Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
MAISIE
When I arrive back at the Pheasant, my mind is still reeling from the encounter with Jamie on Ben Garve. It’s barely past noon and the pub is closed. Outside of the summer high season, we don’t open till four on weekdays.
“Da?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty pub.
“In the back!” comes the reply.
I find him in the small office behind the bar, doing some paperwork. Literal paperwork. Sometimes I think he’s allergic to anything with a power button.
He looks up, faint lines of exhaustion framing his green eyes and a slight tremor in his hands betraying itself as he sets down his pen. He’s always been the strongest man I know—my rock. But rocks wear down eventually, don’t they? Which scares me more than I like to admit to myself.
“How’d it go at the doctor’s?” I perch on the edge of his desk. “I still wish you’d let me come with you.”
Da waves a dismissive hand. “Och, I’m a grown man, Maisie. I can handle a wee doctor’s appointment on my own.”
I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to point out that he’s been putting off this “wee appointment” for months. “So, what did they say?”
He sighs, leaning back. “Well, the doc reckons it might be rheumatoid arthritis. She wants to do some more tests to be sure.”
“Rheumatoid arthritis?” It’s a relief to finally have a name for what’s been plaguing Da, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means I’m getting old,” Da says with a wry smile. “But it’s nothing to fash yourself about. Once they’ve got the diagnosis confirmed, there’s medication I can take to ease some of the symptoms.”
I nod, trying to process this information. “And... maybe there should also be some lifestyle changes? Did the GP talk about slowing down at all? Resting more?”
Da picks his pen back up and fiddles with it. “Well, she might have said something about that—about ‘recognising my physical limitations’—but I reckon once the medication is doing its job, I’ll be just fine.”
I see an opening and decide to take it. “Maybe this is a good time to think about hiring some extra help? It’d take some of the pressure off you, and?—”
“Maisie,” Da cuts me off, his tone sharp. “I’ve been running this pub for longer than you’ve been alive. A little arthritis isn’t going to stop me.”
“I know, Da, but?—”
“But nothing. We’ve managed fine until now. We don’t need to be wasting money on additional staff.”
My frustration bubbles up. Our tiny team just isn’t enough. A couple of chefs covering evening meals between them. One extra pair of hands behind the bar on weekends. And a cleaner coming in only a few hours a week. “It’s not a waste if it helps you, Da. And it’s not just about you. The pub?—”
“The pub”—Da’s voice rises—“is my responsibility. I’m the manager here, Maisie, not you.”
I bite my lip, hard. The urge to argue with him is strong but I swallow it down. “I’m only trying to help,” I say eventually, my voice quiet.
Da’s expression softens. “I know. But I’ve got this under control. You don’t need to worry.”
But I do worry. I worry every time I see him wince as he lifts a crate. Every time I catch him massaging his hands when he thinks no one’s looking. Every time I have to cover for him because he’s too proud to admit he needs a break.
“All right, Da.” I stand. “Just... promise me you’ll think about it? Please?”
He’s already turning back to his paperwork. “Aye, I’ll think about it.”
I leave the office, closing the door behind me, and rest my elbows on the bar, where I drum my fingers on the well-worn surface as though that might drum some sense into him by proxy. I love my Da, I really do. But sometimes he can drive me absolutely mad.
Right, tea. A good cuppa can solve everything, or at least that’s what my maw always used to say. She’s been gone eight years now but her wisdom lives on.
I climb the stairs to the flat and, once inside, make straight for the kettle. As it boils, I replay the morning’s events in my head. Most of the time Jamie had been his usual irritating self—utterly insufferable—but there had been a moment when he’d apologised to me and actually seemed sincere about it. He’d even complimented my hair. And then, just seconds later, he’d delivered that cutting remark about me looking like a Smurf. Talk about emotional whiplash.
Besides, Smurfs have blue skin, not blue hair. In fact, Smurfette is a bloody blonde!
I pull down a mug, toss in a tea bag, top it with steaming water, then add a splash of milk. Ugh, men and their defences. Jamie is all smug one-liners, Da all unbending stubbornness. Honestly, how do they not wear themselves out? Just being around them is exhausting.
Through in the living room, I curl up on the sofa with my tea. I reckon I could do with a dose of girl power right now, so I lift my phone and open the “Scottish Sirens” group chat—a sacred space for me and my two besties, Iona Stewart and Cat McIntyre.
Maisie
Ladies, I am having A DAY. Someone please distract me with some classic Siren shenanigans.
Within moments the words Cat is typing... appear.
Cat
Caught two students making out in a supply cupboard yesterday. Naturally, I yelled, “This is NOT Love Island!” The lad turned bright red and tried to explain they were practising “dialogue” for Romeo and Juliet... while his hand was on her arse.
Maisie
LOL! I mean, at least they’re committed to their roles, right?
Cat
True! But can we talk about how the supply cupboard is getting more action than me right now? My last date spent forty-five minutes giving me a TED Talk on his tractor’s hydraulic system.
Cat is a bit of a party animal. Until last year she lived down in Glasgow with Iona, where she enjoyed all that city life has to offer. Now, though, she’s stuck up north in a town that’s even more remote than Bannock. She’s slogging through her probationary year as a secondary school English teacher, and with just a few months left on her contract, I’d bet good money she’s counting down the days until she can escape.
