47. Murray
Everyone felt the spirit of the fèis, just like we did every year the Glenvulin Fair fell on a sunny day.
The sound of laughter and conversation filled the field as crowds of islanders, visitors, and tourists alike moved through the festivities.
Kelly stood by a milkshake bar with Anna and Lucas, and even as London and I strolled from stall to stall, I kept an eye on my daughter.
A month had passed since the operation to take down the Walshes.
The brothers were remanded into custody and not a week had passed since their arrival in prison when the eldest brother was killed by another inmate before he could even be sentenced.
Davis informed me the younger brother, Dorian, was a follower, not the leader, and he was willing to take down people who had worked with them in exchange for a lighter sentence.
Siobhan Cosway’s group of thugs were a very small organization who were attempting to set themselves up as a matter of importance in Dublin.
The bloke who’d shot Davis was taken down by the Gardai that day at the port.
The others, according to Davis, were shitting themselves because Dublin’s largest criminal organization was furious Siobhan tried to take a piece of the drug business for herself without their permission.
They were too concerned watching their backs to have time to exact revenge.
There would be no court case for anyone because the evidence was so overwhelming. All Fraser and I had to do was make a written statement, testifying against Joshua Hughes and the Walsh brothers.
Davis was certain there was no more danger for my family, but DI Smith had mentioned Hughes had made threats against me during his arrest.
Therefore, I couldn’t quite settle, even weeks later.
Especially as Nick Huston had once more escaped their clutches.
The feds had tracked him to the South of France and the fucker managed to get away again.
I wondered if one day I’d ever be able to live my life with my family without looking over my shoulder all the time.
Even as on edge as I was, I wanted to be present and enjoy our time together. As per usual, while we wandered through the fair, my phone vibrated constantly with emails, texts, and calls about work. Finally, I reached into my pocket to switch it off.
“There’s Nee and Cammie.” London tugged on my hand.
Sure enough, our friends stood near the pigpen where pig farmers from all over the islands put forth their prize sows.
Forde and Ramsay stood off to the side, drinking what looked like Gilly McCook’s “famous” shandies.
Every fair, and during the Highland Games, Gilly, an elderly islander born and raised here, opened her shandy stall.
No one knew exactly what was in it, but her shandies were delicious and light on the alcohol.
You could have a few and never feel drunk.
Sometimes I wondered if there was beer in it at all.
Nee and Cammie chatted with Aodhan, who seemed to be enjoying the female attention.
Shakespeare stood vigilant at Aodhan’s side, staring determinedly ahead at nothing.
Then I saw Akiva lying down at Ramsay’s feet, side-eyeing the mastiff, and I realized Shakespeare was hilariously trying to avoid Akiva’s gaze.
I squeezed London’s hand. “Go. I’ll catch up with the boys.”
My wife threw me a dazzling smile before she hurried over to her friends. The sky was a clear blue today, a perfect day for the fair, but the ground beneath us was still muddy and slushy from all the rain we’d endured before the event. My wellies squelched as I made my way over to Forde and Ramsay.
“All right.” I nodded. “Have you noticed Shakespeare?”
Ramsay’s lips quirked ever so slightly. “I have. He knows who’s boss. Nothing wrong with that.”
I chuckled as I glanced back through the crowds to check on Kelly again. She thankfully remained with her friends at the milkshake stall.
“Still can’t relax?” Ramsay asked. I’d call it his usual perceptiveness, but everyone knew I was on alert.
I’d refused to participate in any of the pipe band’s gigs this summer and had turned down doing a gig here at the fair.
There was no way I was leaving Kelly and London alone, and I didn’t want to be distracted with music in a big crowd like this where anything could happen.
I shook my head. “I’d feel better if we knew where Huston was.”
His expression turned grim. “Aye, I know. Working on it.”
I didn’t push because he had his own priorities, including his pregnant wife and the house he was building for her on Stòr. “Where are Quinn and Taran?”
“At the house site.” Ramsay grimaced. “We had a slight issue with the window size. Quinn said he’d deal with it because Taran couldn’t make it to the fair, anyway. She’s got a dress fitting in Glasgow with Heather.”
“She didn’t want London, Tierney, and Cammie to go with her?” London hadn’t mentioned it, and I was glad because I’d have worried sick about her the entire time.
“Nah, they’re all sorted, apparently.”
Quinn and Taran’s wedding was only five weeks away.
“Heard from Jill yet?” Forde asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.
The thought of my ex-wife still made my blood boil.
However, as London reminded me constantly, a mother like Jill was better an absent parent than a present one.
Not even a few days after the Walsh brothers’ arrest, my solicitor contacted me.
