500 Miles from You Read online

  Can I help you? she typed rather stiffly.

  Can you hear anything in the garden?

  What? Why, what is it? Is someone out there??

  No. Yes. No.

  Slightly fearful, Lissa jumped up. Was it the Blaine family? Were they going to come around, torch the place or something? She stared out into the garden. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear a rustle. A definite rustle. Her heart started pumping at a gallop.

  Do I need to call 999?

  Cormac stared at the computer in disbelief, starting to laugh.

  God no. DON’T!!! It’s Neddie. I forgot he comes about this time and I meant to tell you and if you don’t feed him he might leave.

  ?????

  In the spring. When he wakes up.

  ????

  He’s a hedgehog.

  A HEDGEHOG??????

  Yes.

  YOU GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK FOR A FRICKING HEDGEHOG??!!!!!

  He’s a very nice hedgehog.

  I DON’T WANT A FRICKING HEDGEHOG!!!!!!

  I’m not asking you to adopt him. Could you leave a saucer out for him? Water and honey. Not milk, that’s a myth.

  You want me to get up right now, go out in the pitch dark and freezing cold, and leave honey for a hedgehog.

  Is that okay? Only if he doesn’t find it, he’ll go elsewhere and he’ll get killed on the road or something.

  Lissa looked outside again but couldn’t see a thing. There was some rustling. Oh crap, she was going to have to go outside, otherwise she’d be a hedgehog murderer as well as a “bad nurse.” She rolled her eyes and went downstairs, squeezed some Huckle honey and water into a little saucer.

  THE WORLD OUTSIDE was extraordinary. No cars passed at this time on the little road; there was no light to be seen anywhere except the dim kitchen lamp in the cottage. A bright, almost full moon shone overhead, making everything bright and clear; the stream rippled, full of gold and silver, and the heavy scent of the bluebells settled over everything. The grass was wet and cold beneath her feet; it needed cutting, but she didn’t mind. She stepped forward carefully into the enchanted midnight garden, not a soul in sight, waited for her eyes to adjust, then knelt down.

  She padded as quietly as she could over to the rustling bush, then took out her phone and turned on the flashlight. And there it was! A tiny flash of two bright eyes, then in a blink the little creature was in a fierce ball.

  “It’s all right,” she crooned. “It’s okay.”

  She turned the flashlight off immediately; she didn’t want to scare it.

  “Here.”

  She put the saucer down, the moon reflecting straight into the clear ice-cool water, then retreated quietly and knelt down by the back door, absolutely freezing, to watch.

  After what felt like a long time, when she could see perfectly well all the outlines of the bushes and the trees, the rustling started up again, and she saw the little shape scamper on tiny feet over to the bowl. It was so cute she nearly exclaimed, wanted desperately to take a photo but knew she couldn’t.

  Instead she simply sat and watched, feeling incredibly privileged as the tiny thing lapped at the saucer happily; she felt as if royalty had come to tea, as if the universe had bestowed upon her a great secret gift.

  EUPHORICALLY, SHE STAYED still until he had had his fill, refilled the saucer, then headed back up to bed, chilled but triumphant.

  He’s here!!!

  Great!!!!

  Why is he called Ned?

  All hedgehogs are called Ned! Neddie Needles!

  His full name is Neddie Needles???

  That’s what’s on his birth certificate.

  I’ve seen worse.

  So have I.

  How do you know it’s the same hedgehog?

  I put a splodge of paint on his bristles, did you see it?

  Isn’t that cruel?

  It’s a very tiny splodge. Right, I’m going to bed, you can report me to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Paint-Based Hedgehog Cruelty.

  There was a pause.

  Sorry for being hard on you about Cameron. I’d had a tough day, Cormac typed eventually.

  No, you were right. I just wasn’t expecting it. I bought him a book!

  Have you been hanging out with Nina Lennox?

  Might have.

  She thinks that’s the answer to everything.

  Maybe it is.

  If he can read.

  I’ll pop back in.

  Cheers.

  Well, good night.

  Good night.