Iona
Can’t say lack of action is an issue for me and Lewis. We’ve been keeping pretty... active.
Growing up, I thought of Iona as the Hermione Granger of Bannock, minus the magic wand. Her nose was always buried in a book—when she wasn’t hanging out with her best friend, Lewis McIntyre, of course. It wasn’t until she moved back last year and we grew closer that I discovered her professional exterior as a farm vet hides quite the naughty streak.
Cat
OMG, Iona! We’ve talked about this! HE IS MY brOTHER, WOMAN. As pleased as I am that you and Lewis are happy together, SPARE ME THE DETAILS OF YOUR SEX LIFE!
Cat McIntyre is the baby of the McIntyre clan, the only girl among four siblings. Ally is the eldest brother, Lewis the middle one, and the youngest is... Jamie.
Iona
Fine! But if I can’t talk about that, I’ve got zero gossip. I’m about to go check an entire flock of sheep for worms. Glamorous life, eh? What about you, Maisie? Want to spill about your day or are we avoiding that subject?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. I do have goss I could share—the rather colossal revelation that my mysterious online gaming buddy is none other than Jamie McIntyre, Cat’s brother. But... I can’t drop that bombshell quite yet. Infuriating arse though he may be, Jamie should be the first to hear that.
But there’s nothing stopping me from telling the girls about the little run-in I had with him earlier.
Maisie
So, I had the misfortune of chatting with Jamie this morning.
Cat
Ugh, he’s such a pest. If disowning him was an option, I’d have done it years ago. What did he do this time?
Maisie
Before I tell you what he said, I should explain that I dyed my hair last night. Navy blue.
Cat
Shut up! Love it already. Send a photo—NOW!
Rolling my eyes but secretly delighted by her enthusiasm, I snap a quick selfie and fire it off to the group chat.
Iona
Maisie, you look incredible!
Cat
Oh my God, YES! That colour is stunning on you. It’s perfect!
Maisie
Thanks, girls. I needed that boost. Because Jamie told me I look like a Smurf.
Cat
He did WHAT? Just when I think he’s hit rock bottom, he grabs a shovel and keeps on digging. Want me to kick him next time I’m home? Because I will. Happily.
Iona
Even by Jamie’s standards, that’s completely out of order. I’ll have a word with Lewis—he’ll sort Jamie out.
Maisie
No, honestly, it’s fine. I’m used to his nonsense by now. Just wanted to vent.
Cat
Fair enough, but I’ll kick him next time I see him anyway. Remember, you’re a queen and that hair is hot!
As I’m about to reply, another notification pops up. Speak of the devil...
LochNLoad
Feeling any better, Sass? Up for some questing? There’s a new dungeon that needs conquering, and I hear there’s a magical skean-dhu at the end of it. You in?
I decided yesterday that it’d be too weird to go on playing with LochNLoad, but attempting to tell Jamie my identity in person was a complete disaster. Talking with LochNLoad online, on the other hand? That’s something I’ve always found easy to do, so maybe that’d be a better way to approach this.
I reply in the affirmative, tell the girls I have to go, then grab my laptop and set it up on the kitchen table. When I log in, LochNLoad’s warrior avatar is already waiting near the portcullis of a crumbling stone keep that’s perched atop a misty cliff. My own character materialises by his side.
LochNLoad
There’s my favourite mage! Ready to face certain doom for the sake of treasure?
SassyLassie
Always. Though I have to say, your interest in acquiring a sock knife is... intriguing. First an enormous claymore, now this? What’s your strategy? Lure ladies in with the massive weapon, then when expectations are sky high, whip out the skean-dhu to make your own “dirk” look bigger by comparison?
Okay, okay, I’ll tell Jamie who I am in a moment, but after his comments to me earlier today, I reckon I’m entitled to tease him a little. It’s only fair.
LochNLoad
Wow! You SURE you’re feeling better? That was straight for the jugular—without so much as a hello!
SassyLassie
Hello. BTW, by “dirk” I meant your dick. I’m suggesting it’s small.
Actually, Iona once let slip that Lewis is rather blessed in that department—but that doesn’t mean his wee brother is too.
LochNLoad
Aye, I got that loud and clear, but cheers for hammering the point in nice and deep. I know you’re called SassyLassie for a reason, but this is next-level sassitude. And I’m already nursing a bruised ego today—managed to make an absolute tit of myself in front of a lass earlier.
I blink at the screen. Wait, is he talking about me? Before I can stop myself, I type:
SassyLassie
Oh? A pretty girl, was she?
LochNLoad
Aye.
LochNLoad fires back his single-word response without even a moment’s hesitation. Which is weird because Jamie’s never shown any sign of being attracted to me in real life. Could he have made a fool of himself in front of two women today? Is it the other one he thinks is pretty?
LochNLoad
Hello? Sass? You still there? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.
SassyLassie
In your dreams. Although... actually, there’s something we need to talk about.
LochNLoad
Uh-oh. Sounds serious. Should I be worried?
SassyLassie
Er . . . well . . .