11. Teddy

T he old tabby had pooped on the kitchen table, which was the first of the surprises when I stumbled down the stairs, where the mangy thing was snoozing on my cleaned and disinfected stove top without a care in the world.

The second surprise was that snow had fallen overnight which wasn't that surprising, since tomorrow was the first day of November, and I was ready for it. But I'd spent the weekend cleaning—vacuuming, mopping, wiping down every surface with some new multi-promise of antibacterial-goodness spray. This was my home, but from tomorrow, it would also become the site office with multiple people stomping dirty, melted snow across my floors and demanding my time, knowledge and advice and asking if all the card readers were online—

Actually, that was a point. Had I remembered to charge them?

Yes, I had.

The laptop was whirring away, my new printer, sat on a chair, was already churning out today's paperwork and invoices, and I'd dug out more coffee makers so there would always be a hot drink for whoever needed one, though I hoped there would be fewer felines. I'd tried counting them yesterday when I took their evening meals out to the barn, along with Fifi, who'd decided she was an indoor cat unless there was food going, which meant me having to carry her out and make her eat, then bring her back home with me. But anyway, I'd stopped counting when I reached fifteen .

I was starting to see Flora's point. One cat was definitely enough. Or maybe two, I thought, as I reached around Fifi to flick the switch on the coffee maker. She was a strange little thing, but I liked her, and that old kitty was too long in the tooth to pay his way in vermin control. Judging by the dollop on the table, he needed another check-up at the vet's too.

I cleaned it up and took it outside, suspiciously eyeing a ginger tomcat I hadn't seen before sniffing around the sheds and pawing playfully at the falling snow. He was no doubt seeking food and company, and my kittens were all neutered and spayed—I was hoping not to have to do the bloody cat-dad thing again for a while—but there was already an alarming number of cats lounging around my house.

I wouldn't mind but the barn was full of hay and I fed them daily. What more could they ask for? Maybe I should block up the cat flap for the winter, leave them to fend for themselves for once and let me have some—I didn't even complete the thought before a cat screeched and bolted from the kitchen in pursuit of a mouse. Bloody cats. Bloody mice. I bet they were under the floorboards again.

Opening the fridge door, I stood, shivering as I surveyed my stash of milk and butter—never in short supply—and stuff for sandwiches. Not much else in there. I closed the door again and rubbed my numb hands. I was colder than ever, despite my rickety central heating being on, and I'd had the chimney people around and cleaned out the fireplace a few weeks back.

Dad had always lit the fire on mornings like this, just something to get warmth though the air and into our bones. His words echoed through the silence like he'd actually spoken them out loud.

People went mad like this. Farmer Fredricks up on the high fields north of the village had been committed after claiming little green men lived in his attic. He'd been on his own for most of his life, and I hadn't actually blamed him for losing his marbles. Some of us coped with life out here; others didn't.

But I wasn't on my own. I had people around me every day, cars coming and going, the college tractors running up and down the forecourt, clearing the space for the first lorry coming in this morning from the big supplier in Stockholm—the one that needed all the heavy mature trees for their big hotel spaces, shopping malls, the airport and central station. Huge pine trees that took decades to grow and required a wealth of expertise to keep alive.

Sometimes the trees didn't make it to Christmas, but I'd worked with these guys for years, and they came equipped with professional gel packs and their massive nets and cranes, ready to do their jobs. They had a contingency plan in their contracts, for replacing trees that these establishments failed to care for properly by not acclimatising them into the warmth, supplying water, using plant feed and so on.

City people. I shook my head, smiling to myself as I remembered the phone call earlier in the week from a company asking if we could supply a twenty-metre artificial tree. I'd snorted into the phone and told them to look on the internet. Artificial trees indeed…although some of our customers treated the trees as if they were plastic and still expected them to give off that festive sheen for the next two months without any care, but trees were living, breathing things. They needed a gentle touch, understanding and bloody water.

I could do with some feed in my water myself, shivering in my socked feet. I was already wearing double long johns and heavy boot liners as I started to climb into my protective snowsuit to warm up. High-vis gear on top. Earmuffs ready on the side and, of course, my waterproof iPad cover.

And coffee.

I really needed that first cup to get me going, line up my neurons ready to deal with people. All the people, starting right now, it seemed, with the familiar stomping of feet out on the veranda.

"Hey."

Flora. Of course. It was low season for her, as her remaining breeding stock and young'uns were mostly deposited on her pastureland for the cold season. The rest would roam the back field here, where I could keep an eye on them, and she'd bring them feed until the weather turned.

"I'm taking two of the kittens," she announced. "The nursery on the main road lost their cat, and I know the headteacher there. "

"Okay."