  And then a short time later:

  Part III

  Chapter 40

  Neddie was gone the next day, but Lissa refilled his saucer anyway. She’d have liked to have taken a picture. On the other hand, she had a drawing. She pushed on through the garden and out into the field behind the house.

  Lissa found herself wandering through the waist-high meadowsweet grass, breathing it in. When it wasn’t absolutely hosing, there was no doubt the landscape was completely ridiculous. She supposed the rain was what made the green so vivid as to be luminous and the clumps of wildflowers—and nettles, as she discovered when wandering off trail and being glad she hadn’t gone the whole hog and opted for shorts—so vibrant and full, the bees dancing among the tall purple flowers.

  She found a stream rippling through the woods past the bluebells and, worrying slightly as to whether she’d be poisoned (she checked for sheep pooing in it: there didn’t seem to be many nearby), finally filled her water bottle—the sun was warm on her back—and took a long pull.

  The freezing bright freshness of it made her gasp; she could feel it coursing down her throat, so pure and clean and bracing she felt her eyes dazzle with it. As she straightened up, almost drunk on the frozen light, she found herself face-to-face with a huge stag at the opposite end of the clearing.

  She blinked and stretched out her phone to take a picture, almost as if it wasn’t real until she did . . . but as soon as she moved her arm, to her great regret, it turned and bounded, crackling through the bracken, the speed of it astonishing until it was gone and she felt like she’d dreamed it.

  She carried on, walking almost without direction, off past the village and onto a long road overshadowed with trees. It was farther than it looked, and she realized quickly that she was out of condition. She’d just been sitting, she thought. Sitting, and fretting, and obsessing, and fiddling with her phone, just to put off . . . well, everything. Looking at pictures of other people’s parties. It had been a distraction, but it hadn’t helped. Anita was right. Coming off it was the best thing she’d done.

  SHE HIT THE roadway eventually and was about to turn back, when she saw trundling toward her a pale blue van and recognized Zoe, the woman with all the children, driving it, although she was alone for once. She waved, and Zoe immediately pulled over.

  “Hello! Want a lift?”

  Lissa almost smiled: it felt as if the universe had answered her so quickly. “Um, yes, please. Are you heading to the village?”

  “Nina needs to do the banking. Hop in!”

  “It’s weird to see you by yourself.”

  “I know! Having both hands to myself is very strange.”

  Lissa pulled herself up into the van’s tall carriage. Zoe passed her a bag of tablet.

  “What is this stuff?”

  “Keeps your energy levels up.”

  It was a hard, sugary fudge that, once you got over the insane pitch of sweetness, was incredibly delicious.

  “Oh goodness,” said Lissa.

  “I know,” said Zoe. “Shackleton made it. Then I confiscated it in case they all get diabetes.”

  Lissa looked at the bag.

  “Yes, please eat more,” said Zoe. “Seriously, it’s going to kill me. It’s going to kill us all.”

  “We should have one more piece each then hurl the rest out of the window,” said Lissa bravely.

  “You’d kill the first bird that found it,” said Zoe mournf
ully. “Stone dead. Nobody’s body can absorb that much sugar without consequences.”

  They both looked at the bag again.

  “Perhaps if we just finished it and got it out of the way, we wouldn’t have to think about it again,” said Zoe.

  “We could keep some for Nina.”

  “She can’t have it. It would kill John if he got it through her breast milk.”

  Giggling mightily, they put the absolutely delicious vanilla-flavored lumps of tablet in their mouths to happily dissolve as the van trundled down the country road, not another car in sight, the sun streaming through the van’s open windows, the radio playing a jolly song with fiddles and lyrics Lissa couldn’t make out.

  Nina was pleased to see them as they rounded the farmyard.

  “Watch out for that chicken,” said Zoe to Lissa as she stepped down. A particularly beady-eyed specimen was lurking, stepping from side to side in a corner of the farmyard. “She’s a total nightmare.”

  Lissa looked at the chicken, who glanced back at her, then directed her gaze straight back to Zoe. It was almost as if she was looking at Zoe specifically, in a threatening fashion, but that couldn’t possibly be true.

