Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ROBBIE
The cell is six paces long and four wide. I know because I spent most of the night pacing it like a caged animal. The thin mattress might as well be concrete, and the light overhead, which stayed on all night, casts everything in a sickly glow. Between the two, sleep was nearly impossible. I managed maybe two hours before giving up.
Not that I can blame it all on the cell. My head wouldn’t shut up, just kept looping the same thoughts over and over, trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to get out of this mess.
I sit on the bed, roll my stiff shoulders, and wince. My mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing on an old sock, and yesterday’s clothes have taken on the stink of sweat and frustration. Christ, I’d kill for a shower. Even a toothbrush. But all I’ve got is the toilet in the corner, offering about as much privacy as a shop window.
Earlier this morning, I was taken to court for my bail hearing. The sheriff granted bail with a surety, a hefty one at that. Now I’m back in this cell, waiting— hoping —for it to be paid. If not, I’ll be shipped off to a proper prison to await trial.
The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine. This cell is bad enough, but at least it’s temporary. A real prison cell? Months behind bars, counting the days until it’s my turn in the dock? And if I’m found guilty? Years. For something I didn’t even do.
Fuck me.
My thoughts drift to Cat. The way she yelled out that I was innocent when I was led to the police car. The fire in her eyes as she stood up for me. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to her.
Did she sleep well last night? Somehow I don’t think so. It’s oddly comforting to know she cares, even though I hate the idea of her worrying on my account.
The sound of footsteps approaching pulls me from my thoughts. Keys jangle, then the cell door swings open to reveal PC Muir.
“MacDonald,” she says, all business. “The surety’s been paid. You’re being released on bail.”
I stare at her for a moment while my brain catches up. Then, “Who paid it?”
“Your father.”
Of course.
“Right.” I nod, relief mixing with a twisting in my gut at the thought of being in my da’s debt. Again.
Muir gestures for me to follow her out into the corridor, and I stand, my legs stiff as fence posts. She leads me to a desk littered with forms and plastic trays, where she runs through my bail conditions. “You’re to report to the station every Monday at ten a.m. Your second hearing is set for next Tuesday at nine. Make sure you show up or you’ll be back here before you know it.”
I nod, trying to fix it all in memory despite my brain feeling like porridge.
“One more thing,” she adds. “You’re not allowed near the Glen Garve Resort, and you’re to stay away from this Samantha Drummond. Don’t interfere with our investigation. Understood?”
“Crystal clear,” I mutter. Though that’s going to make proving my innocence bloody difficult.
She slides over my property bag—the essentials of my life whittled down to wallet, keys, phone—and hands me a pen for some paperwork. I scribble my signature where she points.
She then walks me through to the reception area, where my da is waiting. He stands with his back straight and arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. His hair is neatly combed, his clothes pressed and proper as always. The general manager of the Glen Garve Resort, every inch of him.
Muir confirms with him that he understands the terms of the surety—essentially that he’s on the hook if I skip bail—then leaves us to it. Da doesn’t say a word, just turns and strides towards the exit. I follow him out into the bright morning light, squinting against the sudden glare.
A few locals are milling about outside the station. They stop their conversations to stare, so I scowl back at them, which probably doesn’t help my case, but fuck it. I’m not in the mood to play nice.
Da walks briskly towards his car. “Get in,” he says without looking at me.
“I’ll make my own way home. Besides, I parked my bike on Main Street.”
“I didn’t just put up several thousand pounds to bail you out so you could wander off and get yourself into more trouble. Get in the car. We need to talk.”
“I didn’t ask you to bail me out,” I reply coldly.
“No, you didn’t. But who else was going to do it?”
I glare at him but say nothing. After a tense standoff, I relent and get into the passenger seat. Da starts the engine and pulls away from the police station, the air between us thick with unspoken words.
We drive in silence for several minutes, leaving Bannock behind and heading out into the countryside. The familiar landscape rolls past: green hills, patches of forest, the occasional farmhouse.
“Are you taking me somewhere specific or are we just here to talk?” I say finally. “Because, if we’re just here to talk, you might want to, you know, talk.”
