The Ferryman’s Rest is doing decent Tuesday night business—not rammed, but busy enough that nobody notices one bloke nursing a pint alone. The low rumble of conversation mixes with the clink of cutlery and occasional burst of laughter from the group of lads by the fruit machine. Pre-match rugby commentary drones from the TV above the bar, though nobody’s properly watching yet.
I check my phone again. Douglas should be here any minute. Dinner and the Scotland match—just two guys escaping reality for a few hours.
My mind drifts to earlier, to Ainsley, to the moment she caught me working shirtless out back. The wee noise she made, and then the look on her face, like... well, like she wanted to lick the sweat off my chest or something.
She clamped down on it instantly, all icy composure again. She’d deny it—no question—but she liked what she saw. I know she did.
Ha. She’s too cute.
Still, I shouldn’t be this pleased about it. And maybe Ishouldkeep my clothes on in future, even when I’m roasting and think I’m alone.
I rub a hand over my face. Christ, I need to think about something else.
I lift my phone. A good dose of my wee girl is exactly the distraction I need. I video-call Isla, and she answers after a few rings.
“Hey, princess.”
Her face appears pixelated for a second before the connection steadies. “Daddy!” She’s still in her school uniform, navy cardigan slightly askew. “Guess what happened at school today?”
“What?”
“Mrs Henderson told me I’m going to join primary four for reading time! Just reading, not maths or anything else. But still!”
Pride swells in my chest. “That’s brilliant, Isla! Primary four already? You’re getting too clever for your old da.”
She rolls her eyes but she’s beaming. “I’m notthatclever. But I did learn something really cool today about octopuses. Did you know they have three hearts?”
“Three hearts? That’s mental.”
“I know! And if they lose an arm, it grows back. Like magic but real.”
Sophie’s voice drifts from somewhere off-screen: “Isla, Mei is looking for her sous chef!”
“Oh!” Isla perks up. “Mei and I are making homemade pizzas tonight. She lets me choose all my own toppings, even pineapple, and Mummy doesn’t even complain.”
Sophie appears behind Isla, her dark-blonde hair tucked behind one ear and a quick, tired smile on her face. “Oh, hi, Struan. Did Isla tell you about the reading group?”
“Aye, just now. That’s amazing.”
“I know, we’re really proud. Sorry, but we’re about to have dinner. Would it be okay if Isla calls you back after?”
“But we’re playing rummy after dinner!” Isla says.
“True, but you can still give your da a quick call.”
I smile. “It’s fine. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay? Enjoy your pizzas.”
“Will do.” Isla grins. “Byeee!”
The screen goes black before I can get another word in.
I set my phone down, reach for my pint, and take a long sip. Rummy, eh? That used to be our game. Started teaching Isla when she was five, using Maltesers as stakes. She’d concentrate so hard, wee brow furrowed, determined to beat her dad.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head at myself.
Christ, Walker. You’re a grown man. You’re way too old to get jealous over a game. Sort yourself out.
Still, thingshavebeen different since Mei came onto the scene. It used to be that I’d drive to Bannock every Wednesday for dinner—me, Sophie, and Isla. We always said it was important for Isla to see her parents getting along—which we do. But now those nights are once a month, if that. And, aye, Mei’s usually there.
