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

stories from her time with The Earth Mamas. I knew that she was a tambourine-wielding, henna-haired activist before she settled in Dulwich, but this is something else. The tale of three women and how they washed themselves with a flannel and one bottle of water between them goes some way to illustrate the unglamorous side of occupying an oil rig in the North Sea.

In turn, I tell Mum about Braehead: the way the house rattles when it warms, the territorial guard geese, and how I’ve learned to predict the next day’s weather based on where the sheep huddle before sundown.

We squelch alongside the hedgerow as dull winter sun pokes through gaps in the bramble. Without warning, Mum stops, taking both my hands to pull me round to face her.

‘Ava, I’m not sure I ever said this to you. Not out loud, anyway.’

‘Oh, God. What now? I’m not sure I can handle any more life-changing news, unless it’s that Pickles is in fact half-cat, half-slug, which would explain his lack of mobility and tendency to leave slobber trails near food.’

Mum rolls her eyes and sighs. ‘No, nothing like that. Honestly, I’m trying to build a moment here.’

‘Oh, right. As you were.’

‘I wanted to say that I’m proud of you.’ We stand there, crows cawing in the cropped field behind us, linked by our fingertips and a thousand other things.

‘I’m proud of the decision you made to come up here. I’m proud of that silly grin you have when you complain about the animals. I’m proud of the way you’ve established yourself without me. I’m proud that you’ve figured out what your version of happiness looks like.’

‘I can also carry an egg in between each finger. Are you proud of that?’

‘Yeah, we’ll add it to the list,’ she says with a smile.

She squeezes my fingers. When she lets go, I open my palm. A tiny glass-blown dolphin sits there, barely a centimetre long. She curls my hand back around it.

‘I’ve kept this in my purse since I left Kilroch. I wish I’d been more open with you about your dad from the start. I do. But I don’t have any regrets about coming here. How could I when this place gave me you?’

Mum blinks, her bottom lip quivering as I enclose her in my arms, interlacing my fingers at her back.

‘I’m struggling to breathe here,’ says Mum, her voice muffled by the excess of knitwear bundled at her chin.

‘Sorry,’ I say, releasing her. I take a deep breath.

‘Mum, I … I think I’ve realised something.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I have this feeling that I’m … that I’m not meant to leave—not yet, anyway. I want a chance to be myself here, to spend more time with Moira before she starts her course. I’m not sure how it’ll work, but I thought I’d try the “see what happens” approach. For once, the thought doesn’t terrify me as much as it once did.’

Mum scans my face. ‘Are you sure?’ I nod. ‘You know how cold it gets here in winter?’

‘I’ve heard tales,’ I say, my voice thick.

I look up as Mum’s eyes fix on a point in the distance. Through a break in the thicket, I see him too. Ross. He walks between graves in the churchyard, head down, leaving a trail of emerald footprints behind him where his boots have kicked a path through the dewy grass. Mum tugs my forearm and gasps.

‘Oh, he’s got a nice Heathcliff feel, don’t you think?’ she says in a whisper. ‘The right amount of brooding without the disturbing violence. I can see why you don’t want to leave that behind.’

‘Mum, don’t say anything, don’t—’

‘Coo-ee! Ross! Morning!’ Mum trills off a laugh and I groan, my cheeks flushing. Ross stops to raise a hand.

‘Morning! Cold one for a walk,’ he says, tucking his hands in his pockets. ‘I was just on my way to Braehead, actually.’

‘For Kian?’

‘No, for you.’

Mum pulls me back behind the bramble and pulls her mittens on with purpose, her voice hushed. ‘I’ll go on without you. It looks like he’s keen to talk.’ Just as I’m about to protest, she puts a woolly finger to my mouth. ‘Go on! Fingers crossed you don’t burn up if you decide to have a snog in God’s house.’

‘Honestly. You give me a reputation and I don’t even have a reputation,’ I say.

‘I don’t know … Cavorting with priests? Sounds like a good scandal to me,’ says, poking me in the ribs until I squirm. ‘See you later, sweetheart.’

‘If this gets back to the Dulwich WI, I know who to blame.’

***

I try and stomp the circulation back into my toes as Ross weaves around parcel-taped boxes inside the parsonage kitchen.

‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘Yeah,’ says Ross, ‘back to Edinburgh. Doug Dingwall has made a miraculous recovery from his hip operation and, apparently, he’s more than ready to take up his duties again. Going by the tone of the care worker I spoke to on the phone, they want shot of him as quickly as possible.’

‘Why?’

‘Let’s put it this way, they had to remove the antibacterial gel dispenser from his bedroom. Suddenly it’s not so strange that I’ve found six mini bottles of gin stowed in hiding places around the church. There was even one slipped down the spine of a King James Bible. Worrying, as it’s the one we use for the children’s service.’

‘Wow. I expect Eileen will be back on dinner duty. Have you told her yet?’

‘Yeah, she knows. In fact, she offered to move down with me as a “housekeeper”, so it’s nice to know I’ve got options.’

‘The woman has no shame,’ I say, sitting on the corner of the table.

Ross grins, but his smile falters as he steps closer. He’s let a beard grow, which suits him exponentially, despite it hiding half his face.

‘So, this is it,’ he says.

‘Is it?’

I put my hands on his hips and he covers them with his own, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

‘You know I’ll be in Edinburgh, right?’

‘Yeah.