Chapter Text
The cottage next door to Jamie had been up to rent for three weeks now.
It was uncommon for these types of houses to come up on the market – what with it being close to both the city center and the countryside. The buildings themselves were originally built as miner’s cottages, as homes for the men who worked on the old coal-mining site.
The cottages were small in stature – as cottages usually are – with a quaint garden at the back. Inside, a lot of the old stone brickwork could be seen throughout, a reminder of just how old they were. Inside, the cottages were larger than first thought, especially the downstairs area. The kitchen greeted you first upon entering the front door, then through to the living room and then the backdoor leading out onto the garden. The stairs on the left hand side lead upstairs, where a large bedroom and separate bathroom stood.
Jamie loved living there. Although the cottage was still small, it was bigger than the previous place he had called home. Moving from above a corner shop into the cottage had felt like moving into a castle – with so much extra space to move about in.
The picturesque street he now lived on had always seemed to call to a part of his heart. He would pass by it daily on his commute to work, walking by it and daydreaming about the people’s lives that lived within those walls. On the bus he would sit down, staring out the windows and think about how the cottage would look like inside if it was his.
Which wall he’d put the TV on – not the one opposite the garden facing window, there would be too much glare and he wouldn’t be able to watch the football or the rugby properly. In which corner of the room would his bookshelf go? Perhaps there might even be enough room that he might be able to purchase a second bookshelf to help with the overflowing stack of books on the floor beside his bed. The garden – oh, the garden! He could just imagine an outdoor dining table set up in the summer, complete with large overhead parasol so as to not let the beaming sun rays burn his delicate Scottish skin. A paddling pool, perhaps, for wee Jamie and his newborn sister to play in. Even the different varieties of plants and flowers he could grow, maybe he would start growing a rose bush, like the one that his mother so tenderly grew back at home.
That’s the key thing that sold the cottages to Jamie. The fact that every time he passed by, he got a pang of nostalgia in his heart. The cottages reminded him of his childhood home higher in the Scottish highlands, Lallybroch.
When eventually cottage number 8 came up on the market, Jamie immediately put down an offer – no ifs ands buts about it. It didn’t matter to him that he fell slightly short of the asking price, what mattered was that deep down in his soul he knew that cottage was meant for him.
The estate agent rang him back to arrange a viewing, and upon meeting could clearly see how passionate Jamie was about the place, that they accepted his lower offer – and within a month he was all moved in.
At the time his neighbour next door at number 7, was an elderly man named John. The two men had been cordial to each other, what with them being neighbours and all, and because their homes and therefore their gardens connected to one another. But eventually they bonded over the sunflowers Jamie noticed growing in John’s garden. With his newfound freedom and space, Jamie decorated the cottage exactly as he had always dreamed while sitting on the bus staring into nothingness. The garden was the last to get done. What with him moving in the middle of the summer, the grass and flowers from the previous owner were causing havoc, growing in a tangled mess of weeds.
John and he had begun talking about the strangely warm summer they were having in Scotland that year. From then on the conversation had lead into where Jamie had moved from and the garden that he eventually wanted to whip back into shape. John had offered his insight as to which plants Jamie might find best to grow, things that wouldn’t take up top much of his free time, and would still continue to thrive in the coming autumn and winter.
Cottage number 7 came up for rent, when John passed away from old age. Jamie was sad to see John go. He attended John’s funeral to give his condolences, donated to the charity set up in John’s name, and passed along a sympathy card to the man’s family.
Number 7 stood like an empty, bare shell while people came to view inside of it, the walls just waiting for somebody to snatch it up and make the place homely once more.
When the time came that the cottage right beside Jamie’s eventually found its new tenant and was taken off the market, Jamie himself was actually out of town.
The first week in August was his father Brian’s birthday, and this year in particular was a special one – the big 50. Jamie’s mother had organized in secret a little family get together to celebrate.
