Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Angus
The first bite is nothing short of ecstasy.
I close my eyes and stifle a guttural moan as I tip a mussel, doused in a rich sauce of white wine and cream, into my mouth.
Barely a second passes before I’m tearing off a hunk of crusty bread and using it to mop up even more of the sauce.
Then another mussel. Another bite of bread.
Each mouthful somehow more delicious than the last.
Around me, the group is silent, absorbed in scoffing their food: Priya is stuffing chips into her mouth two at a time, while Lila doesn’t even bother to scold her, fork deep in a steaming hot lasagna.
Ewan, because he is Ewan, has opted for a plain ham sandwich, no mustard, no mayonnaise, but with so many pickles they fall out whenever he takes a bite, while Rowan has picked the same as me.
She slides a mussel into her mouth and a dribble of cream escapes, running down her chin. She laps it up, tongue darting out pink, and then licks around her lips for good measure, scooping up the last of the drip with her finger and sucking it clean.
I almost let out another groan. It’s indecent, that’s what it is. I can’t help but picture those full lips, wrap around my—
Friends, I admonish myself. That’s what she wants, Angus. For you to be friends.
It’s for the best. I made a promise: no more feelings.
No more commitments. No more letting someone in, when they’ll only leave.
There’s no reason for Rowan to be any different, even if I’ve been dangerously close to believing she is.
At the end of the day, she’s a city girl, who’ll run as soon as something difficult crops up.
She did the walk. The thought pops up, unhelpfully. You didn’t think she was going to, but she did.
Stubborn. Tougher than I’d expect. A quick learner.
Kind.
Thoughtful.
Beautiful.
And her laugh. Turns out, I can spend a lot of time listening to that laugh. Maybe even a lifetime.
Where did that come from? I squash the thought and return to my food.
It doesn’t matter anyway. She wants to be friends.
“Didn’t fancy camping with us tonight?” Ewan eyes Rowan’s bag, which she’s deposited by the table while the rest of us left ours at the campsite we passed on the way into Fort William.
“No,” she says happily. “Tent’s fucked. And tonight… Tonight I want a real bed. With a real mattress and a real duvet, and enough space that I can starfish to my heart’s content.”
“That does sound nice,” Priya says wistfully.
“Tomorrow, baby.” Lila puts a hand on hers and squeezes. “One more night of adventuring, and you’ll be back home and you can starfish all you like.”
“My bed’s only a single. You can’t starfish in a single.” Priya demonstrates, sticking out her arms and legs like a scarecrow, narrowly avoiding taking out a passing waitress with a tray laden with dishes and glasses. “Your arms and legs hang off.”
“Well, your dad won’t be back yet, so you can sleep with me.”
“Really?” Priya lights up, then frowns. “You never let me sleep with you anymore.”
“Just tomorrow night. It will be a treat – for surviving our big adventure.”
“It has been an adventure, hasn’t it?” Priya sighs happily. “The best adventure ever.”
“Maybe for you.” Ewan gestures at his bandaged ankle under the table. “I could have done with a bit less adventure.”
“But look at your personal growth,” Rowan offers. “Beating the odds. Making friends. Learning to ask for help.”
Ewan rolls his eyes. “Fuck personal growth – sorry, Lila – I was fine before.” Then he softens. “Reckon Caleb’s happy though. Oh, yeah, before I forget.” He grabs his phone and points it at the table. “On the count of three: say shit balls!”
“Oh for god’s sake—” But Lila is interrupted by the rest of the group chorusing “Shit balls!” as he snaps a picture.
“Mint.” He puts the phone away. “Reckon Mary – that’s Caleb's mum – will be well pleased with that.”
“So, what’s next? Another hike?” Lila asks him.
“Are you insane? I’m never going outside again. Well, except for a game with the lads maybe.” Ewan shakes his head. “No, I’m done with this. And sport psychology. Don’t know why I ever thought that was a bit of me in the first place.”
