Chapter Fourteen
Rowan
I’ve seen Angus drenched in the rain, covered in mud, staggering into camp carrying both his own bag and the weight of a whole other man, and yet I’ve never seen him half as uncomfortable as he is right now.
His tanned face had gone red as a ripe strawberry, and he looks as though he wants to disappear under the table and into a conveniently placed hole in the floor.
A plea smoulders in his brown eyes, and he catches mine, begging me without words to save him.
I shrug and bat my eyelashes. No such luck. This is too good to miss.
Of our table, Priya is the only one who shows any sympathy, pressing her hand on his. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go up,” she says, glancing in her mum’s direction, as if for reassurance. “It doesn’t make us any less proud of you.”
I guess this is what Lila says to her, when her fear overcomes her. Her sweet seriousness sends a pang of warmth to my chest as I watch her offer a man three times her size and age some comfort.
I can see that Angus is moved too, as he closes his eyes briefly and swallows. His voice, when he speaks, is husky and low. “Thank you, Priya.”
But then he levers himself to his feet.
“Are you really going up there?” Ewan asks.
Angus nods. “Yes, Ewan. I really am.”
And he strides through the crowd to the stage, back straight, shoulders down, like a man heading to war.
“Alright, you fuckers,” he says into the microphone, as the crowd cheer and stomp their feet. “Anyone here got a fiddle?”
One of the kilted men raises his hand so quickly he nearly spills the beer of the man next to him, who shoots him a dirty look. The kilted man hurries towards the stage.
“Grand. Up with you.” Angus helps him up.
His twin raises a hand.
“Aye?”
“Got a need for a set of bagpipes up there too?”
“No!” Stavros lurches forward. “We have discussed this. You are banned. Banned! There will be no bagpipes from you. Not after what you did to poor Phyllis’ hearing aid.”
“Ach. She were nae harmed.” The bagpiper is twice Stavros’ size, looming over him like a trunk over a twig. “And I’ve been practicing hard, and I thinned out the blades as well. Not nearly so sharp, eh.” He pats the smaller man on the shoulder. “Now, pop out of the way, there’s a good barkeep.”
Stavros sputters, but when no one else comes to his defence, he raises his hands in surrender and steps aside.
“Do you know ‘McPherson’s Rant’?”
They both nod, and the bar settles as the fiddle player counts them in quietly under his breath.
The first notes are uncertain, unsettled, but as the bagpipes join in, the sound grows more confident: a buoyant melody that set toes tapping across the room.
Priya and Lila sway in their seats, wearing matching smiles, while Ewan is still gaping at Angus as the big man brings his mouth to the microphone.
His singing voice is like warm caramel, soft and rich and round, and he carries himself with a confidence I didn’t expect. Angus’ eyes lock with mine and he winks.
It’s as if he’s singing for me.
Quickly the toe tapping turns to foot stomping, as folk around the bar sway on their feet, taken by the lively notes.
Even Stavros has backed down, returning to the bar to lean sullenly next to Bonnie, who’s watching with a face like she’s swallowed a lemon.
I suppress a chuckle and catch Angus’ eye again.
His face is soft, vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen before. A few strands of his hair fall over his eyes. He brushes them away. With his lips curled in a smile, he’s lighter, his movements looser, all his attention focused on the song – and me.
Because there’s no mistaking it.
He’s not looking at anyone else.
That low heat burning in his eyes is only for me.
Too soon, it comes to an end. Angus drops off first, softly repeating the refrain, and then the bagpipes silence, and the fiddle player lets his bow drop.
The crowd erupt with applause, stamping their feet and crying for them to go again, again.
But Stavros is already ushering them all off-stage, wagging his finger at the bagpipe player who – to his credit – hasn’t played a single sharp note.
Angus slinks back to the table, various well-wishers slapping him on the back, and slips into his seat, a rueful grin on his face.
“You didn’t bloody tell us you could sing.” Ewan sounds affronted. “What is that, then?”
Angus takes a long, thirsty swallow of his pint. “Didn’t ask, did you,” he says with a laugh. “Nice try though.”
“Nice try at what?” I ask, confused.
“Angus!” Priya interrupts. “You were really good. And you even remembered to smile. That’s important, you know. The audience likes it better when you smile, don’t they, Mum?”
“That’s right, baby.” Lila casts Angus an appraising look. “I’m surprised you don’t sing more. You’ve got a lovely voice.”
Angus ducks his head. “Thank you. Glad I could entertain. But that’s enough about me, right. Look! They’ve got another band on.”
The ensemble taking to the stage look as if they’d be more at home at a festival, all top hats and shimmering leggings and more instruments than they can possibly play, but soon they strike up such a lively tune that they have half the room dancing, and the other half slapping their thighs in appreciation.
Ewan fetches us another round of drinks, and we watch the band perform a few more songs, each ruder and more raucous than the last. After them comes a tiny woman with the voice of an opera singer, whose ballad has me choking back tears, and then she’s followed by a folk duo who bring the house down with an acoustic rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl”.
Halfway through the last act, Priya lays her head on Lila’s shoulder and drifts off to sleep, her dark hair falling across her face. Lila’s eyes shine, her expression half-joy, half-melancholy, as she brushes Priya’s hair back and kisses her forehead.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” she says. “Let’s get you off to bed.”
