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

whirrs loudly, the vibrations wobbling a crucifix on the wall above. Jesus looks all the more anxious.

Ross lays the table with chunky Sixties crockery decorated in bold, garish flowers in various hues of mustard and brown.

‘This is nice,’ I say, turning a side plate over in my hands.

‘Not mine. Don’t know if you can tell,’ he says, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He opens the oven two or three times and pulls out lidded Pyrex dishes, the sides bubbling with thick stock.

‘This looks great. Kian and I are trying to take turns cooking, but to be honest I’m not sure how much more veggie sausage fusilli I can eat before I’ve reached my life’s pasta quota.’

Ross laughs. ‘Sounds like my student days. Top-up?’ he says, brandishing the wine.

I look down at my glass. I’ve somehow drained it, possibly because I keep nervously sipping every time I get distracted by Ross’s arms. Who does he think he is, having muscles like that? They must be relics of a former life. The Body of Christ can’t weigh that much, the man was a stringbean.

‘Do you mind if I say grace?’ says Ross. He shrugs apologetically. ‘Bit of a habit.’

The chair creaks as I wiggle myself into a more comfortable position. Are we doing this in our heads or out loud? I open one eye. Ross is glancing down at the steaming couscous, reverential in his stance. It’s quite alluring. No, Ava. Inappropriate.

‘Thank you, Lord, for the food we eat, for the hands that made the food – however questionable it may taste – and for those in our community who grew it. Even the rubbish parsnips. Amen.’

‘Same to you too,’ I say.

He smiles and leans over to slot a serving spoon into each dish. ‘Sorry about the potatoes. If you scrape the black bits off, you’ll find they’re perfectly caramelised.’ I put one in my mouth and make an effort to chew slowly.

‘It’s really good.’ I’m not lying, either. As we eat, conversation flits over a number of fairly innocuous subjects: the farm, the pigs, the work that needs doing, and the frequent mornings I come downstairs to find Kian at the table looking stressed, an array of invoices spread out before him. Every time conversation drifts outside of Kilroch, I pull it back, but after half an hour, I’ve run out of frivolous things to say and, quite frankly, want to rest my head on his arm; my tired, foggy head.

I scoop the last few chickpeas from my plate as Ross slouches in his chair, a look of curiosity on his face, like he’s waiting for me to announce something. The balance has tipped. He’s been talking far more than I have, and I haven’t noticed how short my responses have been until now.

‘Is it weird? Your house being a church?’ I inwardly kick myself for phrasing the question like I’m the token village idiot.

‘Well, it’s God’s house, really. He lets me stay so long as I pull my weight. I keep the holy water topped up, absolve sins, that sort of thing. It’s a bit like you up at Braehead? Bit different from London, eh?’

‘You could say that.’ I stab a round of aubergine that I’m far too full to eat.

‘How do you like it?’

‘Like what?’

‘London.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s … it’s London, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know. Never been,’ says Ross, shrugging.

‘Really?’ I say.

‘I know. Who’d have thought there was life beyond the M25?’ He grins, accentuating the cleft in his chin. ‘You were telling me about London.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘You were going to.’

I breathe slowly and try to think of something clever to say. ‘It’s busy. The parks are nice. Lots of musicals, you know?’

Smashed it.

‘And how about you? Do you like it there?’ says Ross, his look unwavering.

‘Yep.’

‘You sure?’

I don’t reply. Instead, I fork the aubergine in my mouth and chew like a camel, swallowing too soon. ‘Everyone seems … concerned about why I’m staying in Kilroch.’

‘They might just be interested.’

‘Or nosy?’

‘Or just curious. I am.’

‘It’s your job to be interested, isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t say that. Take Lindsay, for instance. The woman on the bike from the market? If I get another update about her granddaughter’s colic next time I’m in the village, I’m going to walk and keep walking until I’m halfway across the bay.’

I smile despite myself. ‘London’s fine. My job is fine. My mum is great. We still live together. I know it’s weird, but it’s an expensive place to live, y’know?’

‘No judgement here. I own nothing in this house except for a handful of books and a rucksack of clothes.’

‘Sounds nice, actually. To be doing something straightforward.’

‘Not all circumstances feel like opportunities to begin with.’

‘Mmm. Some are more confronting than I thought. More challenging,’ I say, rubbing my neck.

‘So, coming up here was a break?’

‘In some ways. In other ways, it really wasn’t. To be honest, I don’t think I’m helping much on the farm.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. I think Kian feels … uprooted as well, would you say? A lot of young people don’t picture themselves taking on the family farm, but something or other brings them back.’

‘Guilt?’

‘Possibly. I was brought up in Glasgow, so the lure of the countryside is never something I’ve really understood.’

‘I can see why Kian feels torn. There are about fifty different initiatives he wants to put into practice on the farm, but either side of the daily tasks – keeping 200 animals alive and the like – I don’t think there’s time for it. I feel like I’m adding to his problems. He has to teach me how to do everything, which takes twice as long.’

‘Maybe it’s more a case of – and I’m not saying this is true, but – say you’re not so great at … fixing fence posts. Kian’s got that covered himself. He’d probably benefit most from getting these ideas up and off the ground. Research, costing, marketing, things like that? How much longer are you here for?’

I mentally tick off the diary