"And Ginny next to the old post office, you know she had that weird white cat with one eye? Anyway, that one got run over outside her gate, so I said I'd bring her a new one. Two eyes this time."

"So you're selling off my cats?" I pretend-scolded. She shrugged.

"Too many." She poured herself a coffee and raised her cup, indicating the feline layabout on the stove, the table, the top of the coffee maker, the windowsill… "So it all kicks off tomorrow then?"

"Today," I said, motioning to the heavy truck carefully backing down the hill. See? These people knew what they were doing, knowing that with their trucks loaded, upwards would be easier than having to turn around and risk pulling the axle on the heavy trailer.

The things I said to myself in my head.

Flora feigned interest in the loud reversing signals and taillights cutting through the darkness outside, her breath steaming even inside. I seriously needed to get my central heating checked over because I could see my own breath too, and the coffee was already cold.

"So…" she said, sipping her mug, then looking at me like I was expected to read her mind.

"We're going to be busy," I said into my own mug. She was after something, and I had a feeling it wasn't more cats.

"Saw Patrick Thorn driving past yesterday."

"Stalking you, you mean." I tried to make it light-hearted—something that didn't match the heaviness that was still a constant in my chest.

"Ted," she said. More slurping sounds as she drained her the last of her coffee. "I'm glad you tidied this place up a bit. Looks clean, at least."

"Yes." I sighed heavily. "What now, Flo?"

"Well, he stopped for a chat…and a coffee and, well…we kind of hooked up. Which was…you know. Satisfactory. "

That was not what she'd meant to say, because she wasn't even looking at me, just staring out the dark windows at the ever-falling snow, still in her gear. Hat on her head. A melting snowflake lingering in her hair. There was something else.

"You're going to have to give me more than that."

"He's…not committed, I don't think. Behaves like he thinks I'm cheating with him or something. Keeps asking if there's anyone he should…you know?"

"No, I don't know," I almost shrieked. I hated when she did this—dug one hole only for me to fall straight into the massive one she was excavating behind me.

"Mum told me—she spoke to Violet, but I didn't believe her because you know what she's like. Her memory isn't always reliable, but she was adamant she'd seen him in town, so I didn't want to say anything until I knew for a fact."

"Seen who? Patrick?" I hope I didn't sound as agitated as I felt, because there was something in her voice, the way she stared down the cup still in her hand.

"I stopped by there this morning and checked in on Violet. You know? Just a social visit. I do that sometimes."

"At seven in the morning, I know," I huffed, motioning to the clock on the wall. "It's seven fifteen. You didn't stay long then."

"He was at the kitchen table, I swear to God. Been here for almost a week, and I kind of…stormed out? Because that's just plain rude. Especially after what he did to you."

"You're going to have to spell it out, Flo. What the fuck are you on about?"

"Ned!" she shouted, finally looking at me. "Ned," she repeated a little calmer. "He's back. He's fucking right there, all geared up and apparently now working with Violet."

It took me a few moments and a breath or two…or ten…before I could speak again.

"What?"

"I thought…you should know."

I should have thanked her. Blown her off with some stupid comment, but there was a sudden rage in my chest as I stomped past her, out into the hallway, and stuck my feet in my boots, not even stopping to lace them up .

My car started, thank fuck, and I wasn't even ashamed that I honked at the poor truck driver who was doing a perfect turn onto the forecourt, skilfully lining up the trailer with the back road leading into the forest. I still honked a second time, irritated at having to wait for him to give me space to leave.

Then I burned rubber up the hill, skidding on the snow-covered gravel. It didn't take long to reach my destination, and I left the engine running as I got out on Violet's yard, where a bunch of workers were gathered, steam coming from the cups in their hands as they all turned to stare at me. I wanted to slam the door and demand to know what the fuck they were staring at. I wanted…

I didn't know what I wanted other than to rip Flo a new one. She was bloody insane if she thought she could pull this on me without any comeback. It wasn't funny. Not even remotely.

He wasn't here.

Of course he wouldn't be here. He lived in bleeding Arizona. This was northern Sweden. In November. Those fluttering flakes of snow felt like shards of ice against my skin as I whirled around and headed back out, past the idiot bunch of workers—

"Teddy?"

I'd know that voice anywhere, and that was the frightening part because I turned back, and there…he was.

Frighteningly real.

Geared up for the weather, his coat a little too clean, his gloves a little too new. The tag was still dangling from the left one.

His chin full of scruff.

Still him. Always.

And what did I do? I got back in my car, slammed the door and did the world's craziest three-point turn, making the workers back off in fear as my wheels blew up a blizzard on the corner down the lane.

Ned.

Wait for me.

Fuck.

Just fucking fuck the fuck off!