“You’re dropping out then?”
He rubs a hand over his head. “Yeah. Mum won’t be happy, but…
she’ll get over it. No, if this has made me realise anything it’s that I hate roughing it, I hate sleeping in a stupid tent and listening to the stupid cows and having to tramp over the stupid fields.
I want to be rich. Filthy, stinking, millionaire rich.
” Ewan narrows his eyes at Rowan. “Hey, London, got any room for a friend to stay?”
“You?” She chokes on her mussel. “Stay with me?”
“Yeah, well. I figure: London’s full of rich wankers. Probably best place for me to go if I want to be one too.”
“He’s not wrong about that,” I chip in, hiding a smile as Rowan bristles. “What about you, Lila? What’s next for you?”
But instead of answering, Lila’s eyes flick past us, her brows rising in surprise. “What’s going on there then?”
A group of musicians have entered the restaurant, an assortment of instruments on their backs, wearing kilts in various colours, sporrans dangling around their hips. They’re red-cheeked from the wind, making loud, rude jokes at each other as they wait for a table.
“Ah, reckon they’re grabbing some dinner before the ceilidh tonight,” I say without really thinking about it.
“Ceilidh?” Priya asks, eyes round. “What’s that?”
“It’s a sort of barn dance,” I say, trying to think of the best way to explain the chaos and uproar of a ceilidh.
“A gathering. They’ll play Gaelic music and a caller walks everyone through the steps.
” I remember the ceilidh’s when I was young: me and my brothers slipping through the stamping feet, trying to steal a sip of Da’s ale when he wasn’t looking; my ma’s red, flushed face creased with laughter as Da spun her again and again and again; everyone sweating and twirling, lifted along by the marching beat.
“A dance?” Priya turns to Lila. “Mum! Can we go?”
“You want to move more? Priya, baby, I can barely feel my feet.”
“But it’s our last night. Please?”
“I’m happy to take her, if you want to rest, Lila,” Rowan offers, and Priya turns her big, beaming smile on her. “What?” she says when the rest of the table stare. “It sounds fun. And Priya’s right. It’s our last night. Might as well go out with a bang!”
“Alright. I’m in.” Lila slams her hand on the table and then pauses. “Angus… How exactly do we go about finding this ceilidh?”
I sigh. “It’s fine. I’ll take you.”
“You will?” It’s Rowan’s turn to look at me with her shining eyes.
Lord help me, when she looks at me like that, I can’t refuse.
“Yes,” I grind out. “Someone has to keep you lot out of trouble.”
“Ewan?” Rowan asks. “What do you say? One final hoorah?”
“Bloody hell. Are my crutches not luminous enough for you? I’m not doing anything else on this ankle. I’m out. Finished.”
“Please, Ewan?” Priya lays a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to dance. But it would be nice if you joined.”
“Don’t you dare use those adorable big eyes of yours against me, Priya.”
“Please.”
“I’m injured!”
“Please.”
“We just walked twenty miles.”
“Please.”
Ewan looks at Lila in desperation. “She’s not going to stop, is she?”
She shakes her head. “It’s unlikely.”
“Can’t you call her off?”
“Please,” Priya says again, dropping her gaze to the table. “It won’t be the same if you’re not there.”
“This is blackmail. Emotional blackmail. Make her stop.”
Lila hides a smile behind her hand. “Priya, honey, leave Ewan alone.”
“But what if we all go, and we leave him behind, and then he lies there and realises what a big mistake he’s made, and he’s in too much pain to join us because he’d have to limp all the way back here, and we’re not there to help, and then he has to spend the night alone, staring at the inside of his tent? ” Priya looks stricken at the thought.
“Your child is a witch,” Ewan laments.
“It does sound bleak.” Rowan shivers.
“I’ve got some more ibuprofen if you need it,” I offer.
Ewan puts his head on the table. “Painkiller me up.” His muffled voice echo through the wood. “I guess I’m going dancing. God help me.”