Priya jerks up. “I’m awake! I promise! Please, Mum. One more song?”
“One more! And then bed. Okay?”
“You’re the best.” Priya wraps both arms around her mother’s waist and hugs her fiercely, burying her head in her arm.
I think of my own family. Mum’s barrage of messages, which I can’t bear to reply to.
My dad’s single Hope you’re getting on text.
Sophie sent me a voice note earlier, but I’m too scared to listen to it.
I should be at the farm with her now, helping her set up the flowers, telling her she’s never looked more beautiful, laying out tablecloths, checking that every detail is the way she wants.
I haven’t even told her the truth.
The song ends, and a new band get on the stage. I’ve been so lost in my own thoughts I’ve hardly heard the music, and when I surface Priya is nodding off again, and Ewan’s left our table to flirt with a couple of girls by the bar.
“Song’s over, baby. Time for bed.”
Priya is sprawled over Lila’s lap, mouth open, fully out of it. Her mother shakes her, but it does nothing to wake her, and Lila laughs under her breath.
“Like mother, like daughter.” She shrugs. “We both sleep like the dead. Would have been a little more convenient if she’d waited to get back to the tent!”
“I’ll carry her, if you like?” Angus offers.
Lila beams. “That’s very kind.”
“It’s no trouble.” I stifle a pang of disappointment as Angus stands, his warmth leaving my side, and scoops Priya up in his big arms. “Come on, little lass.”
“Rowan?” Lila asks.
“I’m coming.”
Watching Ewan flirt doesn’t appeal to me, and I can keenly feel the miles we’ve walked. I am beyond ready for my sleeping bag. I stifle a yawn, and stagger after them into the bracingly cold air.
Back at the campsite, Angus lays Priya on her sleeping bag and helps Lila tuck her in. We leave them curled around each other like kittens, and wander back to our own tents.
“Why did you do it?” I ask as I pause by mine.
“Why did I do what?”
“Sing.”
Angus lifts one shoulder. “Thought it might help the lass if she saw someone else do it. And I like singing. Always have.” He pauses. “My Ma, she loved to sing. I’d almost forgotten.”
“Did she?”
“Aye. From the crack of dawn, all day until bed, she’d have a tune on her lips. Proper belter, she was. My Da, he called her his little lark.”
“What happened?”
“She left when I was ten. Couldn’t hack it on the farm.
” Angus frowns and tilts his head to look at the stars.
“It’s not an easy life. Long days, hard work.
It takes a toll on you, body and soul. My Ma, she never loved it.
Not the way Da did. One day, I woke up, and she was gone.
Broke my Da’s heart clean in two. He was never the same after. None of us were.”
“You have siblings?”
“Two brothers. Twins. Absolute menaces.” Angus rubs the back of his neck.
“They’re five years younger than me, so they were five when Ma bolted.
They didn’t understand why she’d gone. Why she wasn’t still there to tuck them into bed.
Trying to explain it to them was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. ”
“And you don’t know where she went?”
“No.”
I want to touch him. Want to run a hand through his hair, stroke the soft hairs at the base of his head. Tell him it will all be alright. I wish I could scoop up the little boy he used to be, who’s grown into the kind-hearted, gruff man he is.
But I’m a coward. So I keep my distance. “You don’t seem like the wedding type to me,” I say instead. “Why the change?”
He sighs. “The farm’s been in my family for generations.
Da worked it, and his Da before him, and so on and so forth.
But things are hard these days, and getting harder.
My brothers, they’ve never had much of an interest in it, and with only me…
We weren’t making ends meet. So now we’re trying to pivot.
Become a fancy events space. Weddings. Anniversaries.
Festivals. All sorts. Whatever whoever rents it wants.
My best friend, Stuart, he’s invested a lot in it, to help us out.
Volunteered to be the wedding planner too.
And his husband, Jonathan, he’s making your sister’s cake. ”
“They sound like good people.”
“They are.”
A pause. A rabbit hops across the grass.
“My dad left too.”
“Aye?”
“Cheated on my mum, left her for another woman. My mum, she was heartbroken. Devasted. I’d never seen her like that before.
And now, me and my dad, well, we still talk, but it’s never been the same.
He’s not one for feelings, but we catch up about the weather, the news, that sort of thing.
Once a year he sends me a birthday card.
Sophie, my sister, throws hers in the bin.
She cut him out of her life for what he did.
Didn’t even invite him to the wedding.” I realise how close I’ve drifted to Angus, close enough that if he wants to, he can reach down and kiss me without taking a step.
I flush. “Gosh. Sorry.” I flap my hands at my face, trying to calm myself down, and stumble backwards.
“Look at me rambling on at you. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.
It’s not like you asked.” I turn on my heel and stride towards my tent, determined to put as much space between us as possible, step after mortifying step.
“Anyway, I should go to bed. Sorry again!”
“London,” Angus calls after me, his voice rumbling through the night.
“Yes?” I pause, despite myself.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For telling me.” His eyes glint in the moonlight. “And for asking.” Then he ducks back towards his own tent. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
After Angus closes the zipper, I linger outside and tip my head back in the wind. An infinity of stars whirls overhead. For a while I watch them, their winking lights, so far above us. Eventually, I crawl into my sleeping bag and fall asleep, dreaming of a soft Scottish brogue.