Ben stands up, picks up his jacket. He looks at me but says nothing. I notice tattoos on his right forearm, the beginning to a sleeve and he sees me looking.
The last time I saw his arms they weren’t inked. I want to find out what else he has tattooed. I want to study each design.
“I’ll find you later. Show you what we’ve had.” His words are directed at me.
I stand. This meeting is done whether Gethin and Murray want it to be or not. “Thank you. I might be able to help.”
He nods and leaves. I feel Micky watching me, Lennox oblivious.
“You dinnae want to go there, Blair,” Micky says quietly when he walks past me. “Don’t become a cliché. I’ll still take you out.”
I don’t look at him. “He’ll be with us.”
Micky chuckles. “And?”
I laugh. There isn’t much more I can do.
The last Saturday of June. The garden looks as if several nurseries have exploded over it with the amount of blooms and petals. Several stages have been set up, decking that will be a nightmare for anyone in heels and four outside bars.
This afternoon was the garden party, held by the queen twice a year to celebrate and honour citizens who have served their country and community. My mother plays her usual gracious part; greeting and chatting, finding out small details and remembering them. This is where she excels, Scotland’s mother.
I watch her from the side lines, not needing to be on show today. This is about her.
“She hasn’t changed.” The voice startles me and I turn to see Ben. He’s blending in, wearing a white button down and dark tan pants.
“She’s a constant.”
Ben nods, standing next to me as if he’s been there for this every year.
“Is everything okay?”
He almost smiles, the sides of his mouth twitching just a fraction.
“You don’t have to look so serious all of the time. It is okay to crack that smile.” I beam at him.
He doesn’t return it. Instead he looks away.
“Ben, we don’t…” It hurts too much to not be able to talk to him like we used to, back when we were different people. The pace of change has torn holes in the fabric of who we used to be, but I recognise something there that’s the same boy who pulled my hair and kissed me like I never had been before. Or since.
“Not now, Blair. I can’t get distracted.” He doesn’t look at me.
I slip away wearing that painted smile and looking as if his words haven’t just poured acid onto a gaping wound.
* * *
Day guests are slowly ushered into the converted barn that was used for weddings before Scotland had a monarchy for the second time. For a few minutes the absence of voices haunts the gardens and the corridors into the castle. It’s this time between events that’s the strangest.
I’m never alone here. I know there are more security guards positioned around than people would recognise. I know who they are by the way they stand and look, how their eyes flicker. And they don’t smile. Just like Ben, any emotions are left at the door.
“Blair, you need to get ready for the meal.”
My mother’s voice sounds just as it did ten years ago. It isn’t a reprimand and it isn’t that she doesn’t think I’m capable of being organised, it’s just how she works. Organised, methodical.
“I’m heading to my room.”
She walks with me, glides. My mother should’ve been born for this life, yet she was a commoner. Like Elise. But unlike Elise she’s never made her ambition obvious.
“Have you seen the guest list or the seating plan?”