At their annual family Easter gathering, conversation turned to upcoming events, and Brian had loudly expressed that he did not want a fuss made of his upcoming birthday in the August, no matter the fact that it was a special number. He simply wanted some nice food making and, if they were free, perhaps the kids could come round to say hello.
But in true Ellen Fraser fashion, Jamie’s mother wouldn’t hear a word of it. She wanted to spoil her husband on his birthday, and so she would, by hosting him a surprise family meal. Ellen instructed Jamie, his sister Jenny, Jenny’s husband Ian and the bairns to be inside the house at Lallybroch at 11am sharp, no sooner and no later.
Not wanting to get a cuff around the ear courtesy of his mother, Jamie set off promptly from his home – taking into account any delays that might be on the motorway.
That weekend was spent, as usual, with his parents, sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew. Jamie had taken both the Friday and the Monday off work, so no emails to check awaited him in his email inbox. He had free time to spend catching up with his mother and her newfound love of cross-stitching. To spend time with Jenny and her chaotic baking skills – seriously, just adding a bit of flour here and a pinch of baking soda there, were not exact measurements. What did eyeball it even mean, Jenny?
The Saturday was for sitting on the sofa with dad, both of them shouting obscenities at the referee who was completely in the wrong, giving a red card for nothing – the lad didn’t even touch his opponent for Christ’s sake! And don’t even go there about the penalty and extra time awarded at the end of the match.
At the age of 4, Wee Jamie was just as football mad as the rest of the men in his family. And so any extra time of Jamie’s that wasn’t spent either eating or sleeping, was spent in the grassy fields behind the house kicking around a well-weathered football with younger Jamie, Ian and his dad. They put jumpers down on two opposite ends of the field, to replicate goal posts with Ian and Brian on one team and the two Jamie’s on the other.
From the dining room table where Ellen and Jenny sat in companionable silence - one of them cross-stitching, the other writing down dinner recipes - shouts could be heard, yells of victory and foul coming through the wide-open windows. The sounds even intrigued 2-year-old Maggie, who looked up from her Minnie Mouse tea set.
Before the lads knew it the wooden antique clock on the hallway chimed 6 o’clock, and Ellen stuck her head out of the backdoor to call them in for their dinner. Sundays always meant two things; one, the family coming round to visit and two, a roast dinner with all the trimmings. No matter the weather outside, a Sunday roast dinner was always needed. The table was laded with everything you could want; succulent white chicken meat cooked and carved perfectly, roast potatoes crunchy on the outside and fluffy in the middle, mashed potatoes smooth without lumps and full of butter. A platter of vegetables; carrots, cabbage and broccoli with a knob of butter melting fast on the top. The best part was the plate piled high with Yorkshire puddings, all golden brown and homemade, using Jamie’s great grandmother’s recipe. The gravy jug sat right next to the plate, waiting to be drizzled on last and coat everything in its wake.
The Frasers and the Murrays sat down to devour the hot meal, silence filling the room except for the noise of knives and forks scraping on plates.
“So. Any special ladies in ye life, my lad?” His mother asked Jamie, nonchalantly taking a sip of her water like she hadn’t just asked a fully loaded question.
Jamie choked on his chicken in response.
“Special ladies?” Jenny laughed, pounding her brother on his back with her fist to dislodge the food. It only made him cough louder.
“Ye know… any dates?”
“Dates!?” That just made Jenny laugh even more.
“Well, I don’t know, ye never really tell mention anything of the sort Jamie.” Ellen refilled his glass of water from the water jug sitting beside her left arm, nudging it toward him to get him to take a drink.
With a few careful sips of water, the spluttering stopped and Jamie could take deep breaths again, while wiping at his watery eyes with the napkin sitting on his lap.
“A never say anything, because they isn’t anybody to talk aboot,” Jamie answered, spearing a broccoli stem onto his fork and placing it in his mouth.
“What about that lass? Erm.. What’s her name?” His mother said.
Jamie shrugged his shoulders, “Dinna ken who ye’re on aboot.”
