‘I was out walking. And don’t take the piss.’
‘I won’t. Walking is …’ he scratches his chin, ‘necessary?’ Then he examines my face, narrowing his eyes. ‘But it’s not just the sun. You look kind of healthy.’
‘Are you giving me a compliment?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he replies, reaching out to hold my hand, which I let him do for long enough so it seems like I want him to. His hand is clammy. I know if I look down I’ll see the signet ring on his pinky finger, which I have a dreadful flashback of sucking on, during a particularly drunken fantasy role-play attempt.
‘What is there to do around here?’ Damo asks, leaning as far as possible out of the window as he can without falling.
‘You could take a walk around the loch.’
‘Enough with the walking,’ Tim moans, as if I’ve killed fun for ever.
‘You could go for a horse-ride—’
‘Boring!’ Tim bellows.
‘There’s not even a television in here,’ Damo complains.
I stand up and open the cupboard to reveal the forty-two-inch TV and speak directly to Damo.
‘Why don’t you order room service? Have a bath?’ I try to ignore Tim’s eyes boring into my head, and continue, ‘The food is absolutely fantastic. Like, amazing. You can have something a bit like chicken, or a massive steak; they will deliver a whole bottle of whisky, if you want that.’
‘That room-service menu doesn’t sound very fancy,’ Damo says abruptly, his heavy brow furrowed. ‘I was hoping we were going to have some game. Pheasant, partridge? Plus, I want a proper flight of wine. That’s what you’ve been doing, right? There’s a fabulous Picpoul on the menu. Isn’t this a Russell Brooks restaurant?’
I pause for a moment to let that settle in. Damo is a foodie.
‘We’re at least coming to the restaurant,’ Tim says. ‘Non-negotiable.’
‘Fine, fine,’ I relent, ‘but please don’t draw too much attention to yourselves. Like, please. It’s super-posh and full of older folk here, and if you start swearing and jumping on tables …’
‘How much is the degustation menu?’ Damo asks.
‘I mean, with wine, it could be a hundred and fifty quid each,’ I warn, ‘maybe more.’ My last possible chance to get them to reconsider.
‘Come on,’ Tim frowns, ‘surely you can get us a free dinner?’
‘Tim, please.’ I am resorting to full begging now, as I raise my hands in the prayer position. ‘If you promise to be sensible, I will buy you both dinner.’
‘Then it’s settled. Damo and I have a date,’ Tim says.
‘Okay. Dinner. In the restaurant. At seven p.m. sharp,’ I say, looking at him now. ‘We’ll need the table back at nine, probably. So, early night! Don’t drink too much, please. And for fuck’s sake … Call. Me. Heather.’
Two hours later and I’m standing nervously at the bar next to Bill, who is showing Brett how to make a Cosmopolitan. Roxy is Tim and Damo’s waitress, and so far they’re playing it perfectly.
I’ve seated them on the table that is least visible from the pass. I’m sure James knows by now that Tim is here, but at least I can stop them from meeting. Irene has been offsite with Mr MacDonald again, and I’m not looking forward to her returning. We are on the fourth course now, and although Tim is starting to show signs of being happy-drunk, there haven’t been any incidents. I take a deep breath.Can I please get through this?
‘So … he just turned up, eh?’ says Bill as he pours the pink liquid into an elegant long-stemmed Martini glass.
‘Yes,’ I say, glaring at Bill. ‘He has a wedding near Glasgow.’
‘And you’re not going with him?’
‘No,’ I whisper quietly, ‘we’re not together any more, Bill, and honestly I don’t know why he’s here. I want him in and out with minimal incident.’
‘And how long were you together?’ Bill asks, as Brett looks across at me and furrows his brow, then slowly shakes his head in silence. I get the distinct impression they don’t believe me. And I admit it looks bad – Tim travels from London to Loch Dorn to see an ex? I don’t know if I’d buy that.
‘How long?’ I say with a sigh, focusing on Roxy, who is trying to deliver one large pint of beer and what appears to be a glass of ourmost expensive tasting wine, the Bordeaux, to their table, without wobbling the small silver tray. Damo checks out her arse as she bends to deliver the drinks, and I stiffen protectively.