  Anyway, Nina was sitting cheerfully on the steps of the book bus and waved them over. “Kettle’s just boiled.”

  “Where’s John?”

  “Out with Lennox,” said Nina, rolling her eyes but looking proud at the same time. Her bonny boy and his dad were rarely parted. “Have a good morning?”

  “Yes!” said Zoe. “Those cuddly Nessies are flying off the shelf.”

  Nina rolled her eyes again. The tension between her beautifully curated bookshop and Zoe’s more touristy shop—Zoe parked up at Loch Ness—was sometimes there, but it didn’t matter. They were both making a living, and now, sitting out in the cool shade of the beautiful farmhouse, with three huge mugs of tea, Lissa reveled in their chat, especially what it was like coming from an English city to such a remote part of the world.

  “My mum thought I was coming to the moon,” said Zoe. “And also that I would be kidnapped by my new employer.”

  Nina smiled in response. “At least you weren’t the first English girl ever to set foot here. The silence in Eck’s pub!”

  Zoe laughed.

  “I think Eck thought you were going to seduce Ramsay,” Nina continued.

  “Evil English temptress,” agreed Zoe.

  “So what do you think?” said Nina, turning to Lissa. “Are you going to stay for a bit?”

  “I can’t,” said Lissa. “It’s just a placement.”

  “Why did you choose here?” said Nina curiously. “I mean, I kind of got stuck . . .”

  Lissa shrugged. “The . . . I mean, this is where it came up. With Cormac.”

  “Good old Cormac,” said Nina. “I bet he’s having an absolute ball down there.”

  Lissa wondered what she meant by this but didn’t pursue it in case it meant, as she suspected, “getting lots of girls,” some of whom might even be her friends. She thought of her hedgehog picture and smiled, then dismissed it. He obviously did that for everyone.

  Instead she leaned forward. She was glad she was off the internet, but she did miss just having people to chat to. And she felt she ought to be a little brave. After all, they’d all made the move.

  “I . . . They kind of sent me here to . . .”

  The other girls went silent, sensing she had something to say.

  “I had a rough time in London,” Lissa confessed. “I was a witness to a hit-and-run and . . . it all got a bit much for me.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “So. I’m kind of supposedly on a quieter beat for a bit. The NHS equivalent of basket weaving.”

  She attempted to smile, but it didn’t quite work.

  Zoe leaned forward. “Was it awful?” she said gently.

  Lissa got that awful about-to-cry feeling again. She couldn’t speak, just nodded.

  Nina, who was next to her, patted her gently on the hand. “God, that must be awful. The worst that’s ever happened to me was a paper cut.”

  Lissa half smiled.

  “Is it helping?” said Zoe.

  “I wasn’t . . . I mean, I wasn’t, like, traumatized or anything. But I was stressed out and miserable, and coming here . . .”

  A flock of swallows lifted up from the far field across the road, in one great swarm. Lissa watched them go.

  “I think so.”

  “Hang on,” said Nina, standing up and going inside. She came back with a small book with a woman standing on the cover. “Here.”

  Lissa picked it up.

  “I got two copies by accident,” said Nina. “You can have it.”

  “The Accidental Tourist,” read Lissa. “What’s it about?”

  “Healing,” said Nina. “Best book ever written on the subject.”

  Lissa looked up at her, touched beyond measure. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh.” Her face changed. “Here they come!”

  Lennox was bouncing the baby on his shoulders, heading down from the fields for lunch. In the old days he’d have taken a lunch box and thrown a sandwich in his mouth in the barn. Now, he knew there was warm bread in the kitchen from the baker, good cheese, and ripe tomatoes, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Nina had bought some ironic ginger beer that they were both enjoying entirely unironically. Seeing they had company made him clam up slightly, as usual, but the girls talked enough for them all, as they sat out on the first clear warm day of the year, watching John try to crawl on the rug, as the chicken pecked sinisterly at the corner of the barn. Eventually Lissa headed off, clutching her book gift as if it were a treasure.

  “Oh,” said Lennox as she went. “Are you talking to Cormac at all?”

