still trying to get feeling back in his legs with some demented version of the Hokey Cokey.
‘Why are you being so nice?’
‘I don’t know whether to be offended that you think I’m such a horrible person or just to apologise for being such a twat earlier.’ He sighs. ‘Because I can’t bear seeing people cry. No one with a heart could watch someone else cry and not try to help in any way they can.’
The way he speaks is so gentle that it’s a war with myself not to start welling up again.
‘If you’re anything like me, you just needed to let out a bit of frustration before you pick yourself up and get on with it.’ He leans across and pushes his torch into my hand. ‘Here. Let me go and grab some supplies and I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Supplies? At this time of night?’ I call after him because he’s already started walking off across the driveway, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pockets.
‘You’ll see,’ he replies without turning back.
‘Watch out for those mountain lions,’ I call before he reaches the road.
He laughs, and this time he does turn back, the wind blowing his wavy hair across his face. ‘There aren’t any mountain lions.’
‘I knew that,’ I mutter, but I don’t think he hears me.
Obviously there are no mountain lions. I knew that all along. Mountain lions in Scotland. Hah. No one would’ve fallen for that.
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