Page 88 of Two Hit Wonder

Maeve's stomach clenched. "I don't know, Ellie. I just… I don't know. I don’t think so. But I don’t know."

"That's fair." Ellie's voice was careful, the way it got when she was trying not to push. "Just think about it. That's all I'm asking."

"I'll think about it."

There was a paused, then, "And the other thing…"

"I don’t want to talk about it," Maeve snapped.

"I know you don’t," said Ellie. "But you should know that it’s complicated."

"You’re telling me that?"

Ellie sighed. "Maeve… Think of it from Iona’s point of view. At least try. What good could she have done to chase you down and tell you?"

Maeve said nothing. At least she supposed that now she knew why Iona had never chased her down.

"Maeve? I'm glad you called. I know it wasn't easy."

Maeve made a noise that was meant to be dismissive and came out embarrassingly close to grateful. "Take care of yourself, Ellie."

"You too."

THE COTTAGE LOOKED smaller than Maeve remembered. Or maybe that was just her mood, shrinking everything down to manageable proportions. She was still sitting on the wall when Glinna's ancient Land Rover came bouncing up the lane, two small ginger heads visible in the back seat.

"Perfect timing," Glinna announced, climbing out and producing a bucket from somewhere in the chaos of the back. "I've got whitewash and brushes. You've got arms. The cottage exterior isn't going to paint itself."

"Good morning to you, too."

"It's half eleven. Morning's over. Put these on." Glinna tossed her a pair of ancient overalls that smelled faintly of sheep and engine oil. "The twins need entertainment, and I need free labor. Everyone wins. Charity’s asleep in the back, I’ll just put her in the kitchen and then we’ll get cracking."

The twins, Hamish and Isla, tumbled out of the car with the boundless energy of seven-year-olds who had been confined for longer than five minutes. They immediately began investigating the garden with the forensic attention of tiny archaeologists, turning over rocks and exclaiming over woodlice.

Maeve pulled on the overalls. "Shouldn't you be paying someone to do this?"

"Shouldn't you be doing something productive with your wallowing? And so here we are." Glinna shoved a brush into her hand. "Start on that wall. And try not to drip."

They worked in silence for a while, the rhythmic slap of brushes against stone almost meditative. Eejit had appeared from somewhere, as Eejit always did when there was potential for chaos, and was watching them with an expression of deep suspicion. The twins had found a colony of ants and were providing live commentary on the ants' activities to each other in excited whispers.

"So," Glinna said eventually, not looking at Maeve. "Are you going to buy the cottage?"

Maeve's brush paused mid-stroke. "I don't know."

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

"It's been an accurate reflection of my mental state."

Glinna snorted and kept painting. "The renovation's done. All shiny and new." She glanced sideways at Maeve. "Back to how things were."

Maeve sighed. "I don't know if I want that either."

"Progress."

Maeve opened her mouth to argue, but a commotion from the garden interrupted her. Eejit, in her infinite wisdom, had decided to investigate the paint supplies. More specifically, she had decided to stick her entire head into a half-empty pot of whitewash.

"Oh, for Christ’s sake."

The sheep backed up, the pot firmly wedged over her nose, and began shaking her head violently. White paint sprayed in all directions. The twins shrieked with delight.