Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
STRUAN
The Pit is heaving.
Every screech, every thud of small bodies hitting foam, every parent’s weary “Be careful!” bounces off the walls and rattles around my skull like loose change in a tumble dryer.
Sunday soft play wasn’t part of the original plan, but the rain’s been hammering down since yesterday morning with no sign of letting up, and there’s only so much kids’ TV a man can take before he starts losing the will to live.
“So let me get this straight.” Douglas leans back in his plastic chair, arms folded, looking far too pleased with himself for a man trapped in the Pit on a Sunday. “You shagged your client. Who also happens to be your neighbour.”
“Wait a minute—” I start, but Lachlan cuts me off.
“Bold move, Struan. Very bold.”
Blair’s mouth twitches, like she’s trying not to laugh.
“It wasn’t like that.” I take a sip of truly horrific coffee. “She’s not my client anymore. Nothing happened while I was working for her.”
That’s technically true. The dry-humping-on-my-back-step incident occurred after hours. And in my own garden. So . . . aye.
“Flora said your mum walked in on you naked,” Lachlan says, one eyebrow raised.
Bloody Flora. Don’t know whether it was my mum or Ainsley’s who couldn’t hold their tongue. Either way, Flora—Lachlan’s neighbour—found out, and naturally she mentioned it to Lachlan. So here we are.
I suppose it’s just a bit of banter. A bit of good-natured teasing. Only it really fucking stings.
Of course, I’m hardly going to say that to them. So instead I smile sheepishly and say, “Aye, well, that bit is true.”
At this, Blair can’t contain her laughter. It bursts out, and she holds Lachlan’s shoulder to keep from doubling over. He looks at her with this soft expression that twists something in my chest.
Because that’s what I want.
Not the casual hook-ups I’ve been coasting on for years. Not the empty house that greets me every Sunday night after I’ve dropped Isla home.
I want someone who stays. Someone like—
I shut that thought down hard and drain the rest of my coffee.
“Da!” Isla appears at my elbow, face rosy from the climbing frame.
“All right, princess? Having fun?”
She gives me a small smile. She’s been a bit off this weekend. Turns out she overheard the call Sophie and I had earlier in the week. The one where I was a complete dick.
Yesterday she offered to cancel her paddleboarding course because she didn’t want it to upset me. I felt about two inches tall.
“Can I sit here for a minute?” she asks.
“Course you can.” I pat the chair beside me, and she swings herself onto it. “So, what’s the chat from the soft-play frame?”
“Logan says there’s a secret tunnel at the top, but I couldn’t find it.”
“Oh, aye? Well, maybe it’s really secret. Or maybe Logan’s just winding you up. You’ve been coming here for years. Pretty sure there’s not a secret tunnel you don’t know about.”
Her eyes narrow. “I knew it!” She jumps down from the chair and charges off.
Wouldn’t like to be in Logan’s shoes when my girl finds him.
I watch her till she disappears from sight then glance down at my mug. Empty. Could go get another, even though the stuff here is more punishment than pleasure.
I decide to wait. If the others start their teasing again, then I’ll go.
“Well,” Douglas says, nudging my arm, “look who just walked in.”
I glance towards the entrance, and my heart does something stupid.
Ainsley. Holding Lily’s hand and scanning the room with a guarded expression. Her gaze sweeps to our table, lands on me for half a second, then darts away again.
She picks a table on the far side of the soft play. As far from us as physically possible.
Lily, though, spots me. She points, tugging at Ainsley’s arm, and I can practically hear her voice from here: Stwuan! Stwuan is over there!
But Ainsley shakes her head, bends down to say something, and Lily reluctantly climbs into the seat beside her.
“Ouch,” Douglas murmurs.
“Shut up.”
Blair’s already on her feet. “I’ll go say hello. You”—she points at me—“stay here.”
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me, then heads across the café.
I try to focus on what Douglas is saying—something about how bloody awful it was when the twins had their stomach bug—but my eyes keep drifting back to Ainsley’s table.
She’s half-turned away from us, shoulders tight, and every few seconds she glances around the room like she’s checking whether people are staring.
They’re not. Nobody’s looking.
Well, except me. I’m staring. Can’t help it.
Blair returns after a few minutes and rests her hands on the back of her chair, a sympathetic grimace on her face.
“So?” I try to sound casual. “What’s the verdict?”
“Lily’s desperate to come over and see you. But Ainsley . . .” Blair hesitates. “She says things went a bit too fast. She needs to put on the brakes.”
“Right.” I nod, like this is perfectly reasonable information that doesn’t feel like a kick to the ribs. “Well, at least someone’s happy to see me.”
I mean it as a joke, but it comes out flat.