Ellen clicked her fingers and moved her wrist in a ‘come on’ motion, as if that would help her remember the name of the person in question.
“Jenny? Ye ken who am on aboot, don’t ye? She was short, a tiny frail little thing with light brown hair. I saw her on Jamie’s Facebook?”
“Ye mean Mary MacNab, Mam.” Jenny said, spooning mash potato into a Yorkshire pudding, squishing it all together to make a sandwich and then sinking her teeth into it.
“Aye, Mary. Whatever happened to her, son?”
“Jamie told me she was too forward,” Jenny said, turning her head to the side to look at him, and answering Mam’s question.
“Too forward?” Brian asked.
“That’s the last time I tell ye anything, Jenny,” Jamie hissed to his sister and then back to his parents. “Aye, way too forward. Talking about when she wanted to get married and where and how many bairns she wanted, all on the first date. Wouldn’t even be surprised if she already had all the poor bairns names picked oot.”
“Sounds like ye were just a scaredy cat.” Jenny smirked, enjoying this too much for Jamie’s liking.
Jamie glared daggers at her.
“Jenny. Stop teasing ye brother.” Their dad chastised.
“Well, has their been anybody else?” Ellen tried once more.
Instead of answering, Jamie just shook his head no.
“Do ye want me to set ye up? Ye ken Mrs Fitzgibbons? The woman I worked alongside for the church bake sale at Christmas? Anyway, she told me that her granddaughter Laoghaire had taken a shine to ye.”
Jenny stifled a laugh into her drink, seeing Jamie out of the corner of her eye look like he wanted the group to open up and suck him in.
“Wait, ye mean Laoghaire Mackenzie?” Ian, who had sat silently eating his Sunday dinner, piped in.
“Aye her. The blonde-haired lass. Do ye remember her, Jamie?”
“Ye cannit set the two of them up! Laoghaire’s only just turned 19 – she’s seven years younger than our Jamie. Practically still a bairn.” Ian said, shaking his head.
“Absolutely no way Mam, don’t even think aboot it.” Jamie protested. “I remember her well enough. Following me around like a lost puppy, always trying to get in my way. Ian’s right, she’s but still a bairn, she can find somebody her own age.”
“But…” Ellen opened her mouth to say something else.
“Drop it, Ellen.” Brian placed his hand over his wife’s and raised his black eyebrows at her. “Leave the poor lad be. He’ll find somebody when the time is right. Beside, our Jamie here needs a woman, not a girl, and by the sounds of it this Laoghaire is most definitely still a girl.”
Jamie nodded his thanks to his dad and prayed that was the end of his mother’s so called matching making service.
On the Monday afternoon goodbyes were said and hugs given out, as the family members parted ways once more. No matter how old he became, Jamie still got a twinge in his heart when he said goodbye to his parents and sister. They always had been and always would be a tight-knit family.
“Be good for ye Mam, won’t ye Wee Jamie?” Jamie said to his nephew, while ruffling his light brown hair.
“Aye, it’s no him I’ve got to watch oot for. It’s little Miss over there,” Jenny nodded her head toward Maggie, who was propped up on her dad’s hip.
Jamie laughed, tickling the little girl’s bare foot and making her erupt into screams of laughter.
There was one last round of hugs to be had and Ellen leant up slightly to wrap her arms around her son’s neck for what must be the fifth time. “I hope ye weren’t upset after dinner yesterday,” she whispered in his ear. “I only say it because I love ye, and I hate the thought of ye going back to an empty house.”
Jamie returned his Mam’s hug, strong muscular arms squeezing around her body tightly. “I ken ye mean well, Mam. But it’s alright. I’m happy as I am right now.”
“Well, that’s all I can ask, isn’t it,” she pecked a kiss onto the side of his face, and then stood back to look into her son’s clear blue eyes. “Safe journey me lad.”
“I’ll text ye all when I get home safely. Love ye” Jamie promised, as he got into the car, a chorus of ‘love ye too’ repeated back to him. With his safety belt on and one more wave bye - he was off.
