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But Jett and I wouldn’t have kissed, either.
So I can’t bring myself tototallyregret it.
“Er, it’s really unfortunate that this happened,” I say, hoping the guilt doesn’t show on my face. “But it was anaccident. It wasn’t their fault — the film crew. It was —”
“Quick!” yells a woman carrying a sign which reads “VIOLET IS THE REAL WITCH”. I warm to her immediately. “They’re coming!”
I freeze on the spot as the sound of a car’s engine reaches us from through the trees.
I don’t even need to look around to know who it’s going to be; it’s as if my body has some kind of sensor that tells me when he’s near. Somehow, though, I feel myself turn around, as if I’m being pulled by a magnet, and, sure enough, there’s a large SUV coming bumping towards us over the rough ground of the forest. In the front passenger seat is Justin Duval, with a veryFrenchexpression of distaste on his face, and, behind him, sit Jett and Violet — who I guess must have flown back from London first thing.
Two more cars follow behind them in a slow procession — I’m sure I can see Grace’s face at the window of one of them — and although I contemplate turning and running away to hide in the woods, like Little Red Riding Hood faced with the Big Bad Wolf, there’s no time for that, because no sooner has the thoughtentered my head than the first car is pulling to a stop a short distance from the protesters, and its occupants are getting out.
Macbeth is here.
Twenty-Five
“Shecan’t be here,” says Violet, pointing at me as soon as her feet hit the ground. She’s wearing a beautifully-tailored wool coat with high-heeled leather boots, and she’s having to shout in order to be heard above the sound of the protesters, who have taken up their “Macbeth go home!” chant again, with renewed vigor.
“Jett,” she says plaintively, looking around for him. “Did you hear me? Lexie can’t be here. She got the restraining order this morning. Charles says he delivered it himself.”
Jett frowns, as if this is news to him. He’s wearing a dark-colored coat over his trademark black sweatshirt, and he looks handsome and brooding, in a way that makes a shiver run down my spine.
I really wish he didn’t still have this effect on me.
“Jett!” says Violet again, more sharply this time. To everyone’s surprise, though, it’s Bella McGowan who answers her.
“If ye’ve taken out a restraining order against Lexie,” she says, instantly taking stock of the situation, “then surelyyou’rethe ones who’re breaking it by being here? Jimmy, get everybody towheesht for a minute, will ye? I want to hear what this yin has to say for herself?”
Violet scowls at her as the protest abruptly dies down, everyone inching forward to get a better view. Bella’s hair is dyed neon pink this week, and she’s wearing a pair of purple Doc Marten boots, and a colorful jumper, which looks like she knitted it herself. She smiles pleasantly, as if this is a perfectly normal conversation to be having with the A-list movie star whose set you’re protesting in front of.
“What’s this old lady saying?” says Violet, turning to a stressed looking woman beside her, who I think I recognize as one of the movie’s producers. “I don’t understand?”
“‘Old lady?’” says Bella, pulling herself up to her full height, which is approximately 4’11”. “I’m only 83, I’ll have ye know!”
“And I’m 65,” puts in Jimmy, causing a small ripple of astonishment to run through the crowd, who — like me — had all put him at roughly 105.
“I was saying,” says Bella, addressing Violet as if she’s one of the naughty schoolchildren the former headmistress used to regularly take to task. “Lexie was here first, so she’s not breaking any restraining order, as far as I’m aware. So if ye dinnae want her near ye, you’re the ones who need to leave.”
“Damn right,” shouts Jimmy, waving his end of the sheet in the air. “Bugger aff, the lot o’ ye. Lexie has every right to be here. This is her home, and we’ll defend her tae the death!”
I look at him in surprised. Of all the people I might have expected to give a rousing speech in my favor, Jimmy the farmer’s name was pretty far down the list. Not that it’s a particularly long list, mind you.
“Lexie!” the crowd start to chant. “LEXIE! LEXIE!”
Wow.
Violet looks like she’s about to explode. For a moment, I think she’s going to stamp her little feet in a temper, but she manages to get a hold of herself, and looks pleadingly at the producer.
“Look,” says the woman, glancing at Justin Duval. “Maybe we should go. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere here.”
“Non!” says Duval, who actuallydoesstamp his foot. “This is my set. I will not have zese people ruin it!”
He stamps his foot again, for good measure. Just across from me, I catch Jett’s eye. He hasn’t spoken yet, but he’s been watching me — I can almostfeelhim watching me — and when I look up at him, he doesn’t drop his gaze.
We lock eyes silently. And then a distinctive rumbling sound starts up somewhere on the forest path, and everyone turns around to see McTavish riding towards us on a large red tractor.
“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived,” the producer remarks to Duval, who’s so red with outrage that I’m starting to hope first-aider-Emily is on hand.
