It took three stories, two glasses of milk, and a lengthy negotiation over whether Mr Flops needed his own pillow (he did, apparently). But she’s out now, breathing soft and steady, one arm flung over her rabbit.
I should probably try to have a bit of me time—watch some grown-up TV, maybe—but I honestly don’t have the energy forit. So I get myself ready for bed. I’m just pulling back my duvet when I hear it.
A guitar.
A slow, wistful tune drifts through the night air. Acoustic. Gentle. Familiar.
My chest tightens.
I step out onto the landing almost without deciding to. Peer through the gap in the curtains into the dark.
Struan is on his back step, head bent over his guitar, fingers moving softly over the strings. The light from his kitchen window casts him in warm gold, picking out the tawny curls, the slope of his shoulders, the quiet confidence of his hands.
Heat flickers through me—sharp and unwelcome. I remember the last time I watched him play. The kiss. His lap. My body giving in far, far too easily.
I clamp down on it.No.
But the music keeps playing. Something slow and aching, the kind of melody that curls under your skin and finds all the places you’ve been trying to protect.
I step back. Pull the curtains fully closed. Head back into my bedroom and switch off the light.
I’m just tired. That’s all. It’s been a long week.
I climb into bed and lie there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep.
It doesn’t come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AINSLEY
The kettle clicks off, steam curling up towards the ceiling while Mum rattles through her kitchen cupboard for mugs.
Da’s through in the living room, keeping Lily busy. He’s still got his cast on, but he’ll be fine with her for a few minutes.
“So,” I say, leaning against the worktop, “a funny thing happened a couple of days ago. Rachel texted me.”
Mum’s hand stills above a mug, a teabag pinched between her fingers. “Rachel? As in?—”
“The very same.”
“What on earth did she want?”
“Sympathy, I think. Danny cheated on her too.” I can’t quite keep the bitter edge from my voice. “She thought I’dunderstand.”
Mum clicks her tongue. “Maybe this is mean of me, but I can’t say I’m very sorry to hear that. There’s a certain poetic justice in it, isn’t there?”
I don’t comment. Don’t need to.
Mum finishes pouring the water, then glances at me with a look I know all too well. “Anyway,” she says casually, “Struan?—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand. “There’s nothing going on between us—as I’ve already told you.”
Mum sighs. A heavy, theatrical sigh that could win awards.
“What was that noise for?” I fold my arms. “Also, Mum, Istillcan’t believe you gossiped about me behind my back. Youknowhow humiliated I was after Danny. You know how awful it was, with everyone knowing everything. And yet you and Struan’s mum went blabbering away anyway.”
She sets down the teaspoon and turns to face me properly, her expression softening. “I am sorry about that. Truly I am. And if I’d known how it would turn out, I’d never have done it.”
