Chapter 32
thirty-two
CLAIRE
Faces spun to me, pink and gleaming, as Owen whirled me this way and that. The music rose and fell as the villagers whooped and hollered.
I’d never experienced anything like a ceilidh, and it was wild.
The steps eluded me, and no one seemed to care. I was tossed from person to person, swung around, and tossed back. Everyone was a little sticky and an awful lot happy.
The ceilidh had that end-of-night delirium, but it lasted the whole way through.
My heart raced and my feet ached to the point I’d abandoned my heels long before, and yet it was intoxicating.
Even Scruff looked like he was having a rip-roaring time, trying to catch swishes of kilts as they swung past him.
Isla yelled at Jeff, ‘Left. No, my left!’
I was tipsy enough to love every minute without an ounce of embarrassment at my terrible dancing, and clumsy enough to keep stamping on Owen’s boots.
‘I’ll have no toes left by morning,’ he said.
‘You’re in my way.’ I laughed, clinging to his thick bicep and swooning a little.
He whisked me about until my lungs felt like they’d burst from my chest and land in the middle of the eightsome reel.
‘I’m going to get a bit of air, I’m sweating like nobody’s business.’ Owen’s stubble scraped my cheek as I leaned close to whisper-shout in his ear.
‘You’re sweaty arse is one hundred per cent my business.’
Play shoving him, I sent him off with a request for a Coke and a water. I needed hydration and sugar replacement. The ceilidh was just drunk exercise, really.
Owen kissed my forehead and vanished towards the bar like a man with a quest. While I grabbed his coat from the back of his chair as I passed.
The village square was dark and cold, and I shivered as I collapsed onto a straw bale.
Above, the bunting still flapped in the soft orange glow of the orbed festoon lights.
And above, stars flickered. The blanket of stars that punched holes in the navy above, well, on nights when it wasn’t cloudy, still amazed me.
I made a note to drag Owen to the beach and lie beneath them one night.
Peace.
A weight dipped the bale next to me, perfectly interrupting my stargazing. I looked down, smiling for an Owen, who wasn’t remotely Owen.
‘Bit loud in there,’ Marty said.
I burrowed further into Owen’s jacket and glowered at him.
‘I’m busy.’
‘Being a dreamer? Staring at the stars and sighing wistfully?’ He seethed below the surface. ‘When will you ever grow up? This isn’t real life. You’ve run away into some seaside dump and you’re pretending it’s a fairy tale.’
His words hit that vulnerable part inside me that he’d always managed to hurt with nothing but words. Sometimes just a scathing look.
‘Why do you care what I do?’
‘Call it sunk cost. I gave you four years, and I’m used to having you around.’ Prince Charming would be turning in his grave. ‘I want to have kids and all that shit, and I’m nearing forty. Holding out for perfection isn’t going to serve me well. You’re reliable.’
‘You just don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to be someone’s reliable, or needed, or secret.
I deserve to be loved. I deserve to have a man who wants to be with me, and craves my company when I’m not there.
’ Exasperation filled my voice. I’d given Marty four years, and it had hollowed me out.
Owen filled those rotten laces with warmth and love. And not in the rude way. But also that.
‘I know all about that sick fuck’s prolectivities. I’ve seen pictures. He probably hasn’t pulled that card out yet, but before you know it, he’ll have you trussed up like a raw turkey and be taking photos for his online buddies.’ Marty’s face twisted in disgust.
‘And what you don’t know is that Becky is a lying-faced twat who took those pictures to blackmail Owen.’
Marty scoffed. ‘Who cares, it’s still weird as fuck.’
‘Maybe some of us enjoy actually having sex that makes you so hot… so on edge… so needy that when Owen fucks me, he makes me feel things that you never could. That you never even cared if I did. To Owen, my pleasure is the entire purpose of intimacy. To you, it wasn’t even a consideration.
’ I stood, and Marty followed, the vein on his forehead popping out like an angry worm.
His voice dropped low, a menacing growl filling it.
‘I don’t give a flying fuck, Claire. I’m not some country bumpkin, and I am more than happy to play dirty to get what I want.
’ God, he sounded like a petulant toddler with the way he whined.
‘Becky’s inside right now with a USB. If you don’t stop this nonsense and come with me, I’ll text her and she’ll hit play.
Your golden boy’s bollocks will fill the big screen, him fucking a hogtied Becky while she looks bored as fuck.
Those influencers are still in there. It’ll only take a few seconds to ruin his life, his distillery and his pathetic little family. ’
How the fuck had I even thought I loved this man?
Panic gripped my spine as my time in Otterleigh Bay flashed through my head.
Isla’s sweet smile, Jean’s caring nature, Jim’s cheeky glint, and Owen.
Sweet, funny, grumpy Owen. All hard outer shell and soft gooey filling.
I didn’t want to hurt any of them. They deserved better.
My pulse thundered as I tried to find a way through it.
Marty would text Becky before I could stop her.
Could I cut the power? No idea where the breaker was.
Fuck.
‘Come on,’ Marty coaxed, standing close and smoothing his jacket like it was a done deal. ‘You don’t belong here. You belong where the work is. I’ll fix everything. Pay rise. The pick of the clients. I’ll fix you. Get rid of this raggedy look. Come home.’
I stepped into his space, trying to keep my face neutral. He smirked, already sure of his win.
Idiot.
‘Here’s the thing,’ I said sweetly, reaching out to place my hands on his hips, right next to his pocket. ‘I’m not something you can buy or cajole. Not anymore.’
