“Hi, Struan. So, I’m looking ahead to the October holidays—wanting to get Isla booked into a few activities to keep her busy. There’s this company called Bannock Adventures that runs a Paddle ’n’ Play course. A few of her friends are doing it, and I thought she’d love it. What do you think? She’d get to try paddleboarding and?—”
“Water sports?” I say. “Really, Soph? Don’t you think you’re stepping on my toes a bit?”
I mean, for fuck’s sake,I’mthe surfer.
Silence on the other end. When Sophie speaks again, her tone is careful, measured. “Oh. Well, honestly, Struan, I thought you’d be pleased at the idea of Isla getting out on the water. Iwasn’t meaning to start an argument. The course is run by these two guys called Ally and Aidan. I think you’d get on well with them. They’re your kind of people.”
“They sound like prats.”
The words are out before I can stop them, petty and ridiculous and based on absolutely nothing except two alliterative names.
A long pause. “Really, Struan?They sound like prats?What’s with you tonight?”
She’s right. I’m being a complete arse and I know it. But the frustration’s been building all day with nowhere to go, and Sophie’s getting the brunt of it.
I should stop. I really should. But I don’t.
“Last weekend I got a day less with my daughter because you wanted to organise a sleepover for her, and now you want two random men to teach her how to get on a board instead of me. Can’t you see how that might tick me off a bit?”
“The sleepover?” Sophie’s voice rises with disbelief. “This is about thesleepover? Struan,youwere the one who didn’t want Isla missing out on things! That’s why weagreedshe’d have her own sleepover at my place.”
I take a long breath. Let it out slowly.
“Shit, Soph. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being a dick.”
And here’s the thing about Sophie—instead of agreeing, instead of telling me exactly where I can shove my bad attitude, she says, “What’s wrong, Struan?”
Christ. That’s almost worse.
“It’s . . . nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing.”
Aye, it’s the woman next door.But Sophie and I don’t discuss my relationships—mainly because they tend to be pretty casual—and besides, the whole reason Ainsley got upset was becauseour mums found out. I’m hardly going to go spreading the news further.
“You’re right, it’s not nothing, but I can’t talk about it. Not yet. It hasn’t got anything to do with the sleepover or the paddleboarding anyway. The paddleboarding sounds great. Sign Isla up, please. I’ll transfer you the money. And I’m sorry for being a dick.”
“You’re worrying me, Struan. This isn’t like you.”
Jesus. I snap at her, and her response is concern? I really don’t deserve this woman as my co-parent.
I force a laugh. “Please don’t worry. I’m fine. You just caught me at a bad time, that’s all. And again, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
“Hmm.” She isn’t convinced. “Do I need to phone your mum and da? Ask them to check in on you?”
“What? No,pleasedon’t do that. That’d be too embarrassing. Honestly, I’m fine. Sorry again.”
We finish up the call—me feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself—then the house settles back into silence.
I grab my guitar and drop onto the sofa, positioning it across my lap. Usually, this helps. The familiar weight of it, the smooth curve of the body against me. I can lose myself for hours in chord progressions and half-written melodies.
I play a few notes—something slow, easy—but my heart’s not in it.
I try again. A different song. Something upbeat this time.
Nope.
The notes fall flat, lifeless. Just sounds with no feeling behind them.
