Chapter 20
twenty
OWEN
By Monday evening, my stomach was in knots. And not the good kind. Gravy and slow-cooked beef filled the air with a salty scent that had my belly rumbling around the nerves. I’d made the stew a thousand times before, so why was I so worried? Let’s face it, it wasn’t about the stew.
Claire had already met everyone but Mum; there was really no need to be stressed. But Mum had loved Becky and always held onto the hope I’d get her back. Would she hold that against Claire?
‘I know you like her,’ I said to Meowrse, who sat on the windowsill and silently judged me for hoarding all the beef in the pot and not his chunky belly. ‘But will Mum?’
He swished his half-tail and awarded me a single approving blink, then buggered off when there was no meat forthcoming.
The slow cooker muttered like a pensioner in the corner. Barley swollen to perfection and gravy bubbling steadily. Claire offered to pick up some bread from Eilidh’s bakery, which I couldn’t compete with. The crust on her loaves rivalled Paul Hollywood’s.
I laid the table the way Gran had taught me as a kid. It had always been my job, and Isla would help clear the table after dinner. Setting out the cutlery brought me order. Something I could control while my heart juddered around in my chest.
A knock pulled my attention to the door, and my chest swelled. Proximity to Claire had started to do that. To make me go all melty inside.
Claire stood on the step with her eyes glittering from the wind.
A foil-covered tray balanced on one hip and a large paper bag in her other hand.
She wore a burnt orange sweater dress that clung in all the right places, and brown leather boots that rose to her knees.
Meowrse materialised, pretended he’d never met me, and smeared his entire orange self around her calves.
‘Evening,’ I said, which came out gruffer than I’d planned.
‘Hey, you,’ Claire smiled before standing on her tiptoes. She stopped just shy of kissing me, her sweet breath tickling my lips.
I threaded an arm around her waist, careful not to upset the tray. ‘Hey, you.’
She sighed so prettily as I kissed her softly, peppermint drifting over me.
‘Come in. If you dare.’ I took the tray from her and moved aside to let her in.
‘Oh, I dare all right. I’ve been looking forward to teasing you publicly all day.
’ Claire grinned at me before moving through to the kitchen.
Meowrse tailed her, and so did I, like two fan boys.
I slipped her coat off, pausing to kiss her neck as I did.
Letting her past my boundaries had unlocked an even greater need to touch her. To make her smile.
Mum arrived with Isla shortly after, a storm of commentary about the Autumn fair bubbling between them, followed by Jeff with his trusty six-pack.
Dad was last, one hand using the wall for support as he walked.
He looked… off. Paler. His breath coming a fraction faster than usual.
He clocked me watching him and squared his shoulders.
‘All right, Owen?’ he said, like I was the one puffing my way into the kitchen.
‘Grand.’ I moved to pull out his chair, watching as he gripped the table while lowering himself down. ‘Sit yourself down.’
‘Aye, hold your horses.’ Dad grumbled as he sat.
‘Nice to see you again, Jim,’ Claire said, dealing out bowls. ‘And nice to meet you, Mrs Harris.’
‘Call me Jean, dear. Mrs Harris was my mother-in-law.’ Mum smiled softly at Claire, and hope warmed my chest. All my favourite people in one room.
‘Beer?’ Jeff offered. Isla and Dad took one, while I topped everyone else up with a glass of red wine.
Mum pulled me against her and kissed my jaw. It had been a long time since she could reach my cheek. ‘Now tell me all about how this young lady has increased our whisky sales. I’m told that the retirement home put pictures of my boy up on the walls.’
‘Jeez, Mum,’ I said, as heat crept up my collar.
‘I can’t blame them.’ Claire laughed. ‘He looks mighty fine in a kilt. Maybe we should send you up to give them all a dram.’
Isla snorted into her beer bottle while Mum’s eyes sparkled.
Dad sat at the head of the table, in his usual space.
Claire was beside Mum, across from me, where I could watch them while praying they got on.
Isla nudged me as I filled the bowls with steaming stew, while Jeff sliced Eilidh’s bread.
The delicious smell of warm, crunchy tiger bread made me weak with hunger.
‘God, your stew is even better hot,’ Isla said, smiling across the table. ‘It’s almost indecent.’
‘Good barley,’ Dad added. ‘And he didn’t skimp for once.’
‘I never skimp.’ I took a slice of bread and lathered it with butter.
Jeff spied Claire’s silver tray sitting on the side. ‘Is that from Coffee and Crumbs?’
‘I popped over to pick up some dessert and Eilidh insisted I bring sticky toffee pudding,’ Claire said.
Mum clapped. ‘Oh, I love sticky toffee.’
The way Claire’s cheeks pinked made me reach for her foot beneath the table with mine. Her eyes met mine in a flash of blue.
