The Woman Who Ran Away from Everything by Fiona Gibson

Author:Fiona Gibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: null
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2024-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Saturday turns out to be perfect for the festival. The sky is unblemished blue and the Perthshire landscape is a paint chart of glorious greens. After a week of bluffing my way through Rory’s gardening queries, it’s a relief to step away from all that.

I’m filled with a sense of delicious anticipation as Alice drives me into town. Insisting that it’s no trouble, she drops me at Fergus’s end-of-terrace cottage. There’s a tiny, neatly kept front garden, and a yellow climbing rose adorns the whitewashed stone wall. After she’s driven away, I pause before knocking on the glossy red front door.

I’m going to Fergus’s for lunch. I’m a little nervous now, in case it feels awkward without Alice being there – although I did text to let him know. It’s no big deal, I tell myself. He’s just being friendly as people are around here. Every time I’m in town now someone smiles and waves in recognition, or stops for a chat. People are curious about what’s happening with Osprey House – but not prying or judgemental. It’s a far cry from the disapproving vibes of Sycamore Grove.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Fergus apologies as he welcomes me in. ‘It’s always a bit chaotic around here . . .’

I follow him through a cosy living room walled with bookshelves to a cheerfully cluttered sunflower-yellow kitchen. ‘It’s not a mess,’ I insist. ‘It’s homely and lived in.’

‘Ha. That’s a good way of putting it. Shabby chic, maybe? Does anyone say that anymore?’ He grins and turns to the stove.

‘I’m sure they do. Anyway, after two weeks in Osprey House it’s lovely to be in a normal-sized house . . .’

‘Oh, that’s good. Please, have a seat. This won’t be too long.’ He reaches for a wooden spoon from an earthenware pot.

‘Something smells good,’ I say, installed now at the kitchen table.

‘Just a pasta. My go-to,’ he explains.

‘Lovely.’ My gaze skims the room, which he clearly tries to keep orderly. Numerous jars and bottles are neatly lined up on shelves, and logs are stacked in a wicker basket by the wood-burning stove. There’s a vase of garden flowers on the table, and I wonder if Fergus put them there because he was expecting visitors. Or maybe they were Liv’s touch?

There’s also no doubting that a baby lives here. The wood burner is cordoned off by a sturdy fireguard, and a wooden box in the corner overflows with a menagerie of soft toys.

‘How is it, the three of you living together?’ I ask.

‘Busy,’ Fergus says with a smile. ‘We’re a little gang really. We make it work. But for such a small person Finn has a heck of a lot of stuff . . .’ He clears a scattering of books from the table – I spot The Very Hungry Caterpillar, a favourite of Edie’s – before swinging back to the counter to throw a salad together, while insisting that he doesn’t need any help.

‘I remember it vividly,’ I say.

‘How old was Edie

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