Blair reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Give her time, Struan. She’s been through a lot.”
Didn’t think I’d miss the teasing, but I reckon the sympathy is worse. Lachlan and Douglas both just look awkward.
“Aye. I know,” I say.
Blair heads back to Ainsley’s table, and I try—really try—to engage with Douglas and Lachlan. But my gaze keeps sliding sideways. I can’t help it. It’s like there’s a magnet in my skull, and Ainsley’s the only thing made of metal.
“You’re doing it again,” Lachlan says.
“Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“I’m not—”
“STWUAN!”
A small body barrels into my legs. I look down to find Lily beaming up at me, arms already raised in the universal “pick me up” gesture.
I glance over at Ainsley’s table. She’s watching, lips pressed thin, but she doesn’t immediately rush over to retrieve her daughter. So I figure I’ve got a minute.
“Hey, Lily.” I lift her onto my lap. “How’s things?”
“I went down the big slide all by myself!”
“Did you now? That one’s too big for me.”
Lily giggles, settling against my chest like she belongs there. And something in me softens, even as I’m aware of Ainsley’s gaze burning into the side of my head.
“When are we going to play Barbies again?” she asks.
“Well . . .”
“I liked it when you played Barbies with me. It was really fun.”
“Aye, it was.”
“Wait.” Isla appears beside us. “Da, you played Barbies with Lily?” She looks between me and Lily, something tight and unsettled in her face.
“He did!” Lily says happily. “And he did all the voices, and then he read me bedtime stories and got me to sleep.”
“You got Lily to sleep?” Isla’s brow furrows.
“Aye.” I keep my voice light. “Just as a favour to Lily’s mum. She had an emergency.”
“Stwuan is my Ardmara daddy,” Lily announces, patting my chest.
Isla folds her arms. “No, he’s not. He’s my daddy.”
“He can be my Ardmara daddy and your home daddy.”
“That’s not how it works, Lily!”
“But he likes me,” Lily says, with the supreme confidence of a four-year-old who’s never been contradicted. “Lots and lots and lots.”
“Girls—”
“No, he likes me lots!” Isla’s face crumples. “He’s my da!”
Wow, this is going sideways fast. Lily’s lower lip wobbles.
“Okay, okay.” I hold up a hand. “Girls, let’s just—”
But it’s too late. Isla—my sweet, well-behaved Isla—steps forwards and says right into Lily’s face, “He’s MINE!”
Lily bursts into tears. Isla’s eyes fill too.
Jesus. What the fuck is going on?
Heads turn, the low hum of conversation dipping as people glance over at the commotion. Finn and the twins gape from the climbing frame because Isla never misbehaves. She’s the good one. The sensible one.
Ainsley materialises beside us, cheeks flushed. Hating the attention, naturally.
“Lily, we’re leaving.” Her voice is tight, controlled. “Now.”
“Hey,” I say quietly, reaching out to touch her arm. “It’s fine, it’s just—”
She jerks away like I’ve burned her.
“But Mummy—”
“Now, Lily.”
The sharpness in Ainsley’s tone freezes Lily mid-protest. Her eyes go wide.
Ainsley scoops Lily up and heads for the exit without looking back. Lily buries her face in her mother’s shoulder, her small body shaking with hiccuped sobs.
Isla’s crying now too, silent tears tracking down her cheeks.
“Hey.” I squeeze her arm. “Hey, princess. It’s okay.”
“I was mean,” she whispers. “I was really mean to Lily.”
“Aye, well. We’ll sort it. Don’t worry.”
But my chest feels hollow as I watch Ainsley disappear through the door.
“Boys,” Blair says to Lachlan and Douglas, “can you look after Isla for a minute? Struan, come with me.”
She heads off after Ainsley, and I don’t need to be told twice. I hug Isla then follow Blair, out of soft play and out of the leisure centre itself.
Outside, the rain’s still hammering down. Ainsley’s halfway across the car park, both her and Lily getting soaked.
“Ainsley, wait!” Blair says.
She doesn’t stop, but Blair indicates to me to stay put, jogs after her, and says something to her I can’t hear. Somehow—God knows how—she convinces Ainsley to come back. Blair takes Lily back inside, leaving Ainsley and me standing under the overhang, rain sheeting down inches from our feet.
She looks tired. Pale and drawn, shadows under her eyes. Her hair’s going frizzy in the damp, and she keeps her arms wrapped tight around herself.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “About the girls. That was—Isla should know better.”
“It’s not her fault.”
“No, but—” I rake a hand through my hair. “Look, she’s been a bit unsettled this week. Sophie and I had a disagreement, and Isla overheard it.” I pause, then admit: “Actually, it was less of a disagreement and more of me acting like a bit of an arse.”