We ate. The room filled with the clatter of spoons, the scrape of chair legs, and my mother’s appreciation as she dug into a double helping of pudding.
Conversation centred around the Autumn Fair.
Isla had a list as long as the shore to deal with: electricity points, gazebo weights, volunteer rotas, and ‘no children after eight’ signs for the fancy gin lot.
Jeff pitched ‘artisan dog bandanas’ as a side hustle.
Dad gave him a look that said On my arse.
‘Cosy Country are definitely sending a photographer now,’ Isla said, wagging a fork. ‘And two influencers are begging for behind-the-scenes access. We need the distillery front less… man-shed.’
‘It is not a pretty backdrop. It is where we work,’ I said, bracing.
‘Sexy it up.’ Isla shrugged. ‘Bunting. Some florals, maybe spilling out from empty casks. Some festoon lights to make it shine.’
‘We never needed that to sell whisky before,’ Dad muttered, then laughed, then coughed.
The cough stuck.
It was the kind of cough that sounded wet. Mum’s hand was on his back before the second breath. His eyes watered, and he waved her off.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, reaching for his beer. ‘Went up by the stores and winded myself is all. Ramp’s steeper than it used to be.’
‘That ramp hasn’t changed since 1985,’ Mum chided.
‘Mmm.’ He traded the beer for bread when Claire passed a glass of water to him.
‘It’s probably that toffee sauce catching, is all,’ she said, like we weren’t all watching. ‘This’ll sort you out.’
The crease between his brows flattened as he gave Claire a tender smile. When my mum saw the way Dad looked at her, she couldn’t fight the smile.
Meowrse chose his moment, leaping onto Claire’s lap mid-sentence, kneading her thigh with his paws, then flopping belly-up and meowing mournfully at her.
‘I’ve been replaced,’ I said. ‘He’s a furry turncoat.’
‘He never sat on Becky’s lap,’ Isla pointed out. I choked on my spoonful of dessert.
Mum gently patted Claire’s hand. ‘The cat’s got good instincts.’
‘You didn’t like Becky?’ Claire asked before turning pink. ‘Sorry, that’s none of my business.’
Isla wheezed.
Mum smiled into her napkin. ‘I did like Becky. But I never saw my son look at her quite the way he looks at you.’
My pulse skipped as Claire met my eyes, her teeth catching her lower lip. I wanted to pull her over the table and kiss the little mark her teeth left.
We reset the room with the ritual of a hundred Mondays.
Dishes passed from hand to hand. Hot water steamed in the sink as lemon dish soap scented the air.
Isla stacked, Jeff pretended to help. Dad drifted to the armchair and pretended to watch the six o’clock news whilst his eyes sagged.
Claire slotted in beside me at the sink, sleeves shoved up, wearing my apron, which swamped her.
‘You don’t have to help, you know,’ I said as the others drifted through to the sitting room, pouring the after-dinner whisky.
‘I like it,’ she said, rinsing soap off the dishes. ‘Feels… useful.’
‘I’ve got much better uses for you,’ I whispered.
‘Owen!’ She slapped my arm with a soapy hand and flushed a glorious shade of red.
From the living room, Dad snored once, and idle chatter hummed. We took twenty minutes to wind down over the taste of fine malt before rousing Dad and helping him to the door.
The goodbyes took twenty minutes in the hall as always. Coats, kisses, Jeff clobbered his elbow on the frame and whisper-swore because Mum was present. Meowrse tried his best to trip everyone up. Dad wrapped Claire in a fatherly hug that had my mum smiling.
‘Welcome to the madhouse,’ he said. ‘Keep my boy on the straight and narrow, eh?’
‘I’m not promising anything.’
Mum pulled me in close, half-hug and half-warning. ‘I like this one. Better than the last one. Don’t shut yourself off this time.’
She had no idea about the real reason we broke up, and I intended to keep it that way.
Outside, the night was soft with damp as I drove Claire home, stuffed bellies and softer smiles. Streetlights dropped orange circles on the cobbled ground. I walked her to her door, stopping to pull her into a kiss. Every sweep of her tongue made my heart swell.
‘Thank you for letting me into your behind-the-scenes,’ she said when I finally let her breathe.
‘You fit.’ The truth thrummed between us.
‘Careful,’ she breathed. ‘Say things like that and you might end up stuck with me.’
‘Good, I’m about three days away from tying you to my bed and keeping you.’
Claire’s fingers brushed my chest. ‘Night, Owen.’
The way she said my name made every stupid part of me ache to beg her to move in with me. But it was far too soon. Hell, we hadn’t even…
‘Night, Claire,’ I said, and rolled the R the way she liked because I loved the way it made her squirm.
As I made my way back to the car, the curtains next door twitched.