Someone Else's Conflict by Alison Layland

sink, finishing last night’s washing up.
    â€˜Morning,’ he said, turning to her with a smile like the sun struggling to break through clouds. As if recalling a dream, she remembered it was the sound of his voice that had woken her in the night.
    â€˜Thanks for all this,’ she said, waving a hand over the room. ‘You didn’t have to, honestly.’
    â€˜All part of the service. Hope you don’t feel I’m interfering.’
    â€˜Not at all.’
    She poured them both a coffee and he joined her at the table, drying his hands on a teatowel.
    â€˜I didn’t sleep well. Eventually decided I might as well put the time to good use.’
    â€˜I thought I heard you shout out in the night.’
    His expression clouded again. ‘Did you?’
    It was out before she could stop herself: ‘What does “shoiker” mean?’
    â€˜Shoiker?’
    She nodded, regretting her intrusion. He was still wringing the teatowel, though his hands must have been long dry. He paused, began to fold it.
    â€˜You know, one of these days I’ll really get myself into trouble, rambling in my sleep like that! What on earth else did I say?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. But your voice was raised, and… That was all I heard, honestly. You just said something like “I’m not shoiker,” loudly. It intrigued me, that’s all.’
    â€˜Sorry if I disturbed you. It’s coming back to me now you say it.’ He leaned back and hung the teatowel on the rail of the Rayburn. ‘It meant “jay”. My name. In another language.’
    â€˜So why would you say you weren’t Shoiker?’
    â€˜Search me.’
    He stood and went over to the sink to finish off the pots. ‘You know what dreams are like. Weird.’ Still with his back to her, he scrubbed vigorously and upended a pan on the draining board. When he turned, teatowel back in hand like a security blanket, it was as if the dream and its darkness had melted away like a wisp of morning mist.
    â€˜Time for me to get you some breakfast,’ he said, breezily. ‘Tell me what you want and where it is. We ought to get moving – haven’t you got an important appointment this morning?’
    â€˜It’s a shop I know, Jay. They might sell my stuff. Hardly an exam or a major job interview.’
    He grinned. ‘Whatever. But I’ve got work to be doing.’
    â€˜Work out there; it doesn’t include you waiting on me hand and foot. Aren’t you supposed to be the guest here? Sit down, drink your coffee and I’ll see to breakfast.’
    He seemed restless, edgy, and it occurred to her that his offer might have more to do with keeping himself busy than doing her any favours. She wondered briefly about the wisdom of leaving him here while she went to Skipton, and tried to think of a plausible excuse for locking the door while he worked outside. Nothing occurred to her that didn’t involve offending him, and in any case she thought that getting into locked houses could easily be one of his many talents. Chiding herself for overreacting, she recalled how the previous night had passed without incident and she’d actually enjoyed his company. By the time he’d finished several slices of toast and jam as quickly as the Rayburn could brown them, she had decided to trust him.
    She quickly changed and he helped her to the car with one of the boxes from the landing. They decided it wouldn’t be worth him patching up the hole in the barn roof, as the whole thing was to be replaced, and he should concentrate on finishing clearing the yard.
    â€˜OK, see you then. I’ll be back by lunchtime at the latest.’
    She moved towards the car, but he called her; she paused and looked back.
    â€˜The joys of country living, hey? Don’t you lock up round here?’
    He sounded genuinely surprised, and she hoped her cheeks