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

all that business in the past, but I’ll try and meet you halfway. I’m leaving for a job tonight, but if you want to come out on the boat for a few hours, that’d suit me just fine. We can put the spinning rods off the back, see if we can catch some mackerel.’ Andrew looks up and quirks the corner of his mouth in a smile. Out in the bay, a small trawler is followed by a flock of seagulls who screech and squawk, swooping as the fishermen dump fish scraps overboard.

I take a moment to analyse how I’m feeling, poking and jabbing at the recesses of my brain. There isn’t much left to consider. I reached a conclusion when Moira took me up to her room and showed me the photograph she kept tucked away in her wardrobe.

‘I’m not the person you should be asking,’ I say, facing the wind so it blows the hair off my face. ‘It’s Moira. I mean this in the kindest way possible; it would mean so much more to her than it would do to me.’

Andrew bites his cheek. When he looks at me again, it’s the first time that that things don’t feel painfully awkward between us. He nods. When I smile, it feels heavy and I realise how bone-tired I am. For the first time since I ran out of the studio in London, the muddy waters I’ve been wading through have started to clear, like silt settling into solid ground.

Chapter 39

It’s definitely far too early for bubbles, especially drunk from a mug with chickens painted on the side.

Kian has his back to us. For once, he’s stayed in pyjamas past six o’clock. He flips a thick slice of eggy bread in a cast-iron pan and slides it onto a plate, sprinkling brown sugar on the top that caramelises, soft and gooey from the heat.

‘I thought you said that working on the farm has been really hard,’ says Mum, drawing out her sentence to make it sound like it’s come from a six-year-old’s mouth.

‘Uh, it has been, thank you very much,’ I say, sipping coffee so creamy and sweet that it’s more like cheesecake than a hot drink. ‘Kian, how many times have you made breakfast since I’ve been here?’

‘Every day,’ he says, gesticulating towards me with the egg flipper. ‘Don’t you go telling porkies.’

‘I knew you two would gang up against me,’ I say, spearing a forkful of eggy bread as Mum laughs into her giant cup of tea. ‘What are we celebrating, by the way?’

Kian tops his orange juice up with the last of the prosecco, his grin set squarely like it has been for the past hour. ‘Well, we’ve had the lovely Lorrie come to stay, which is reason enough.’

‘Hmm. I have a feeling there’s something else behind all this …’ I say, eyeing him over the rim of my mug.

Kian could smile for the next week and it wouldn’t be enough. Yesterday, we pulled up to the farmhouse as he waved off representatives from the University of Edinburgh, their neat hatchback splattered with mud. By the time they’d dipped out of sight, Kian was partway through a lap of the courtyard, fist-pumping the air like Tyler Durden in Fight Club. He greeted Mum with a smacked kiss on the cheek, looping us under his arms in a jostling circle, cheekbones clashing in uncoordinated jumps.

Kian takes a fork, spears a green, meatless sausage from the tray on the table, and bites the end.

‘I’ve just got a good feeling, y’know?’ he says, waving his fork around. ‘I can’t call it, but the fact that we can accommodate three sets of students a year must help. Well, hypothetically we can. I’ll need to sort the rooms out and get someone in to help, probably. They were completely sold by the pigs.’ Kian slides a notebook over. ‘That’s the third bullet point,’ says Kian, jabbing the page, ‘“the best example of saddleback swine seen this side of Sterling.” This side of Sterling! And they’re going to help with the woodland maintenance, which means—’

‘Truffle hunting!’ I say. ‘Yeah, check you out! You’re diversifying! Just think – Braehead – the future of farming.’

‘Steady on,’ says Kian, but I can tell he’s excited by the thought. I push my chair back to get milk out of the fridge. As I shut the door, Moira appears in the doorway wearing an oversized hoodie that reaches her knees.

‘Morning,’ she says.

‘I thought you called John to take you home last night?’ I say.

‘I, err, yeah. I didn’t go back, in the end,’ she says, her cheeks pink.

Mum coughs, catching my attention. She raises her eyebrows and flicks a glance at Kian.

‘Oh! No way. Yes! Did you? No, don’t answer that. But you guys? Eh?’ I blurt, as Moira bursts into laughter.

Kian tucks her into his chest, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other holding a mug of tea away from her head.

‘Don’t answer that. We can’t discuss it, not now you’re my official baby sister.’

Moira laughs and sits cross-legged on a dining chair, her hair a homage to Kate Bush in her Hounds of Love days. She tucks her legs up inside the hoodie, propping her chin on her knees.

‘What are you guys doing before you get the train back to London?’ says Moira.

‘Shouldn’t I be asking what you’re doing?’ I ask, wiggling my eyebrows.

‘I’m going fishing with Dad.’

‘Oh. Sorry, I made that unnecessarily weird,’ I say.

Moira rolls her eyes, her smile as broad as Kian’s. I take a mental photograph as he puts a plate down in front of her, wanting to capture this golden moment before we’re at opposite ends of the country again. ‘I would suggest a wee tour of Kilroch, but I doubt much has changed since you were last here, Lorrie.’

‘Not from what I can gather,’ she says. ‘But there is something I’d like to see before I go.’

***

On our way to Kilroch Point, Mum regales me with