Da keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to the resort’s reputation?”
Of course that’s his first concern. Not how I’m doing after a night in a cell. Not whether I’m guilty or innocent. Just the fucking resort.
“I didn’t steal anything,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Hmm.” The scepticism in that sound makes my blood boil.
“Why won’t you believe me?”
“Because you’ve given me no reason to. You think I don’t remember all the times I had to drag you out of trouble when you were younger? The fights, the shoplifting, the underage drinking? And now this, stealing from guests. It’s... beyond shameful.”
His words cut deep, not because they’re particularly harsh—I’ve heard worse—but because they drive home how little faith he has in me. Seven years I’ve been on the straight and narrow, for Christ’s sake! Well, mostly straight. Hooking up with the occasional hotel guest? Sure. But I haven’t been in a fight, haven’t got on the wrong side of the law, haven’t given him any reason to doubt me for seven bloody years.
“Aye, well, maybe if you’d been around instead of burying yourself in work all the time, things would have turned out differently,” I say bitterly.
Da grips the steering wheel even tighter, and silence once again stretches between us. Then he exhales—a shaky, weary sound.
“I’ll admit I could have done a better job, but I wasn’t expecting your mother to walk out on us—wasn’t expecting to become a single parent. And I couldn’t give up my work. I needed to keep money coming in.”
“Aye, so you had enough in savings to bail out your eldest son one day, right?”
Even as I say it, I wince inside. I meant it as a wry sort of joke—something to break the tension—but it lands flat. Maybe a bit cruel. There’s an awkward pause before Da lets out another heavy sigh then falls quiet again.
The countryside continues to roll past outside the window. Hills and sheep and old dry-stone walls, so bloody normal you’d hardly think anything had happened. I drum my fingers on my knee, restless.
“You look tired.” The comment comes out of nowhere, Da’s voice a touch softer than before.
I glance at him. “Aye, well, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He nods, and for a moment—just a moment—I think he might, you know, ask how I’m doing. But then he says, “Johnny wanted to come with me to the station. He’s been worried sick about you.”
My wee brother, always caught in the middle of the shitstorm between me and Da.
“Let me guess, you told him it wouldn’t take two people to collect me? Said he needed to work his shift at the resort?”
He doesn’t respond to this.
“I’ve not spoken to Johnny in a while, seeing as you asked him to keep his distance. How is he doing?”
“Stressed. Upset.” A pause. “He believes you’re innocent, you know.”
“At least someone in the family does.”
Da opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again and shakes his head, apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to say. Instead he says, “You should meet with my solicitor. Discuss your options. I’ll cover the costs.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” he interrupts. “Whatever has happened between us, you’re still my son.”
It’s not exactly a heartfelt breakthrough, but I suppose it’s better than nothing.
We don’t talk much more until Da drives back into Bannock and pulls up on Main Street by my motorcycle, which is still parked outside Cat’s flat. A couple of locals walk past and peer through the window at us. Da shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Reminds me of when you were younger,” he says quietly. “The stares. The whispers.”
I don’t reply. What is there to say?
“Don’t make me regret paying the surety, Robbie. Show up at the police station every week, as you were told, and stay out of trouble.”
“Aye. Will do.” I get out of the car. He drives off without any further words.
Is this what family is supposed to feel like? Because it just feels exhausting.
I glance up at Cat’s flat, but I don’t try her door. She’ll be at school now, teaching. Besides, I’m not fit company for anyone at the moment—not until I’ve had a shower and changed my clothes.
I swing my leg over my bike and start her up, the engine’s low growl vibrating up through me like an old friend. The ride home is short but cathartic, the road blurring beneath my wheels, the engine drowning out things I don’t want to think about. For a little while, I can almost forget about the cell, the handcuffs, the accusing stares as I was led to the police car. Almost.
Outside my cottage, I dismount and head for the door. Just inside, on the hall floor, a white envelope waits for me—one of those grim official ones with my name printed in bold type. The logo in the corner tells me exactly what it is.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, shaking my head at the universe’s idea of a joke.