Tracy Buchanan - The Atlas of Us

The table went quiet and Sarah’s blue eyes widened. Milo’s face flushed. ‘Dale, why don’t we—’

Their sister Jen appeared then, exchanging a look with Milo. ‘Dale, can you help me get a keg from the cellar? I can’t find Henry anywhere.’

‘Maybe that’s because he’s hiding in the waitress’s knickers,’ Dale said under his breath, his lip curling. Jay raised an eyebrow and Claire looked at Jen to see if she’d heard but her expression remained unchanged. Dale stood up, nearly knocking over Claire’s drink. Milo leaned forward and grabbed the glass before its contents spilled all over Claire’s dress, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to her as Dale stumbled off after his sister.

‘What a romantic soul your brother is,’ Jay said to Milo.

Milo swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. ‘He gets a bit cynical after having a few.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Sorry, he didn’t mean any of it, not really. He’s had a lot of stress recently.’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘I completely understand, must be very difficult for farmers.’

‘What about you, Milo?’ Matt asked. ‘Are you cynical about love? Or have you managed to find yourself a farmer’s wife in between all that muck-clearing and cow-milking?’

Milo dug his spoon into his apple crumble, his expression unreadable. ‘No time to look for anyone really.’

‘Surely they come searching for you?’ Sarah said.

Milo’s cheeks flushed.

‘You better get a move on,’ Matt said. ‘Every man needs a good woman to look after him.’

Sarah flicked her napkin at her fiancé. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist pig?’

‘Damn, I was hoping to keep that bit hidden from you until after the wedding.’ He glanced back at Milo. ‘So?’

‘You don’t need a wedding ring on your finger to look after someone. A couple can be just as secure without a piece of paper binding them.’

Claire stared at her wedding ring. She’d actually been the one who wanted to get married quickly after Ben proposed. He’d wanted to wait, save more money. But she’d needed that piece of paper, that ring on her finger, to prove she wasn’t like her dad and to start on her road to security.

Jay turned to Claire. ‘Do you agree?’

She glanced up, noticing everyone’s eyes on her. ‘I don’t know what I think really. But my dad’s old friend gave his wife a ring made from goat’s hair,’ she added, hoping to lighten the conversation. ‘That sounds fun.’

Everyone around the table laughed but Jay frowned. ‘How strange, my friend’s father was a bit of a hippy and did the same with his wife too. His name was Josh Pyatt, he worked for the Independent . Maybe it’s the same guy?’

‘I don’t recognise the name. But my dad wrote a travel column for the Indie so chances are it’s the same man.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Jay said, his blue eyes bright with excitement. ‘Don’t tell me you’re Bo Shreve’s daughter?’

Claire looked down at her food, wondering why she’d been stupid enough to bring up her dad. Now she was going to have to keep her emotions in check. Milo’s brow puckered as he watched her.

‘Yep,’ she said.

‘He was a wonderful writer, my mother adored his stuff,’ Jay said. ‘I was sorry to hear he passed away.’

Claire blinked, trying to stop the tears. ‘He was a good writer,’ was all she could manage. ‘It’s getting pretty late, thank you so much for inviting me to join you all,’ she said, suddenly feeling exhausted with it all. She peered at Archie who was curled up at her feet under the table. ‘I better get this little one to bed.’ Jay raised an eyebrow and she laughed. ‘Yes, he’s my little fur baby, what of it?’

He looked at Archie in mock shock. ‘That is one hairy baby.’ His face grew serious. ‘It’s very dark out there, I can join you, if you wish?’

Milo stood up too. ‘I’ll go out with you, Claire. I ought to head back anyway. Yet another early start tomorrow thanks to those pre-menstrual cows.’

She smiled. ‘You won’t want to keep them waiting.’

When they stepped outside a few minutes later, Claire breathed in the tart air, hoping it would clear her head of the wine and the memories of her father.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad,’ Milo said. ‘Did he pass away recently?’

‘Nearly thirteen years ago. Cancer.’ She saw her dad’s thin face again as he stared up at her all those years ago. She peered back towards the hotel. ‘Will your brother be okay?’

Milo frowned. ‘Yeah, he gets like that when he’s had a few drinks. Add that to how tough things are at the farm nowadays, it’s not a good mix. Sorry you had to see him like that.’ He peered towards the path. ‘So, what are your plans for tomorrow?’ he asked, quickly changing the subject.

‘Just lunch with Henry. Otherwise, I was thinking about driving somewhere, maybe further west towards Cornwall. I’d like to write about some of the places people can visit while here. Saying that, my car struggled enough on the journey down.’

Milo followed Claire’s gaze towards her aqua Fiat Uno. ‘It’s quite a specimen.’

‘I swapped Bob Dylan tickets for that old thing years ago with a friend.’

‘You missed a Bob Dylan gig for that ?’

She shrugged. ‘She brought me back a T-shirt.’

‘Well, if it’s just your car stopping you doing a tour, I can drive you tomorrow morning if you want? Can’t guarantee you’ll get back in time for lunch. But then maybe that’s not such a bad thing,’ he added, raising a dark eyebrow. ‘Lunch with Henry isn’t exactly thrilling; he’ll just bark on about why he had the restaurant walls painted cream instead of teal.’

‘How do you know I don’t find the interior decoration of West Country hotels fascinating?’

Milo smiled, a swift breeze whipping its way around him and picking up strands of his dark fringe. Claire wanted to reach out, sweep it away from his eyes. She felt guilt burn in her stomach. What was wrong with her?

She turned her attention to Archie so Milo didn’t notice her blush. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for them to spend the morning together? ‘I’ll manage on my own, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your time.’

‘Like terrify tourists with my stag-shooting abilities?’

‘I bloody hope not!’

‘Never again,’ he said, his face very serious. ‘Look, I’m due some time off. Dale keeps hassling me to take a break. What do you think?’

Claire held her breath. This press trip wasn’t meant to be about this. A quickening of the heart, the inability to breathe as some virtual stranger looked her square in the eye. She needed space to figure out a future without Ben – ‘see the wood for the trees’ as he had said. But she felt like she’d stepped even further into the forest, the wood and the trees blurring even more than ever.

But as the seconds ticked by without her answering, and a frown puckered Milo’s forehead, she found herself unable to say no.

So she said yes instead.

Claire was nervous as she approached Milo’s Land Rover the next morning. She’d promised herself the night before she wouldn’t read anything into every flutter of her heart, every catch in her breath. It was like looking at a beautiful painting when she was around him. Aesthetics and desire, that’s all, she reasoned. She needed the company, a distraction from dwelling on her problems with Ben all the time. But that didn’t detract from the fact she was anxious.

As she reached the car, she paused. Milo was reading her magazine, his eyes heavy with emotion. She recognised the article, an obituary for the magazine’s financial director Victoria who’d passed away a few months ago. She’d always got on with the gentle, kind woman, who was a contrast to the magazine’s obnoxious founder. In the article, she’d drawn on a conversation she’d once had with her about how important it was to follow your own path, something Victoria had done by moving from the tiny Italian village where she’d been born to live in the UK, despite her family’s protests. Claire had used a quote by Bob Black, the anarchist her dad loved reading: The reinvention of daily life means marching off the edge of our maps.