The Atlas of Us. Tracy Buchanan
it makes him quite anxious with strangers.’
‘Oh yes, I can see now. You hardly notice with the black patch of hair. Thought it’d be something like that. Dad gets Jack Russells in to kill the rats on the farms sometimes and they’re always so confident. Uncle Milo says I’m to get myself to a dog’s level if they’re scared.’
‘That’s enough now, Holly, Claire doesn’t need to hear your uncle’s theories on canine behaviour, thank you very much.’ Henry leaned in close to Claire. ‘I’m afraid my niece hasn’t been taught manners,’ he whispered rather too loudly.
Rude git, Claire thought.
Holly frowned slightly at Henry’s comment as she slowly reached her hand out to Archie. He hesitated a moment, considering his options, then slunk towards her, head low, tail wagging. She softly stroked his ears and he drew even closer, leaning against her shoulder as she smiled.
‘She’s a wild one,’ Henry continued. ‘No surprise considering she’s part of my wife’s crazy family. I’ll tell you all about that after a few glasses of wine,’ he added, tapping his nose. ‘Plus she’s not had a proper mother figure all these years and has been brought up surrounded by pigs and tractors in the farm up the road.’
Claire thought of the farmhouse she’d seen just a moment ago. ‘Maybe all kids should be brought up on farms then?’ she said. ‘She’s wonderful with Archie.’
Holly looked up at Claire, a hesitant smile on her face. ‘Uncle Milo says I should be a vet. But I’d prefer to be a journalist, like you.’
‘She’s seen the magazine,’ Henry said, noticing the confused look on Claire’s face. ‘Been excited about your visit for days.’
‘Oh, it’s only a small magazine,’ Claire said to Holly. ‘How old are you?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘You have a while to decide what you want to be yet. Why don’t you look after Archie while I talk to your uncle?’ She handed Archie’s lead to Holly. ‘Make sure you hold the lead tight though, he likes to chase birds and cars.’
‘Just like your uncle Milo,’ Henry said, guffawing as he steered Claire away. His face grew serious when they got out of earshot. ‘Everything okay, Claire?’
‘Not really. I just saw a deer shot right in front of my eyes.’
His jaw twitched but he didn’t look surprised. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘On the path on the way to the cliffs, about twenty minutes from here. It was a man with dark hair, in his thirties I think. He had an old dog with him, it looked like a wolf with grey fur, and—’
‘Milo,’ Henry said, sighing.
Claire thought of what Holly had said. ‘Holly’s uncle?’
‘Yes, my wife’s bloody idiot of a brother. I told you that family is cuckoo.’
She peered towards Holly. ‘I don’t want to cause a family argument. I just think he needs to be a bit more aware of how terrifying it can be, having a gun pointed at you.’
‘Oh, he’ll be made aware, all right.’ He peered at the clock. ‘Do you want to freshen up? Then I have one hell of an afternoon planned for you.’
Claire forced herself to smile. She really didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be back home, saving her marriage. ‘Great, see you in twenty minutes.’
She turned away but not before she caught sight of her brown eyes reflected back at her in a nearby mirror. She thought of the hopelessness she’d seen in the deer’s eyes before it tumbled down the bank.
Claire picked up the pint of sweet cider she’d just ordered and settled back into the plump sofa, staring out of the window beside her towards the darkening valley and blanket of trees below. Her room overlooked the same scene a floor above. It was all cream carpets, mahogany furniture and plush red chairs, just like the bar she was sitting in. It felt too plush and romantic for just her. She yearned for Ben to be here. She’d told him she wouldn’t go when they’d got home from that dreadful drive, but he’d insisted. She’d even suggested to him that he join her. Her company forbade partners from attending trips but this was a special circumstance. But again, he refused. He’d clearly made his mind up and it should have shocked Claire to the core. But the truth was, she wasn’t surprised. She’d been in denial and now it was all unravelling.
So instead of Ben being her dinner partner, she’d had to endure Henry all afternoon and over dinner too. Only he could draw what would usually be an hour’s tour into four hours. And now she was sat here alone, belly full of Exmoor’s finest lamb, head already woozy from the few sips she’d had of her cider. She checked her phone, not that it was much use considering there was no reception here. When Henry had said the place was remote, he’d meant it.
She caught sight of the notepad she’d brought. She needed a distraction. Maybe she could start work on that travel memoir she’d always wanted to write? Except when she opened it, the blank page mocked her. She swirled a pattern in the margins, flowers tangled around the punctured holes like ivy, then wrote the word ‘Exmoor’ and her name, then a line – A watercolour of grey …
A gust of cold air wrapped itself around her, lifting the corners of her notepad. She looked up to see the man who’d shot the deer walk in, dark hair whipping about his head, the ash from the cigarette he was holding dancing towards her. Under the light of the bar, his brown eyes looked almost gold, his lips very red. He appeared younger close up, taller too. He was wearing what he’d had on earlier: black jeans tucked into green wellies, a typical farmer’s wax jacket. She had to admit he was very attractive – what her friend Jodie would describe as a ‘dasher’, all legs, rugged features and windswept hair. That didn’t detract from the fact he’d nearly killed her.
A man prowled in behind him. He looked a little like Milo but older, thinner, with hair a shade lighter than his. His brother? He hunched his shoulders and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the pub. Behind him, the feral-looking dog she had seen earlier slinked in. Now she could see it close up, she recognised some Irish wolfhound in it, maybe a touch of German shepherd too. He looked quite a few years older than Archie, his back legs a bit rickety.
Milo stubbed his cigarette out on the wall as he passed her, bringing with him the smell of grass and bonfires. He stared at Claire then looked down at her notepad. She slammed it shut, trying to look suitably indignant. He frowned slightly then strolled to the bar as Claire peeked at him under her eyelashes, taking in how short his hair was at the back, a contrast to his long fringe.
As his dog passed, Archie let out a low threatening growl. The dog paused, surveying Archie with startling blue eyes. Milo tapped two fingers on his thigh and his dog bounced to his side, pressing his face close to his owner’s leg.
Henry walked in from the restaurant with a thin, dark-haired woman – his wife, Claire presumed, and Milo and this other guy’s sister. She strolled up to her brothers as Henry disappeared behind the bar. Claire could see the similarities between the three of them. Same long, sinewy limbs; same brown feline eyes; same distinctive bone structure. She thought of what Henry had said earlier about them being ‘cuckoo’. She wondered what he meant by that. They certainly gave off a certain energy, the atmosphere in the bar charged in their presence.
The door opened again and Holly bounded in. She was wearing a blue taffeta dress that seemed a little childish for her age, the sleeves too short, the edges frayed. She whirled around the pub before Milo’s brother grabbed her arm and reprimanded her, making her pretty eyes fill with tears. Milo frowned and placed his hand on his brother’s arm, whispering something to him. His brother relaxed slightly and pinched Holly’s cheek playfully as she looked down at her feet, biting her lip. Claire’s heart went out to her and she shot her a quick smile. Holly’s face lit up and she smiled back at her. But then Milo’s brother glanced towards Claire and glared at her. She quickly looked away.
Yes, there was something a bit off