I lifted a knee and slammed it right into his nuts, while simultaneously snatching his phone from his pocket.
Marty let out a high squeal and went down like a sack of shit, folding at the waist and bending over.
To keep him down, I kicked him hard in the ass, sending him flying into the pile of bales.
Inside, the band was between sets. Clumps of people filled the dance floor, a mess of flushed faces. I dropped Marty’s phone into a full pint at the bar and bolted for the stage. Behind the speaker stack on stage, I spotted a blonde, Becky, crouched and fiddling.
‘Absolutely the fuck not,’ I said, and ran for the small set of stairs beside the stage. Becky didn’t see me coming. I launched into a rugby tackle that would have astounded my PE teacher.
We went arse over tit in a blur of colour and hair.
‘Get off me, you crazy bitch!’ Becky yelled.
‘I’m not the crazy one. You’re stalking your ex and playing with mine like a maniac.’
Becky escaped my grasp and crawled toward the stage front, sending fiddles and the drum kit tipping in her wake.
I threw myself after her, utterly miscalculating the whole thing, and not realising until we tumbled through the air and landed on the floor below.
My breath left my chest in one heavy whump, and Becky groaned beside me. There was no time for injury wallowing. I had to get the black USB; she still gripped it tight.
The villagers parted like I was a tipsy Noah as I launched myself back at her, swiping for the USB. But Becky fought like an angry badger who held the last worm.
‘Get off me!’ Becky hissed. ‘You are so insecure—’
‘Says the woman who’s trying to ruin her ex, for what? Being happy?’ I grunted, hauling her wrist.
‘He doesn’t deserve to be happy,’ she snapped, yanking my hair with a vicious tug.
‘Ow! Stop it.’
‘He doesn’t get to be happy while my life went to shit—’
‘You blew yours up yourself. By cheating and blackmailing and being an all-around whacko.’
Owen appeared off to my left, three drinks in his hands and a shocked expression on his face.
‘Scruff!’ I squealed as Becky wriggled like a cat in a bin bag, and my knee banged into a chair.
‘You are stealing my life,’ Becky panted, kicking me off.
Owen abandoned the drinks and came rushing toward me.
‘You are trying to ruin his,’ I panted back, dragging her ankle. ‘Why would he want you back?’
‘He wants adoration.’ She writhed and kicked. ‘I gave it to him!’
‘You gave him an empty bank account and heartache,’ I said, gaining ground. I clambered on top of her and clamped both hands around the USB, playing tug-of-war. The thing slid out of its cap, pinged off the wood and skittered across the floor.
The crowd collectively inhaled.
‘Nobody move!’ Isla yelled. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
Becky and I both dove. I belly-flopped while Becky army crawled across the room. The USB disappeared under the raffle table.
‘NO,’ Eilidh shrieked as Becky reached the table and yanked the tablecloth, which upended half of the prizes.
Becky got there a beat before me, a victorious laugh pealing out of her. Her hair stuck up like she’d jammed her thumb in a socket, and I let out a groan of defeat. She found the USB and held it in the air.
Morag stepped forward behind Becky and raised her walking stick, before bonking Becky on the top of her head.
‘Enough.’ Morag thumped her again. Not hard enough to maim, but hard enough to give her a headache.
Becky yelped and dropped the USB. The hall watched its path across the floor.
‘SCRUFF!’ I screamed on instinct. ‘Fetch!’
From beneath a trestle table, like a furry Superman, my tawny hero launched himself forward and caught the USB neatly between his teeth. Becky, one hand still holding her head, lunged. Scruff outpaced her easily. Laughter rose around us as Scruff bounced around while Becky cursed at him.
He beelined for me, tail wagging, and dropped the slobbery, teeth-marked prize into my hand.
‘Good boy! You’re going to get the biggest stick I can find.’
‘What’s going on?’ Owen lifted me to my feet, checking me over with worried eyes.
‘Just dealing with some unwanted guests.’ My breath came out in short bursts. ‘I drowned Marty’s phone and had to come in for Becky’s USB.’
Taking Jeff’s pint, I dropped the USB into it. Grinning at Owen.
The off-duty copper stood up, quite a bit tipsy and gestured around. ‘Someone phone the station and get Crab and Flint up here to put these two in the calls for the night. I’m two sheets to the wind already.’
‘You can’t—’ Becky started.
‘I bloody well can, and I am.’
Marty, clutching his aching balls, glowered at me. He’d underestimated me for the last time.
Owen’s hand found the back of my neck and turned me to him. ‘You seriously okay?’
‘Ask me in the morning. For now, I want another dance, at least three more cocktails and then a soak in your lovely copper bath,’ I said.
‘You’re fucking amazing, Claire. My perfectly wild wee brat. I’ll run you a bath every day for the rest of your life if you’ll let me.’
Standing on tiptoes, I brushed my lips over his. ‘Let’s start with tonight, and see how we go.’
His face crinkled, and I reached up to soothe the grumpy line between his eyes. ‘Because if we end up in London, there’s fat chance you’ll have a bath.’
When I’d downed both my Coke and my water, the musicians kicked back off, and we were swallowed back into the reel. Scruff howled along with the fiddle until Morag scooped him into her lap.
Owen spun me under his arm, and the hall blurred until I grew giddy with it. My cheeks hurt from grinning by the time I’d lost track of the time.
‘Left!’ Owen laughed.
‘I am lefting!’ I promptly stepped on his boot.
He kissed me anyway.