Ainsley doesn’t smile. Doesn’t soften.
“The kids arguing like that?” she says. “It only proves that this”—she gestures between us—“was a mistake.”
“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me,” I say. “And kids argue. It happens.”
“It happened because of us, Struan. And I can’t—I won’t let anything upset Lily. She’s my priority. My only priority.”
“Look, Ainsley—” I step towards her, but she shrinks back. Wraps her arms even tighter around herself.
Shit. If I keep pushing, she’ll only bolt. I want to point out that one small spat doesn’t mean we’re doomed. That kids are resilient, that they bounce back, that this doesn’t have to be the end of anything.
But I’m not going to make her see that by arguing with her. So instead I say, “I don’t think we’re a mistake. But I can’t ignore the fact you’re scared and Lily’s upset.”
She doesn’t respond. Just stands there, rain misting around us.
“I like you, Ainsley. A lot. And I’m not chasing a fling here. You’re . . .” I swallow. “Well, I think there’s something here. Something worth exploring. Slowly and carefully, if that’s what you need. But if you don’t want to take things any further with me, I’ll accept that.”
“I don’t,” she says quickly. “I just want to be neighbours. That’s all.”
Well, fuck. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“All right,” I say. My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Steady, when nothing inside me feels steady at all. “If that’s your final decision, I’ll respect it.” I manage a small smile.
She nods once, then turns and heads back inside for Lily.
Aye, I’ll respect it.
But fuck, it hurts.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet, really, given Isla’s sitting across from me at the kitchen table. She’s been subdued since we got back, and she’s pushing her pasta around her plate more than eating it.
I’ve tried the usual tricks—silly voices, daft jokes, that face she normally can’t resist laughing at. Nothing’s landing tonight.
“Da?”
I look up from my own barely touched plate. “Aye?”
“Are you going to get me into trouble?”
I blink. “What?”
“For being mean to Lily.” She’s staring at her fork, not meeting my eyes. “I wasn’t very nice. You should be cross with me.”
The words catch me off-guard. My wee girl, asking to be told off. Wanting it, even.
“Hey.” I reach across and cover her hand with mine. “No. It’s okay, Isla. I don’t want you getting upset about that. I get it. I understand why you reacted the way you did.”
She finally looks up, eyes red-rimmed. “But I shouted at her. Right in her face.”
“Aye. And that wasn’t great. But you know what? Sometimes even grown-ups feel jealous and do daft things.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “When I found out Mei was moving in with you and your mum, I felt a wee bit jealous.”
“You did?”
“Aye. Because I love spending time with you, and I didn’t like the idea of someone else getting to spend more time with you than I do.
” I squeeze her hand. “But here’s the thing, the people you love can have other people in their lives too.
Just because I looked after Lily for a night doesn’t mean I love you any less.
And just because Mei lives with you now doesn’t mean you love me any less. Right?”
“Of course it doesn’t.” She says it fiercely, as if the very idea offends her. Then she’s out of her chair and throwing her arms around me, squeezing tight. “I love you, Da.”
“Love you too, princess. More than anything.” I hug her back, breathing her in. “Right, are you going to eat any more of your food, or are you not hungry?”
“Not hungry.”
“Aye, me neither. You go off and play and I’ll tidy up here, all right?”
She scampers off and I put some music on, clear the plates, and fill the basin.
I’m humming away to myself and drying off the last dish when Isla reappears.
“Da, I wrote a letter to Lily. To say sorry for shouting. And I drew her a picture.”
“Oh?” I’m proud, of course, that my seven-year-old took it upon herself to apologise. She’s mature beyond her years, my Isla. But I don’t think Ainsley wants to see any more of us today.
“Well done. Maybe we can give it to Lily another time?”
“I already put it through their door.”
I don’t let my smile drop, but inwardly I’m thinking, Shit, Ainsley’s going to see that letter.
She’ll probably think that I put Isla up to it. That I’m trying to worm my way back in through the kids. That I can’t respect her boundaries.
“Oh, right. I didn’t hear you going out. That was a really nice thing to do.”
Isla beams.
I dry my hands on the tea towel, thinking. I could leave it. Let the letter speak for itself. But if Ainsley thinks I orchestrated it—if she thinks I’m playing games—
“Give me two minutes,” I tell Isla. “I just need to write a quick note.”
I find a scrap of paper and a pen, and scribble:
Just so you know, Isla wrote that note herself. She didn’t tell me about it until after she’d posted it. S.
Short. Factual. Nothing that could be misread.
I slip it through Ainsley’s letterbox.
Back inside, I check the time. “All right, princess, we better get you back to Bannock, eh?”