Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STRUAN
I’m sitting cross-legged on Lily’s bedroom floor, surrounded by a sea of Barbies, tiny shoes, and enough plastic paraphernalia to stock a small toy shop. My knees are protesting—I’m a six-foot-three bloke, not exactly built for sitting like a pretzel—but Lily’s in charge here and she knows it.
In my hand is “Stwuan Barbie”, the doll Isla and Lily renamed at the beach barbecue because apparently the resemblance to me is uncanny.
Without the outfit I was wearing that day, I don’t see it myself, but Lily is adamant the doll is Stwuan Barbie.
She’s also adamant that Stwuan Barbie is a girl, not a boy.
She carefully manoeuvres a tiny rucksack onto the doll’s shoulders, her tongue poking out in concentration. Then she picks up another doll—a slightly battered Elsa from Frozen, her blonde braid fraying at the ends—and holds her up.
“This is Stwuan Barbie’s mummy,” she informs me.
“Right. Course she is.”
“Okay.” Lily’s voice goes serious, like a director about to call action. “Pretend you shake the bag off and say you’re staying home today. You’re not going to school.”
I make my Barbie shrug off the rucksack. “I’m staying home today,” I say, pitching my voice high and squeaky. “No school.”
Lily instantly switches to her “adult” voice—deeper, slower, dripping with maternal patience. “But you have to go. School is where you learn important stuff like reading and counting and how to share.”
“Well, okay then,” I say.
Lily’s face falls. “No! Pretend you didn’t say that. Instead, you stamp your foot and say, ‘No, not going,’ and then I say, ‘I’m going to count to three, Stwuan Barbie,’ and then you say, ‘Okay, fine, I’ll go to school.’”
I nod. “Got it.”
I try again. Lily watches me with narrowed eyes, then nods, apparently satisfied with my performance.
It’s not lost on me that she’s acting out her own morning routine—through a plastic doll named after me. Working things out in miniature. That’s what play’s for, I suppose.
We carry on, Lily running the show with an iron fist wrapped in pink sparkles. Now the class has a new pet pony—a plastic thing with an improbably glittery mane—and the teacher (played by Lily, naturally) has chosen Stwuan Barbie to take it home for the night.
“You have to be very careful with Sparkle,” Lily says sternly, handing me the pony. “She gets scared if you brush her hair too fast.”
“I’ll be gentle,” I promise, arranging the tiny reins with more care than I’ve given most actual tasks today.
It’s been ages since Isla wanted to play dolls with me like this.
She’s moved on to books and facts and card games and chess—which is brilliant, don’t get me wrong.
I’ve no wish to turn back the clock and be at this stage again every weekend.
But as a one-off? Revisiting something Isla and I used to do together but don’t anymore?
Aye. It’s kinda nice.
My phone buzzes on the floor beside me. I glance at the screen. Ainsley.
“Right,” I say, setting Sparkle down carefully, “I’m going to get this, okay?”
Lily fixes me with a look so stern it’s comical on her wee face. “Don’t be long. The school’s closing soon.”
“Aye aye, teacher.”
I push myself to my feet and step out onto the landing, pulling the door almost closed behind me.
Ainsley texted about half an hour ago to say she’d made it to Raigmore. She promised to call the moment she found out the state of things.
I swipe to answer. “Hey. How’s your da?”
“Better than we thought, thank God.” Her voice is tired but relieved.
“No surgery needed after all—just a fracture and a nasty cut that required stitching. They’re putting the cast on now and will probably keep him overnight for observation, just to be safe.
But all going well, he’ll get out tomorrow. ”
“That’s good news. Proper relief, that.”
“Aye.” A pause. “How’s Lily been?”
I glance through the gap in the door. Lily’s brushing the toy pony’s hair with a tiny brush, murmuring something to it in a soothing voice.
“We’ve been playing Barbies for almost two hours,” I say. “She’s keeping me right.”
Ainsley laughs softly, the sound light and warm. “You’re playing Barbies with her? That’s . . . actually very sweet.”
I grin and rub the back of my neck. “Sweet, aye?”
“Aye. Sweet.”
From her tone, I reckon she’s smiling. I certainly am.
“And also, did you say two hours? You deserve a medal. Lily can be bossy at the best of times, but when it comes to her dolls, she’s next level.”
“Och, I don’t mind. She’s a proper wee Spielberg in the making. Got the whole thing scripted down to the last line.” I pause. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but when I picked Lily up, she asked where her grandparents were. I just told her Grandad wasn’t feeling well and Gran was looking after him.”
“That’s exactly what I’d have said. Thanks for handling it. I owe you for this, Struan.”
“Seriously, it’s no bother.”
“It might be late before I get back. Blair said she could pop over and sort Lily’s tea and bedtime—”
“Och, don’t be daft,” I cut in. “No need to get Blair out when I’m already here and have a free evening.”
A bit of a lie, that last bit. I was meant to play at the Ferryman’s Rest tonight with Rab and Ellie, but I messaged them earlier to cancel. Figured Ainsley wouldn’t be home any time soon, and I wasn’t about to palm Lily off on someone else.
“You sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure. Lily and I are just fine.”
Through the gap in the door, I watch Lily settle the toy pony into a makeshift bed made of tissues.
“Okay,” Ainsley says quietly. “Thank you. Really.”
“Stop thanking me. Focus on your da, aye? Everything’s just grand at this end.”
After ending the call, I head back into Lily’s bedroom. “Right. How’s Sparkle getting along?”
“She had a bad dream so Stwuan Barbie has to sing her a song.” She looks at me expectantly.
“A song?” I lower myself back onto the floor. “What kind of songs do ponies like?”
Lily considers this. “A lullaby. But make it up. Sparkle doesn’t like normal songs.”
“A made-up lullaby for a toy pony. Got it.”
I pick up Stwuan Barbie and clear my throat dramatically. Then, in the softest falsetto I can manage, I start singing absolute nonsense about glittery manes and magical meadows while Lily watches me with solemn approval.