Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
LACHLAN
The windscreen wipers battle the rain as I pull into our driveway.
Another grey Scottish Saturday, the kind that makes you grateful for a warm house and nowhere to be.
We’ve just been at the Pit—soft play with Struan, Douglas, and their bairns, our usual weekend ritual—and my ears are still ringing from the noise.
A quiet afternoon at home will do me just fine.
“Right then, lad,” I say, switching off the engine. “What’s it to be? We could stick on a film, maybe build that Lego castle you’ve been on about, or?—”
“Can we ask Blair to join us?”
I blink, caught off-guard. Not the answer I was expecting. “Blair doesn’t work weekends, remember? She gets her own time.”
Finn unbuckles his seat belt but doesn’t move to get out of the car. Instead, he turns those big brown eyes on me. “But she’s probably lonely in the granny flat all by herself. And it’s raining, so she can’t even go for walks or anything.”
Blair’s second and third day with Finn went well, so she’s officially his nanny for the summer. But that doesn’t mean I want her encroaching on our weekend time.
“Blair’s a grown-up, Finn. She can take care of herself. Besides, I was looking forward to some time with just my boy.” I ruffle his hair. “Come on, let’s get inside. You’ll have to run—you don’t want to get soaked.”
We make a dash for the front door, and once we’re inside, I shake the water from my jacket while Finn kicks off his muddy trainers. Gus dances around us, thrilled to have his people home again.
“So,” I say, hanging my jacket on the hook by the door, “what’s it to be? A film? Lego?”
“Hmm...” Apparently, neither of those options are grabbing his interest. “Maybe we could build another fort?” he suggests finally, though his tone is flat and there’s none of the usual spark in his eyes.
“Aye, brilliant idea,” I say with more enthusiasm than he’s giving me. “We could make it even bigger than the last one. Enough room for you, me, and Gus this time.”
“And Blair?”
There it is again. I bite back my irritation and crouch down to his level. “Look, son, Blair’s with you Monday to Friday. Weekends are when she gets a break, and when you and I get our time together. Just the two of us, like always.”
His brow furrows, like he’s trying to puzzle something out that doesn’t make sense. “Are you saying she only likes being with me because it’s her job?”
Christ. How do you explain to a six-year-old that the world is complicated, that people can care about you and still need to be paid to spend time with you?
“It’s not that simple, lad. Blair does get paid to look after you, aye, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t enjoy it. But even people who like their jobs need time off. And I like spending time with you too, you know. You’re my favourite person in the whole world.”
Finn considers this, chewing on his lower lip the way he does when he’s thinking hard. “Okay,” he says finally. “Can we still make the fort?”
“Absolutely.”
We build this one in the living room for extra space, but even as we gather supplies—blankets from the cupboard, cushions from the sofa, chairs from the kitchen—I can tell his heart isn’t in it.
He goes through the motions, helping me drape the blankets and arrange the cushions, but there’s no excitement in it. No joy.
Twenty minutes later we’ve got a decent fort set up. Not bad, if I do say so myself. Gus has already claimed a corner as his own, circling twice before settling down with a contented huff.
“Right then,” I say, crawling inside and patting the space beside me. “What happens in here now we’ve finished it?”
But Finn doesn’t follow me in. He sits cross-legged outside the entrance, picking at a loose thread on one of the cushions.
“Finn? You coming in?”
“I think I’ll just go to my room,” he says quietly.
My heart sinks. “What? But we just built this. Don’t you want to?—”
“I’m just tired.” He stands. “Maybe later.”
And with that, he trudges upstairs, leaving me sitting alone in our blanket fort like a proper fool. Even Gus looks at me with something that might be pity.
Sighing, I crawl out of the fort, haul myself up, then head through to the kitchen. I flick the kettle on, and while it rumbles away, I grab myself a mug, toss in a teabag, and get the milk ready. I’ll give him a bit of time before I go up and see how he’s doing.
I carry my tea through to the living room, but I’ve only taken a few sips when the front door creaks open and a voice calls, bright but hesitant, “Hello? Lachlan?”
Frowning, I set the mug aside and get to my feet. Gus is first into the hall and I follow him to find Blair, rain-spattered and smiling faintly, with Finn at her side, his hair damp, his shoes leaving wee puddles on the mat.
What the—? When did he even leave the house? I didn’t hear a thing. Must’ve been when the kettle was boiling. The cheeky wee bugger actually sneaked out to see her.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Blair says, patting a very happy Gus, “but Finn turned up at my door.”
