Page 139 of One for the Road
Cameron’s expression was pure venom. “Eat shit, Macabe.”
Annabelle gasped at the same time as the crowd.
“Cameron!” she admonished him over the gasps and pantomime-style boos coming from the audience.
Alistair laughed and shot me a wink. I felt it all the way to my toes. “Nah,” he called back. “I think I’ll leave that to the judges when they get a taste of that pie you’re making.”
“You’re a real smug prick, Macabe.”
“Language!” Duncan’s voice raised several octaves.
Annabelle’s gaze flicked our way, her hand circling around Cameron’s bicep. She narrowed her eyes, and I knew whatever was coming wouldn’t disappoint. “Things appear to be going a little too smoothly over there. Perhaps the judges should be on the lookout for store-bought pastry.”
More laughter rang out from the crowd, and I knew this contest would be one for the history books.
“Now, now, any formal accusations should be addressed to—”
“Maybe.” I cut Duncan off, tossing one last look their way. “I was always good at faking things.”
Alistair dropped his spoon, a loud laugh ripping from his chest.
I felt a little bad when poor Duncan spluttered, banginghis hand against a workstation, “Eyes on your own pies, people! This is your final warning. I will not stand for any more foul language or insinuation on this esteemed stage. One more word from any of you, and you will be disqualified. Am I understood?”
There was too much being silently shared between me and Alistair to pay attention to anything else. Heat and promise and joy for this shared experience. His expression held a disbelief that screamed,Can you believe that we are actually doing this? And I couldn’t but Icould.It felt too right. Too perfect. Not in a scary way, but one that lingered in my bones, confirming what I already knew. There was no one else I’d rather be on this stage with. Win or lose, there was no one else I wanted by my side. For the next five years or fifty. However long it lasted.
We still had so much to talk about, so much unsaid. But I reached for his hand, and his sticky fingers immediately accepted and tangled with my flour-coated ones. “I love you,” I said. His face slackened with shock – maybe wonder. “And I’m sorry . . . about the other morning. For not trusting you when you were trying to tell me what you wanted.” His eyes pinged all over my face. “I probably should have waited, but I needed you to know now—”
I watched him swallow thickly. His eyes shone an impossible blue behind his glasses, and he squeezed my fingers, his features softer than I’d ever seen them. “Tell me again once we’ve won this fucking thing, Lang.”
39
Isla
The Kinleith Gazette – the Isle of Skye’s most popular online newspaper
In a surprising twist at this year’s Cairn & Crust, Kinleith’s most competitive pie-baking contest, an unlikely pair of champions were crowned: local general practitioner Dr Alistair Macabe and his girlfriend, Isla Lang, last summer’s runner-up. The win was especially notable given Dr Macabe’s very vocal comments of disdain, uncovered by this very newspaper, for the contest he now dominates.
“I can’t take any of the credit,” Dr Macabe replied modestly. “This is all Isla’s hard work; I just have the honour of being the very proud partner who holds the oven door open.”
“And slices the apples,” Miss Lang added, straightening the winner’s medal around his neck. “Don’t forget about the apples.”
The contest, held on the village green, drew a record crowd this year, with over two hundred spectatorscheering on the competitors. I was keen to discover whether participating in the event had changed Dr Macabe’s view on one of Kinleith’s most long-standing traditions, but he was tight-lipped. “You’ll see me back here next summer, that’s all I’ll say.”
Closing my eyes, I tried to soak up the memories of the day. Store them in a jar in my mind I could open and unfold whenever I wanted.
When they’d called our names, I’d laughed, stunned. Barely taking it all in as Alistair lifted me in the air with a cheer. He barely had the chance to whisper in my ear, “Apple pie, told you it’s a fucking classic, Lang,” before his family rushed us.
I’d been wrapped in more hugs than I’d received in the past year alone. Iris Macabe squeezed me almost as hard as she did Alistair. “I wish your dad was here; he’d be so proud,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. Alistair hadn’t replied, but kissed his mum on the cheek.
Teddy clung to our thighs, bouncing with excitement. “I told you Bluebell bunny would make you brave, Mummy!” Before running off to hug her dad, who thankfully hadn’t taken his bad mood out on his daughter.
Even without the five-thousand-pound cheque burning a hole in my pocket, that moment alone made me feel I’d won.
I didn’t see Cameron and Annabelle leave the stage. I didn’t care either. Why ruin such a perfect moment with the past?
Just as the honeyed light began to dip behind the hills, Alistair’s rich voice came from behind me. “Proud of you, Lang.” Celebrations were still going on around us, the chatter at food stalls and the sound of bagpipes, mixing with the screams of fairground riders.
“Right back at you.” We didn’t touch, but the way wewere staring at each other made it feel like we were. “Who’d have thought it? Dr Alistair Macabe, Cairn & Crust gold medallist.”
