Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
AINSLEY
“Honestly, Ainsley, you’re a lifesaver.”
Shona from the post office beams at her reflection, turning her head side to side.
Gone is the Irn-Bru orange she walked in with two hours ago, the unfortunate aftermath of a home dye kit and an online tutorial that apparently left out a few crucial steps.
In its place, a warm auburn that actually suits her skin tone.
“Always happy to help,” I chirp, unclipping the cape from her shoulders.
At the till Shona taps her card then slides a folded note across the counter. “A wee thank you.”
It’s a healthy tip. “That’s very kind, but you really don’t have to.”
“I really do. For saving me from looking like a traffic cone at my niece’s wedding.”
“Well, thank you.” As tricky as a DIY hair disaster is to fix, it’s not exactly bad for business.
Once she’s left, I tidy up my station—sweeping clippings, wiping down the shelf—while doing a quick scan of the salon.
Ruby’s midway through a graduated bob, the shape coming together nicely. At the basins Sheila’s rinsing one client’s hair while another waits nearby with foils. The three of them chatter away happily.
Everything is humming along smoothly.
I’ve got ten minutes before my next appointment. Just enough time for a breather.
Outside, I draw in a lungful of cool harbour air. The salt air, the smell of fish from the boats, the cry of gulls overhead. Not sure I’ll ever get used to having this on my doorstep.
A familiar flash of white catches my eye. The Walker Builds van slows and pulls into a space a few cars along.
Of course it does.
Since Sunday night I’ve been doing my best to avoid Struan. Checking the coast is clear before pulling my bins out. Hurrying between my front door and car to avoid awkward encounters. But I was never going to be able to avoid him for long.
He climbs out of the van, sunlight catching the loose curls escaping his usual messy bun. I turn and quickly retreat back inside.
What’s he doing here? The salon work’s finished.
I busy myself tidying things at the counter that don’t really need tidied. Then, a prickle at the back of my neck, I glance up just as Struan walks past the window.
His gaze catches mine, and he smiles. Not a big grin. Just that casual, infuriating curve of his mouth.
And then—he’s gone. He walks on past.
Oh. He’s not here to see me. Must be on another job. It is the town centre, I suppose. Plenty of places he could be going.
“That man is well fit.”
I turn to find Ruby and her client—Emma, a girl in her early twenties who works at the soft play—both gazing dreamily at the window.
“All the mums at soft play fancy him.” Emma sighs and turns back to the mirror. “The staff too.” The way she says it leaves no doubt that this includes her.
Something flickers inside me. Not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. Just irritation. General, non-specific irritation that has nothing to do with the fact that apparently every woman in Ardmara fancies Struan Walker—and I said no to a date with him.
“Heading to the back for a quick break,” I mutter to Sheila and Ruby before escaping to the kitchenette.
I click on the kettle, more out of habit than any real desire for tea. As it boils, voices drift through from the salon, not exactly quiet and impossible to tune out. Struan, unfortunately, remains the subject of conversation.
“Ardmara’s very own Casanova, that one,” Sheila offers with a chuckle.
I roll my eyes. Harmless banter. Part and parcel of salon life. Still grates, though.
“Well, about that . . .” one of her clients says in a tone that suggests she has big gossip.
“Aye?” Sheila says eagerly.
I pop a teabag into a mug, ears pricking despite myself.
“I heard something interesting at the Ferryman’s Rest the other day. You know Lindsey McVey? She was Lindsey Wallace before the divorce.”
The blonde from the beach. The woman whose house Struan was so keen to visit alone.
“Aye, I know her,” Sheila confirms.
“Well, apparently Lindsey invited Struan round to give her a quote for a new bathroom—only a quote wasn’t the only thing she was after.” She drops her voice to a stage whisper that I can still hear perfectly well in the back. “She all but put it on a platter for him.”
I knew it. Knew that was why Struan was so determined to go to that appointment without his da.
Not that it matters. He’s a free agent. I told him I wanted to forget what happened on his step, didn’t I?
My jaw tightens anyway.
“Bold move,” Ruby says, sounding impressed.
