The Sister Surprise Abigail Mann (most difficult books to read TXT) 📖

resistance sending me onto my back where I lie like an upturned ladybird. The squash breaks off into Kian’s hands and he quickly stands to deposit it in the wheelbarrow. My head throbs so much I’m sure it would be better if I took it off and left it in the field like a weird little pumpkin.

The wind catches the church bell from down the hill. It chimes softly, the noise pulled in and out of earshot by converging gusts.

‘This’ll do,’ says Kian. ‘We’ll harvest the rest another time and store them. If you’re left with wee ones at the market, don’t linger,’ he says, holding up a tennis-ball-sized squash. He flips it back onto the pile and takes a deep breath, both hands gently resting on his stomach. I trot to keep up beside him, low-level anxiety prickling my stomach.

‘Aren’t you coming too?’

‘No, I’m going to see a couple of university pals in town.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Moira’s helping you out on the stall.’

I nod, a whoosh of excitement tickling my ribcage. I wonder if she’s feeling as delicate as I am. If so, we can battle through the day together as I’m sure this is only the baby teeth of a much angrier hangover. It’s not been twenty-four hours, but what I learned yesterday is that Moira likes to talk. A lot. The upside is that she can talk for the both of us.

I scoot past Kian and the wheelbarrow, hopscotch over the cattle grid, and hold the courtyard gate open for him. I’m trying to be as helpful as possible, but candid chats about finances could be overstepping the mark.

He clears a space on a workbench and I devise a system of weighing, calculating, and scribbling prices on the squash with a black Sharpie. I line the squash up in height order like I’m about to direct a class photo. They’re a diverse bunch; some wonky, some stout, some decidedly phallic. I’m not sure why anyone would pay upwards of four quid for what’s essentially an awkward vegetable, but I’m not going to interfere with finances anymore, if that’s what Kian thinks I’m doing.

The church bells chime like a Biblical reminder.

‘So, how long have you and Moira been a thing?’ I ask. I lean up against the brick outhouse and bite my cheek. That sounded far more inconspicuous in my head than it did out loud.

‘What do you mean, a thing?’ Kian lines an empty crate with newspaper and frowns.

‘Oh, I thought I’d picked up on a vibe between you two.’

Kian scratches his jaw and shakes his head in a bad imitation of denial. ‘We’ve known each other for ever. Since we were kids, you know? She’s familiar.’

Hmm. As far as ringing praise goes, I’ve heard better.

‘So, you’ve never got silly at a party together? You’re not related, are you?’ I realise that the answer to this question has direct relevance to me. I suppose there’s a chance.

‘I know Kilroch is far from a cosmopolitan community, but we do draw the line at getting off with family members.’

‘I wasn’t implying that. Honestly.’

Kian breaks into a smile. ‘It’s nothing complicated. I just don’t see the point in risking a friendship for a snog, you know?’

I can fully sympathise. Max was the first male friend of mine I actively tried not to kiss. I’ve turned at least four good mates into awkward acquaintances due to innocuous actions that I misinterpreted as flirting. I’ve vowed never to make the same mistake again, especially since an incident last year involving Rory’s French housemate. He went for a double cheek kiss that I wasn’t prepared for, which resulted in me licking his earlobe by accident. It’s hard to come back from that.

I was happily plodding through my new-found platonic existence until Kian introduced me to Ross. In a way, this is the perfect test. He’s the most attractive man I’ve seen but with the added caveat of being a priest, so I can practise talking to men again with wondering what they’ll want from me. It levels out the power dynamics quite nicely.

As we load the Jeep, a cockerel crows from an upturned whisky barrel by the front door. Now for the important questions. Can I ask Moira about our dad without raising too many questions in return, and does Kilroch house enough Pepsi Max to stave off a hangover?

Chapter 20

Three hours later and my hangover has gone from a solid eight out of ten (retching behind a fishing boat) to a three (I’ve managed to stomach a Cup a Soup and have only minor heart palpitations). The oddball squashes have been weirdly popular. A small child laughed for a full minute, running his fingers over the blistered skin of a mini pumpkin, which saw another fiver into the cash tin Kian had all but chucked at me as we left the house.

As the footfall fades, a broad-shouldered man with salt-and-pepper hair stops to speak to Moira about a lame sheep, leaving me in charge of our misshapen squash nursery. Every few seconds, she pushes her hair behind her ears, exactly like I do. It’s a habit Mum has always told me off for, saying it made me seem nervous. Seeing it on Moira, a strange sense of joy settles in my rib cage. It feels like drinking tea from a Thermos in the cold: warm and soothing.

Moira waves the man off and stands next to me, our elbows touching.

‘Are you Kilroch’s go-to expert on all things veterinary?’

‘Well, what these guys don’t know about raising sheep isn’t worth knowing, but they think I’ve got “proper knowledge” now that I’m doing a course at the college. They don’t know I haven’t moved on from guinea pigs yet.’

‘It’s just a bigger skeleton, right?’

‘Thereabouts.’ Moira smiles at me and hooks her arm through mine, swaying from side to side. ‘God, it’s nice chatting to someone new.’

An older woman cranking round the pedals of a rusty bicycle waves at Moira from the saddle.

‘All right, Lindsey? Gizmo doing