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

‘If it was PPI, tell them that yes – I have had an accident that wasn’t my fault – taking on this fucking farm.’

‘It was the University of Edinburgh. They wanted to talk about the partnership grant we put together.’

‘Great. Another one to add onto the list of rejections.’

‘They want to come and do a survey this weekend to assess our application.’ I lean forward in my chair to pull out the receipt I scribbled on with a blunt pencil. ‘They used these words, but I can’t remember what order they were in. You might be able to make sense of it. “Saturation”, “hummocks”, “accommodation”, and “quick turnaround”. I only understand the last one, but I looked up “hummocks” on Urban Dictionary and it’s quite perverted, so I hope for your sake it doesn’t involve pick-up trucks and a gimp mask. They want to get things going because their initial partner dropped out. If all goes well, you could have that grant money in the next couple of months.’

Kian doesn’t say anything but lifts his head slowly like he’s heard an unfamiliar noise. He pushes back his chair and reaches for a box file on the shelf, flips it open and flicks through a section marked with blue tabs. He runs a finger down the page, his eyes darting across each line.

‘How much was the grant for?’ he asks.

‘£92,000 over six months, with another £15,000 if you can provide accommodation facilities for students who need to stay for research.’

Kian bends over the table and scribbles down a few figures as though he’s adding paint to a canvas, stepping back to analyse the result from a distance.

He looks up and points at me with the end of his pencil. ‘We might – and it’s a huge might – be able to pull this off.’

‘Might?’

‘It’s going to be tight. This barely covers basic running costs.’

‘But it might buy you some time.’

Kian nods, biting his lip.

‘Better start training those pigs to truffle hunt if you wanna top up the ol’ income,’ I say, grinning.

‘Come here.’ Kian walks around the table and pulls me into a hug. A few seconds later, he stands back, his once drained cheeks flushed with their usual pink. ‘Thanks.’

I dither on the spot and hold the back of a chair, relieved that a black cloud has drifted out of the room.

‘I was acting like a prick this morning,’ says Kian.

‘I wouldn’t say you were being prickish, just a tiny bit … sullen.’

‘I’ll take that. It wasn’t you; it was all of this,’ he says, motioning to the file (excellently arranged, if I do say so myself). ‘John told me at the station that one of the McCulloch lads is planning on asking Moira out, which really rattled me and all. Don’t know why. I’ve had the same problems whirring on in the background for so long that it all turned to white noise. I didn’t think anyone else had a perspective worth listening to. Granddad was fucking terrible with money, but he knew how favours worked round here and managed to get by. Jacqui, too. I always keep a tally in my head of what I need to do for her in return, to pay her back, but she disnae want anything.’

As much as I don’t like her, I can’t dispute how much Jacqui takes on to lighten the load for others.

‘She’s a good egg, isn’t she?’

‘Aye. You’re not so bad yourself. I wouldn’t have applied for this grant if it weren’t for you. I definitely wouldn’t have been this organised,’ he says.

‘Acknowledgement accepted. Just so you know, I would have charged at least ninety quid for a service like this down in London,’ I say, my chin aloft in mock pride.

‘Well, it’s a good job you’ve eaten more than ninety quid’s worth of Tunnock’s Tea Cakes since you’ve been here. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’

I laugh and eye the pantry door, where I left a half-eaten box this morning, the opening pressed against the wall to disguise my activity.

‘You better phone the university back. They’re going to ask someone else if you’re not keen,’ I say.

‘I know how to hook them in. I’ve been teaching one of the pigs to sit on command. That’ll win them over. I’ll have to lock Babs up, mind. She doesn’t like strangers.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

‘When do they want to come and do the survey?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

‘Post ceilidh? That’s a bastard. I’ll still come but I’ll have to take it easy. Moira wouldn’t forgive me if I bailed. She’s fanatical when it comes to reeling. It’s sweet, she has this skirt that she only wears to ceilidhs. You haven’t seen tartan ’til you’ve seen this thing.’

My stomach swoops. I pinch my hand under the table. So far as I know, the articles with my name in the byline are still on the Snooper website.

‘Hey, you’ll love it. The band are great, and there’s this fella James, right? He’s ninety-one and is on his feet from beginning to end even though he’s had two knee replacements. Moira’s coming round in the morning to teach you the dances.’

‘Is she?’

‘Yeah. Best be prepared for it.’

‘Aye.’

‘“Aye”? You’re turning Scottish.’

Chapter 30

‘Honestly, it’s not as complicated as you think,’ says Moira, twisting the lid on a tub of chicken feed.

Kian leans against the coop and pushes the sleeves of his jumper up, squinting in the sunshine as it breaks through a cloud. A wave of sunlight crests the hill, stretching our shadows across the ground. I smile from my seat on an upturned bucket, hens crooning by my feet. Babs pecks at my laces and looks up at me with mean eyes when she realises they’re not edible. Some chickens are so hard to please.

‘How come you know all the dances already?’ I ask.

‘PE,’ they say together. Kian grimaces, but Moira is soft with nostalgia. She bumps Kian with her hip.

‘Who still holds the high school title for longest sword dance without falling over?’ Moira raises