“Anyway,” the storyteller continues, clearly enjoying her moment, “he turned her down. Said he was flattered but wasn’t interested. Quite the gentleman about it, apparently.”
That’s not how I was expecting the story to go.
Sheila lets out a low whistle. “Didn’t think he was the sort to turn down an offer like that.”
“Poor woman,” Ruby murmurs. “I’d be mortified.”
I pour my tea and perch at the breakfast bar, spoon circling idly. The chatter moves on to something else, but not my thoughts. I’m still thinking about Struan.
He turned her down. Why?
My phone buzzes. “Mum” flashes on the screen.
“Hi, Mum,” I say, answering. “Everything okay?”
“No.” Her voice is high and shaky. “It’s your father, Ainsley. He’s fallen off a ladder. He landed on his arm and—oh, Ainsley, he’s in so much pain. Gone so pale. And—”
“Mum, have you called an ambulance?”
“Yes, but it was going to take them too long to get here, so our neighbour, Billy, is driving us to Inverness. I’m in the back with your da, and—oh, Ainsley, I’m so worried about him.”
My chest tightens. “Mum, deep breaths, okay?” I force myself to do the same. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m going to head through now.” I grab my bag and my coat. “You stay strong for Da, okay? I’ll see you at the hospital.”
“Okay,” Mum says shakily. Then: “Oh, your da’s saying you don’t have to drive—”
“I’m coming through, Mum. I’ll see you there.”
I end the call and pull on my coat. What the hell was Da doing up a set of ladders? And how many times do Mum and I have to tell him not to attempt stuff like that himself?
Later, I tell myself. Answers can wait. All that matters is making sure he’s okay.
I head through to the salon. Sheila takes one look at my face and says, “Ainsley? What’s happened?”
“It’s my da. He’s had a bad fall, and my mum’s in bits. They’re on their way to the hospital in Inverness, and I need to go too.”
“Oh my God,” Ruby says.
“Sheila, can you call my remaining clients? Ask them to reschedule?”
Sheila’s already ushering me to the door. “Don’t you worry about that. Ruby and I will cover everything. You go see your da.”
“But you were supposed to finish early—”
“Never mind that! We’ll manage. Family first.”
“Thank you.”
Out on the pavement, I break into a fast walk and try Blair on my phone. Lily finishes at three. If Blair can collect her—
No answer.
I try again.
Come on, Blair. Pick up.
Nothing.
I’ll have to bring Lily with me. An hour and twenty minutes in the car each way, plus however long we’re at the hospital. She’ll be exhausted and confused and asking questions I don’t have answers to—
I round the corner at speed and slam straight into something solid.
The impact jolts through me, and I stumble back, gasping. Strong fingers catch my upper arm.
“Whoa, easy—”
I look up into golden-brown eyes.
Struan’s.
“What’s wrong?” No sign of the easy smile. He’s studying my face, concern sharpening his features.
“My da—he fell off a ladder. He’s on his way to the hospital in Inverness. My mum’s with him but she’s panicking. She’s hopeless in situations like this.”
“Right.” His voice is calm, and his hand stays steady on my arm, warm and solid. “What do you need?”
I take a breath. Then another.
“I need to get Lily from nursery, then get to Inverness.”
“I’ll pick up Lily. I can look after her till you’re back.”
“What? No, you’re working, I can’t—”
“It’s fine.” No hesitation. No fuss. “What time does she finish?”
“Three, but—”
“I’ll get her at three. You go.”
I stare at him. My brain’s still catching up, trying to find the objection, the reason this won’t work.
But there isn’t one.
I trust him with her. The realisation lands quietly, settling somewhere beneath the panic.
“Struan, I—” My throat tightens. “Thank you.”
“It’s fine.” His brow creases. “But are you sure you’re okay to drive? You’re shaking.”
I look down. He’s right. My hands are trembling.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Text me when you get there.”
“I will.”
I fumble for my house key. “Here. Lily might be happier at home, with her things. Books, colouring stuff, Mr Flops—whatever keeps her busy.”
“Got it. Go.”
I hold his gaze for one more second—steady, reassuring—then hurry towards my car.