Priya stares at the table, tracing shapes with the tip of her finger. “I didn’t bring it in with me.”
“Is it in your tent?” I ask. “I can get it for you, if you want?”
Lila hides a cough behind her hand, staring at me intensely.
“No,” Priya replies. “It’s okay. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to.” I’m halfway up when Lila’s coughing fit registers and I realise she’s trying to tell me something. “Unless you don’t want me to?”
Priya bites her lip.
Lila squeezes her hand. “Priya can get a bit of stage fright, that’s all,” she says. “It’s something we’ve been working on at home, but I think this environment might be a bit much for her.”
“A violinist with stage fright?” Ewan squawks. “Isn’t that sort of the whole point?”
“Ewan.” I elbow him. “Don’t be insensitive.”
But Priya is sinking further, her mouth downturned as if she is fighting off tears.
“No, but seriously, didn’t you say she has some kind of audition coming up? How’s she going to manage that if she can’t play in front of people?”
“It won’t be a hot, overcrowded room at the audition, now will it?” Lila snaps back. “Oh, Priya baby. No.”
But Priya is already slipping under the table, re-appearing on the other side and barrelling towards the door. Lila shoots Ewan a venomous look and darts after her, forgetting her beanie on the seat. Bonnie slipped away during the argument, quietly leaving us to it. I hope she comes back; I’m ravenously hungry now.
Priya flings open the bar door, almost knocking the incomer over as she flees into the night, her mother sprinting after her, calling her name.
My eyes lock with the man now hovering in the doorframe. He’s half in shadow, half bathed in flickering firelight. His dark eyes pierce my chest. I raise a tentative hand to wave, and his mouth half-quirks as he lifted his in response. For a second, I fear a repeat of the last time I asked him for a drink, but this time, he lets the door shut behind him and shuffles towards us through the crowd.
“Upsetting three women in one day, Ewan?” he says in his rich, deep voice, as he slides into the booth next to me. His body is large and warm next to mine. “Even I’ve not managed that many in such a short space of time.”
Ewan crosses his arms. “Why’re you assuming it is me?” he asks. “Why not her?”
“London’s a lot louder when she’s pissing people off. And I didn’t hear any raised voices from outside.”
I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, so I settle for a stern look, which bounces off Angus like he’s a tennis racket.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Ewan protests. “It’s not my fault she’s sensitive.”
“So sayeth the man,” I quip. “Now where have I heard that before?”
“It’s true!”
“Go on then. What did you say?” Angus picks up the menu, frowning as he browses it.
There’s more room in the booth, but he doesn’t shift from next to me. His legs are spread wide, his thigh resting less than an inch from mine. One move and we’ll be touching. A thrum runs through me at the thought.
I glance at him sidelong, admiring his profile in the soft bar light, and wonder if any part of him is thinking the same.
“Nothing. I pointed out that it’s hard to be professional violinist if you can’t perform in front of a crowd, is all.”
Angus makes a choking noise deep in this throat, then closes the menu, leans over and thwacks Ewan on the nose with it, as if he’s a dog who’s climbed on the table to steal a piece of food.
Ewan jerks back. “What the fuck? What did I do to deserve that?”
“Acted like a prick to a wee lass who didn’t deserve it, that’s what.” Angus returns to the menu as if nothing has happened and shrugs a shoulder. “She’s ten. So what if she has stage fright? Your yapping isn’t going to help, is it?”
“It might.” Ewan sinks into his seat with a sullen expression.