“Finn!” I run a hand down my face. “You can’t just wander off without telling me. And you definitely can’t bother Blair when she’s not working.”
“But I’m not bothering her! Blair said she does like spending time with me.” He says it with pride, like he’s just cracked the case of the century.
“Of course I do.” Blair crouches to Finn’s level and ruffles his damp hair. “You’re a cool dude.” She glances up at me. “I told Finn that, yes, I do get paid to look after him, but some people are just lucky enough to get paid to spend time with their favourite people.”
Finn beams, delighted.
Didn’t I say near enough the same thing twenty minutes ago? Yet somehow when she says it, he gets it.
“Right, well, thanks for clearing that up,” I say. “But we should let you get back to?—”
“Can Blair come in?” Finn interrupts. “Blair, we built a fort and it’s the biggest one ever. You could be the princess!”
“Finn, no, Blair’s got her own things to do. We can’t?—”
“Honestly, I don’t mind.” Blair stands and brushes raindrops off her jacket. “I was just reading, and it’s pretty nasty out there anyway.”
“See, Da? She wants to come in.”
I find myself caught between my son’s pleading eyes and Blair’s amused smile. The smart thing would be to stick to my guns, maintain the boundaries. But Finn looks so hopeful and Blair seems genuinely happy to be here, and I’m starting to feel like a right bastard for trying to keep them apart.
“I suppose...” I say. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“I’m sure.” Blair shrugs out of her damp jacket, and I take it and hang it on the hook next to mine.
“Right,” I say. “Er... can I get you a tea? Coffee?”
“Oh, that would be?—”
“Come on!” Finn grabs Blair’s hand and pulls her towards the living room. “Come see the castle!”
And just like that, any hope of normal adult conversation is gone. Blair lets herself be dragged away, laughing at Finn’s enthusiasm, and I follow behind like a spare part in my own house.
“Wow,” Blair says after taking in the fort. “This is incredible, Finn. It’s like a real medieval castle.”
“It is, isn’t it?” When Gus pads back into the fort, Finn adds, “Gus is the guard dog. Every castle needs one.”
“So what happens in this castle?” Blair asks, settling on the floor.
“Well, we could play knights and dragons.” Finn’s eyes light up with the spark that was missing earlier. “I’ll be the knight, you can be the princess, and Da can be the dragon. But not a nice one like Zog, Da. A scary one. Okay?”
Playing make-believe with my son? Fine. Normal. Expected, even. But with an audience? With her watching me crawl around on the floor making dragon noises? The thought makes my skin crawl.
“I don’t know, lad. Maybe?—”
“Oh, come on,” Blair says, grinning up at me. “Don’t tell me the big scary ferry captain is afraid of a little role-playing.”
There’s a challenge in her voice, and something about it makes my jaw clench. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Prove it.”
Finn claps his hands together. “This is going to be brilliant.” He points to the fort. “Get in, Blair! The princess is trapped in the tower, and the dragon is guarding her, and I have to rescue her.”
Blair plays along immediately and crawls into the fort, then peers out at us. “Oh no!” she cries in an exaggerated damsel-in-distress voice. “I’m trapped! Normally, I’d karate-kick the dragon myself, but I’m a little under the weather, so... rescue required.”
Finn giggles and brandishes an imaginary sword. “Don’t worry, Princess Blair! Sir Finn is here to save you.”
Both of them look at me expectantly. Christ. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man. I don’t do this sort of thing in front of people.
But Finn’s face is so hopeful, and Blair’s watching me with that amused smile, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m dropping into a crouch and letting out a tentative growl.
“That’s it, Da. But scarier!”
Right. No point half-arsing it. I take a deep breath and properly roar, loud enough to make Gus jump and Blair’s eyes go wide with surprise.
“The dragon guards the princess!” I bellow in my best monster voice. “No one may pass.”
Finn shrieks with delight and charges forwards with his imaginary sword. “I challenge you, dragon!”
And suddenly I’m chasing my son around the living room, roaring and stomping, while he squeals and dodges and Blair cheers him on from the fort. It’s completely mad, but Finn is laughing so hard he can barely stay upright, and despite myself I’m starting to enjoy it.
“The knight is quick,” I roar, lunging for Finn and missing deliberately. “But the dragon is quicker.”
“Run, Sir Finn!” Blair calls out. “He’s gaining on you.”
Ten minutes later, we’re all breathless and laughing. Finn has “defeated” the dragon (me lying dramatically on the floor, tongue lolling out), rescued the princess, and saved the kingdom. Blair is clapping and cheering, and Finn looks like he might burst with pride.