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Caitlin awoke in the back bedroom, its double bed squeaked and sunk in the middle and she had spent the night in its dip. Something else that was old. She focussed on the task at hand. The remoteness and wildness of this place thwarted her plans for escape. She got up and dressed hastily in the cold bedroom. She opened the door after removing the chair she had put against it the previous evening. Scott sat at the kitchen table, eating. A wave of warmth from the Aga hit her face.
“I can offer ye tea and toast,” he smiled. “The Aga will soon have heated enough water for a wash. Ye can take a bath if ye wish.”
“No, thanks.”
A small radio sat on the kitchen bench broadcasting the news, as it had done the previous evening.
“Well then, today we need to stow these supplies, aye?”
“Okay.” Resigned, she helped Scott to set up the crofter’s cottage with the equipment and stores he had brought. She unpacked tinned vegetables, tinned soup and hot dogs, and condensed milk and dry foodstuffs which she placed on the shelves in the pantry. The radio continued in the background, constant news and commentary; any usual programmes abandoned in light of current events.
The stock market continues to fall, with no sign of recovery...
“You enjoyed yourself shopping?” Caitlin unpacked the fourth box of tinned tuna.
“Aye. I’ve never been in a supermarket which has nae been looted. In fact, I’ve never been in a real supermarket before.”
Riots continue in London, Manchester, Birmingham, Southampton, Glasgow, and Edinburgh...
Edinburgh? Her peaceful Edinburgh? Were her friends okay? And her cousin Martin? Her flat? The Hospital would be swamped. What did they think of her? As, under these circumstances, she would have gone to work, annual leave or not.
Scott had also brought potatoes, pumpkins, apples, and pears which he placed in the cold cellar. He must have spent some time at this cottage in preparation prior to bringing her here. There were enough fresh food supplies to last quite a while.
After a full morning of unpacking, her stomach grumbled. She picked up a loaf of sliced bread.
“Shall I make sandwiches for lunch? Tuna? I think you have enough.” She hadn’t kept the sarcasm out of her voice. One side of Scott’s mouth curled.
“Aye, tuna will do just fine, lass. And ye ken how to make bread?”
“No. Should I?”
“Aye, for once the loaf is finished all the bread we’ll have is what ye make.” The rest of his mouth curled into an amused smile. Well, he won’t be laughing when her bread failed. Apparently, it was a skill; one she didn’t have.
Caitlin sat at the long kitchen table eating her tuna sandwich, facing the back window which gave a good view of the cottage garden with its vegetable patch and fruit trees growing against a drystone wall, facing north. She glanced at Scott sitting opposite, his eyes on her.
“Why don’t we get the autumn and winter vegetables planted this afternoon? I have bought seeds. I’ll dig the beds.”
Caitlin stopped chewing her tuna sandwich. A vegetable garden was part of a long-term plan—long-term in a place where she was still reluctant to be. She looked away and swallowed.
Calm down, Caitlin. Feign compliance, remember?
After lunch, Caitlin followed Scott to a medium-sized shed not far from the backdoor. He got a spade from the supply of tools and began turning over the soil in one of the raised beds. Caitlin had gardened little in the past and had only vaguely watched her aunt in the flower beds, nothing to do with vegetables and food production. Scott turned the sods and broke up the soil with the back of the spade. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Chewing her lip, she opened the packets of seeds. The winter spinach seeds were quite large and star-like, they were gritty between her fingers. Parsnips seeds were not.
“Aren’t these carrot seeds?”
“No.” Scott broke some soil up in his hand and, holding her hand, poured the seeds from hers to his. Caitlin flinched at his touch. He never hesitated when it came to touching her. His hand was warm and rough, and his eyes flicked up to hers when she flinched. “Mix them with the light soil. This way, they don’t clump together, and you get the seedlings growing spread out and the parsnips have room to grow, aye.”
Scott instructed her on how to hoe back and cover the seeds once sown. Caitlin smiled at the smell of the earth, the grit on her hands and all the promise a seed holds. Scott smiled back and nodded. Her smile froze as she reminded herself of the permanency of a garden.
No, she had to go along with it. She had to fool this guy.
Caitlin put the garden equipment away in the shed, vaguely toying with the idea of running back into the house with the spade and beating Scott over the head with it. She took a breath and silently shook her head. She’d never pull it off. He’d see her coming a mile away and it would spoil the illusion of her compliance.
In the shed there were torches, batteries, and tools, knives and a gun locker which held guns, she guessed. Quite an armoury.
Why does he need so many? There were more guns in the pantry. She recalled that was where Scott locked the ammunition away, the key always on him. And amongst the stores in the cottage, was a citizen band radio which went with the very large aerial previously attached to the vehicle. Scott had missed out little. He had bought clothing, cleaning products and toiletries, including feminine hygiene products. That was embarrassing—Scott seemed to be used to living with a woman.
Her back ached and dirt clung to her hands, its fine grit clung to her face. She walked inside to have a wash. Scott had taken logs from a small woodpile near the shed and was now feeding them into the Aga. She wandered over to the bathroom and looked in. A medium sized bath sat along the back wall and a sink with a mirror above it was to the side of the door. A separate loo was the next door. There was also a long drop outside, which she believed would stink eventually. She stepped out of the bathroom.
“Ye’ll be wanting a bath now,” Scott stated matter-of-factly.
Well, as a matter of fact, she did want a bath now but was not going to have one while he was around. She didn’t answer him as she went back into the bathroom and checked the door. No lock. A hasty wash then.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll just have a wash.” She made her way to the pantry where the soap was and took a cake. “Where will I find a towel?”
“Behind the door on the shelves.” He nodded in the direction of the bathroom.
Yeah, she should have guessed that, because it’s where she would have put them. Once back in the bathroom she shut the door behind her. He had better stay where he is.
Washing quickly, she listened for any noise coming from behind the door. When she opened the door, Scott was not at the table and she hadn’t heard him leave. He came out of the pantry and walked toward the Aga where a pot sat with steam rising.
She exhaled and the tightness disappeared from her shoulder muscles. So, he wasn’t a pervert. Well, not today, anyway.
Dinner was a silent meal. Her back still ached and, to be honest, she felt like she had worked a full shift in the ED. After she’d eaten, she went to her room without saying goodnight and placed the chair against the handle of the door once more before laying down on the lumpy mattress. Rolling into its middle, she recalled bread took a long time to make.