It was a week before Jamie even realised that the ‘for rent’ sign outside of number 7, had disappeared. Because of the time off he had taken, he was behind in his workload for his friend Angus’ whiskey company at which he worked, and it seemed to take him an age to catch up again. There were meetings to be scheduled and attended to, clients and suppliers to ring, boring paperwork to be read over and signed.
It had only been a short while since he’d made the journey back from Lallybroch to his cottage, and yet Jamie was exhausted. On the plus side, at least he got to work from home today – which meant a longer lunch break at whatever time he chose and numerous cups of tea. He thought about sitting outside, at his new outdoor dining table set, but it was too warm. He hadn’t gotten round to ordering a parasol for it yet, and so not only would his skin burn – thank you fair Scottish skin and red hair – but he also wouldn’t be able to see his phone or computer screen properly because of the glare from the sun.
It was while he was waiting for the kettle to boil that Jamie peered outside the front window and realised the ‘for rent’ sign missing. He supposed that the cottage must have been scooped up and taken off the market when he had been at Lallybroch, and that was almost two weeks ago now, so surely the tenant must be moved in.
Jamie deducted that in his sleep deprived, all guns blazing, work, work, work mode, he must have missed his new next-door neighbour. As he poured the boiling water over the teabag in his ‘Best Uncle’ mug, Jamie vowed to introduce himself to the mystery neighbour whenever he got the chance.
Lunch had, workload done – mostly – and innumerable amounts of tea consumed, Jamie was considering an icy cold shower.
The temperature outside had slowly been climbing every hour, till it reached its current peak at 22 degrees. Something that was basically unheard of in Scotland. Jamie wasn’t cut out for the heat, after all he was a Scottish man born and raised. He had tried to cool himself down by drinking glasses of freezing cold water inbetween his tea breaks, but nothing seemed to help. The backdoor and windows, too, had been open all day to let in any welcome breeze, but so far they were no extra help either.
Standing from his makeshift office – a stool up against his kitchen counter on which his laptop lay – Jamie closed his laptop lid and stretched, hearing all the joints in his back and hips pop. Draining the last dregs from his mug, he placed the cup in the dishwasher to be cleaned later and trekked up the stairs for his shower.
Stepping into the bathroom and bending over the shower tray to turn the shower on, Jamie realised that all his clean towels were on his bed, fresh from the dryer and just waiting to be folded and put away.
With water running and said fresh clean white cotton towel in hand, Jamie walked past his bedroom window, glancing out of it as he did so to see his garden and the neighbouring gardens below. He looked once and looked again; doing a double take to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing.
A bikini-clad woman occupied the garden of number 7.
The woman laid on what appeared to be a hot pink sun lounger, a black bikini the only thing covering her, and sunglasses perched on her nose as she read from the paperback book in her hand.
These thoughts registered in Jamie’s head all at once. But the main thing that he kept coming back to was that this woman was clad in a bikini. Just a bikini.
It was very hard to tell from his angle, but Jamie could make out a toned body made up of creamy skin that would soon turn slightly golden brown after sitting in the sun all day.
God, he was thinking about this too much.
He knew he should look away. He felt like a peeping tom for God’s sakes, but the tightness that had started in his shorts told him otherwise, as he perused over her body once more.
A woman sitting in the garden of number 7, so that probably meant she was his new neighbour then, right?
Or perhaps she was just visiting a friend who lived there? Or perhaps she had moved in with a romantic partner? Or perhaps…
Get ye heed together, Jamie, he told himself. Stop bloody looking at her like that. She’s in her garden; she can do whatever she wants. Just stop looking at her.
Tearing his eyesight away from her, and running his hand through his hair, Jamie closed his eyes and exhaled harshly. The tent that was now happening in his shorts was not helping the matter whatsoever.
Shaking his head, he walked back into the bathroom. A cold shower was definitely needed now, just for other reasons than the warm summer weather outside.