  Lissa flushed. “Um . . . only professionally, you know, patient notes and stuff.”

  Lennox wasn’t interested in that. “Tell him I need harvesters, I’m not kidding. Barn’s all set up. Ninety squillion lads in London, they can surely spare a few.”

  Lissa blinked, then nodded and carried on her way.

  Chapter 41

  Cormac headed out, taking Robbie his breakfast. To his surprise Robbie was sitting up, staring into the distance; normally he was unconscious at this time of day, and Cormac would leave the food near him.

  “Morning,” said Cormac.

  Robbie looked at him, and it wasn’t the usual unfocused look he had. The sun was out and could just be glimpsed behind the roundabout underpass. Robbie scratched his head. “Man,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” said Cormac.

  Robbie looked uncomfortable. “Can I . . . can I have a shower?”

  Cormac thought about it. Sure, nobody was going to mind. The only person he was going to have to deal with was . . .

  “MORNING,” HE SAID.

  The grumpy porter looked up and grunted. Then he focused on Robbie, looking disgruntled. There was, undeniably, quite the whiff.

  “I brought you this,” said Cormac. “I just had too many.”

  And he handed over a bag of fresh pain au raisins. Being able to go out and buy pretty much whatever you liked whenever you felt like it remained quite the novelty to Cormac, and he was enjoying it.

  “Try them,” he said. “I think they’re French. They’ve got custard in them!”

  The man sniffed, then without another word took the bag off Cormac, who quickly shuffled Robbie inside.

  CORMAC BUNDLED ROBBIE into the showers with a fresh towel, some of his clothes, and instructions to stay in as long as he wanted; the hot water was limitless, even if the tiles were cracked.

  Kim-Ange caught him at the basement laundry door and stood there, arms folded. “Who’s that in the shower?”

  “A . . . friend,” said Cormac.

  Kim-Ange beamed. “A lover?”

  “No!”

  She frowned at him and he realized he’d gotten it wrong again. London was teaching him a lot.

  “I m
ean, that would be obviously fine, aye . . .”

  Kim-Ange nodded more appreciatively. “But it isn’t . . .”

  “Not on this occasion, no,” said Cormac, feeling increasingly stupid.

  “Okay then,” said Kim-Ange. “So he’s a friend of yours?”

  Cormac explained. Kim-Ange raised her eyebrows.

  “You’ve let a homeless guy into a nurses’ home?”

  “I thought you were meant to be the tolerant one.”

  “Well, have you left your wallet in your bedroom?”

  Cormac had, of course. He turned around, then turned back. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “Yes, all right, country bumpkin,” said Kim-Ange.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Cormac, as she followed him back upstairs.

  THE ROOM WAS empty, the shower too. Cormac called out Robbie’s name, but there was no response at all; he’d done a runner, taking Cormac’s clean clothes but leaving his dirty ones behind. They were, truly, only fit for the bin.

  Cormac looked around for his phone, but it was in his pocket—there was a new message from Lissa, something about Lennox looking for harvesters. Well, he was hardly going to manage that, was he? He scrabbled around the room, trying not to let Kim-Ange see that he was worried or reveal the huge relief he felt when he saw his wallet, untouched, on the desk, and his watch next to it, likewise, and he felt both instantly guilty and dreadfully sorry for Robbie running away. He sat down on the bed, defeated. Kim-Ange made a decision.

  “Come for a walk with me,” said Kim-Ange. She was wearing a bright gold sleeveless jacket with fur trim over her wide back, tight black leggings, and high-heeled gold Timberlands, with gold eye shadow to match. It was a little alarming to the uninitiated.

  “What time is it?” said Cormac.

  “Going-for-a-walk time,” said Kim-Ange.

  Cormac groaned and went over and washed his face in the small sink. “Are you sure you don’t just want me with you so you can lean on me when your feet get sore in your very stupid shoes?” he said.

  They were quite stupid shoes, with a dangerous-looking stiletto heel.

  “I do,” said Kim-Ange. “And bare your teeth if anyone starts shouting.”