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

slumps forward to rest on his forearm. A few seconds later, his breathing breaks into a guttural snore. Moira laughs and pulls his hood up, tucking his ears beneath.

In my drunken haze, The Locker takes on an almost reverential quality. Touching something my father has touched, listening to anecdotes about him … I don’t know. It feels fleeting and complicated, not least because of Moira’s admiration of him despite his overfamiliarity with booze.

My stomach swills like I’ve swallowed a goldfish. Now’s the time. I’ve got to tell her before the alcohol wears off and my rational brain kicks in.

‘I’ve got something I need to tell you,’ I say, wiping my palms on my trousers.

‘So have I,’ says Moira. She leans towards Kian, listens for a snore, then turns to face me. ‘Can I go first, because I’ve been dying to talk to someone about it and I know we’ve only just met each other, but I think I might actually, literally pop if I don’t get it out of my stupid head.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I say, my heart rate picking up.

Moira drops her voice to a strained whisper. ‘I like Kian. And I’ve been putting off saying anything for ages, because I knew you were here at the farm, and, well … I get a sense that he’s quite impressed by you and I’m honestly terrible at reading people, so I don’t know if you like him, or if you’re gonna be mad at me or anything, because …’

‘Woah, woah, woah, woah. No. Nope. Absolutely not.’ I nearly smack her hands down in an attempt to physically emphasise how very uninterested in Kian I am. ‘What I mean is, I don’t fancy Kian in any way, shape, or form. Not at all. It’s a very firm no in that respect,’ I say. I glance at Kian, whose forearm is splayed across the table, his fingers an inch or two from his empty glass. ‘I’ve got no idea why you’d think he’s “impressed” by me.’

Moira breaks eye contact. ‘Well, you’re from London …’

‘So are, like, nine million other people,’ I say, laughing.

‘Yeah, but you’re … cosmopolitan. He moved to Edinburgh. I stayed here. He always ribs me for it.’

‘I doubt he means it that way.’

‘I know, it’s just … He was so keen to be shot of Kilroch. I’ve never left. He wouldn’t be here if he had a choice.’

‘If he hated Kilroch that much, he would have sold the farm and not come back, bull kick or no bull kick. He’s trying to make it work. I don’t know him half as well as you, but it doesn’t sound like he’s going anywhere.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Mmhmm. Do you want some water?’ I say, my head starting to throb.

‘Please.’

I sit back down, my chair scraping on the tiles. Kian snuffles, his lips smacking together like he’s chewing something in his sleep.

‘Is he the reason you want to stay?’ I ask. Moira glugs down an entire pint of water and wipes her mouth with her sleeve. She nods. ‘I really like him. I mean, I really, really like him. Have done for ages.’

‘I think I’m getting a sense of that.’

‘You don’t think it’s weird?’ says Moira.

‘No,’ I say. We both look at him. ‘Apart from the fact that he appears to be sleeping with one eye open, he’s nice.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’ she says with a sigh. ‘But we grew up together. I don’t know how he sees me. There was this one summer – after my Highers – we snogged at his cousin Jim’s twenty-first, but he never said a word about it afterwards. He might not remember. I was a late bloomer, but I’ve got proper boobs now. Too much boob if anything. I don’t feel like they fit my body. If I grew three or four inches, I’d—’

‘Moira. You’re over-thinking it. Have you given him any sign that you’re keen?’

‘Yeah! I do all the time. I’m always offering to help out. I try to be … available, you know? I don’t need to force myself to laugh at his jokes, because I think he’s genuinely hilarious. And brave. One time, he wrestled a badger that was stuck in the sheep dip and it was exactly like that scene from The Revenant. The one with Leonardo DiCaprio and the bear.’

I laugh, but Moira is slack-jawed with awe. ‘A badger?’ I say. ‘Like, a Hufflepuff badger? The house known for being a bit soft?’

‘They’re the largest predators in the UK. Teeth that can crack a conker in half!’ Moira retorts. ‘I wouldn’t call that unimpressive.’

‘Look, I’m far from being an expert on romance. The last Valentine’s Day card I got was the result of an office prank and the one before that was from my mum.’

‘That’s quite sad.’

‘Yes, I know.’

I have a strong desire to make cheese on toast, but as far as I can tell the farmhouse isn’t equipped with a grill. How have these people survived for so long?

‘What should I do?’ says Moira, biting a hangnail.

‘Sow the seeds. Be a bit coy. Big eyes and all that. Maybe it’s not a case of being there all the time but making him notice when you are. In a subtle way.’

‘Eurgh, this is hopeless,’ says Moira. She blows her fringe out of her eyes and rubs her forehead as though a hangover has already kicked in.

Outside, the wind howls, pushing through a draught that slams a door upstairs. Kian starts, blinking with bloodshot eyes and a grunt. ‘I’m so glad market is on a Sunday this week,’ he groans.

‘What are you on about?’ says Moira, scraping back her chair. She shuffles to the sink, fills a glass with water, and pushes it in front of him.

‘The farmers’ market. It’s on Sunday,’ he says.

‘No, it’s tomorrow, like always.’

‘I thought … because of the cattle convention over in Dingwall. Mad Steve said—’

‘You took Mad Steve’s word as law? The man who claims he time travelled through a stone circle to see Hendrix performing