skye, and we don’t have the tourist appeal of Orkney. Folk come here for specific reasons.’

I don’t reply. I can’t tell if this is just Jacqui being Jacqui (well, how she is with me anyway), or if she’s trying to suss me out. I need to leave now, before I’m clobbered to death with a marble rolling pin.

‘OK, I’ll be off now,’ I say in a sing-song voice, scooping my hat from the side.

‘Hmm. Oh, and don’t bother yourself bringing any more tins down from Ross,’ says Jacqui, smoothing down her apron. ‘I’ll fetch them myself.’

Chapter 16

Date: Friday 11th October

Location: Beneath a duvet in Kilroch, Scotland

Cups of tea: Six

Sleep: 5 hours and 37 minutes

If you’re still not sure where Kilroch is by now, switch on the weather forecast and look north to where the land mass is covered in a deep blue, swirling cloud of rain. We’re beneath that.

So, how is life on a farm with a herd of sheep and villainous chickens going? Has it sufficiently pushed all thoughts of That Live Stream out of my head? Thereabouts, is the short answer. At this point, it feels like a fever dream.

Farm life is better than expected in some respects, worse in others. After a week, I can balance a tray of eggs on one hand. Mildly impressive. The cold I could do without. There’s still no sign of Moira, although in theory I could have walked past her a dozen times already. Is she the woman who takes her pet weasel for a walk every morning? Is she the heavy-handed chippie cashier who pours so much vinegar on your dinner it’s like she’s trying to turn it into soup? The search continues. Next stage: take a wellie boot round and ask all women in their twenties to try it on, Cinderella style.

It’s taken three days for my usual desk hunch to make way for a deep-set muscle ache. I’ve never twisted, lifted, dragged, or shivered so much in such a short space of time. At this point, I’d struggle to pick up a bag of rice without wincing. I rub my shoulders, crane over the steering wheel, and try to spot Kian on the high street. Where the hell is he? A woman I now know as ‘Jenny the Wink’ walks in front of the car and waves at me for a third time, but I’ve slipped so far down the seat I’m practically in the footwell. I smile back like a frog being squeezed in someone’s fist. I know I need to ramp up my search for Moira, but seeing as my time away from the farm has thus far been segmented into tasks, I’m not sure how to start digging whilst staying semi-covert.

I yawn so widely my jaw aches. Today, I was late getting out to feed the pigs and lost favour with the sows. Bertha took it incredibly personally. When I eventually appeared with a bucket of feed and vegetable peelings, she charged me down, teeth bared, screaming like a possessed toddler. In her haste to eat, she bit through my wellie boot and now it leaks. My toes look like dried apricots.

The Jeep’s side door clicks open and Kian swings into the front seat, wedging a clunky clip-lock case between his feet.

‘Where have you been? I’ve got repetitive strain injury from waving at the entire population of this village. Look. Here she is again.’ I raise my hand as Jenny the Wink passes back the other way. ‘What is she doing, buying her weekly shop one item at a time?’

‘I think she might just be lonely.’

‘Oh,’ I say, annoyed. ‘I feel bad now.’

‘Nah, only joking. She’s a right busybody, Jenny. I don’t think that twitch of hers is genuine either. Claims she got struck by lightning, but between you and me I think it’s a ploy to keep her disability benefits.’

‘Bet she’s lethal in a game of wink murder.’

‘Can’t move for the bodies.’ Kian laughs and shakes his head.

The car lurches as I put it into first gear and we both rock forwards like we’re mounted on an unruly horse. Despite the potholes and temperamental clutch, driving here is a dream. Unlike London, no one tries to blindly cross