Apparently, Jill sold the house a week before “the mission.” My solicitor had only just found out from Jill’s.
And Jill was missing.
The police were looking for her as she was a key witness in the case against Dorian and Joshua.
She’d left. No word to her daughter.
Just gone.
What kind of mother did that?
Kelly had been despondent at first, but her friends kept her busy over the summer holidays.
Whatever miraculous resilience existed within my daughter kicked in.
Again. She’d promised she was fine. In fact, “I’m glad,” she’d said.
Kelly assured me she felt safer knowing Jill wasn’t around to cause custody problems. Still, I worried about her.
London had suggested a back-to-school shopping weekend in Oban as a pick-me-up, and I hadn’t the heart to say no.
Therefore, we would travel over to the mainland in a few days’ time.
I’d booked us a waterside lodge at a holiday park just outside the town center.
“No word,” I finally answered Forde as my attention moved from Kelly to London.
London wore a pair of frayed denim shorts with her wellies, a green crew neck T-shirt with Leth Sholas printed across the chest, loosely tucked in. Her shoulder-length hair was tied up into a ponytail, and it swished behind her in the slight breeze as she laughed at something Nee said.
My wife looked ridiculously sexy in the shorts and wellies. Like one of those festival girls. Heat thrummed through me as she felt me staring, her big smile softening into something sultrier as she returned my gaze.
“Fuck, I’m surrounded by men who are simps for their women,” Forde scoffed.
I frowned, not knowing what a simp was.
Ramsay apparently did. “Our women want us back, fuckface.”
I snorted at Forde’s offended expression, but my amusement died when Ramsay explained a simp was a desperate, submissive male showering their unreciprocated love interest with attention.
“You are a fuckface.”
“Uh!” Forde gaped at me. “You two are very sensitive today.”
“You just called us simps.” Ramsay glowered. “Fuckface.”
“Stop calling me fuckface. Christ, you’re as bad as Cammie.” Forde scowled in the direction of said blond.
Curious, I nudged him. “What’s up with that? How come you two are always at each other’s throats now?”
“She hates me, don’t you know.” The mechanic looked miserable as he watched Cammie wrap an arm around Tierney’s shoulders, laughing with our women as Aodhan soaked up the female attention.
“But why?” I narrowed my eyes. “Something else going on there?”
“Nope.”
Ramsay met my gaze over the top of Forde’s head, and I could tell he didn’t believe him either.
Still not happy about being called a simp, I pushed a little. “I haven’t really seen you with other women lately …”
He side-eyed me. “How would you know, locked up in your house with your wife?”
Ramsay made a noise of agreement. “Well, I haven’t been locked up, and I haven’t seen you with other women.”
Forde grimaced. “Not you too. I used to be able to rely on you for keeping your nose out of people’s business.”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve got much business going on.” Ramsay took a swig of his drink with an innocent shrug.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth to hide my grin.
“I’ve got business going on. Don’t you worry. My business is being handled. Regularly.” Forde’s gaze grew distant with thought. “I think. When was the gig on Scaris? The one with Murray?”
I raised a brow. “Months ago.”
The mechanic pressed a dramatic hand to his chest, looking suddenly ill. “Months? How many months?”
“A few.”
“Fuck.” He seemed stunned. “My business hasn’t been handled. I’m … I’m a …”
“Simp?” Ramsay asked blandly, gesturing with his cup toward Cammie.
I gave a bark of laughter, drawing London’s quizzical stare.
Forde huffed, “Fuck no. I’ve just … accidentally become celibate, apparently. But it’s fixable.”
I snorted. “You call a few months celibate?”
“Aye!”
“Och, that’s nothing. Try eighteen months.”
Forde grabbed my arm, appalled. “Mate, did that happen to you?”
I shrugged, unabashed.
“I am so sorry.”
“It wasn’t a terminal illness. It was when Jill and I were having problems.” My gaze moved back to my bride. “And then I went eleven months without before I met London.”
“Why? You were single.”
“Aye, but casual sex is rubbish. It doesn’t compare to being with the woman you love.”
“Fuck off.” Forde turned to Ramsay, searching for McRae’s agreed incredulity. He didn’t find it. Ramsay gave a nod, eyes on his woman. “Fuck. Off.” Forde repeated in disbelief.
I grabbed my friend by the back of the neck and squeezed. “You should try it sometime. It’ll blow your mind.”
Forde chuckled and pulled away from me, watching Cameron McQuarrie with an intensity that signaled the possibility of an incoming storm on Leth Sholas.
After all, Forde was Quinn’s best mate and Cammie was Quinn’s wee sister.