“This is blackmail. Emotional blackmail. Make her stop.”
Lila hides a smile behind her hand. “Priya, honey, leave Ewan alone.”
“But what if we all go, and we leave him behind, and then he lies there and realises what a big mistake he’s made, and he’s in too much pain to join us because he’d have to limp all the wayback here, and we’re not there to help, and then he has to spend the night alone, staring at the inside of his tent?” Priya looks stricken at the thought.
“Your child is a witch,” Ewan laments.
“It does sound bleak.” Rowan shivers.
“I’ve got some more ibuprofen if you need it,” I offer.
Ewan puts his head on the table. “Painkiller me up.” His muffled voice echo through the wood. “I guess I’m going dancing. God help me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rowan
The ceilidh is mayhem. I love it.
The wood-panelled hall in front of us is full to the brim with red-faced dancers, stamping and spinning as if their lives depend on it. The band is on a raised stage to one side, while on the other, a bar is tucked away next to some long benches, carefully placed out of the way of the ruckus. A small crowd of people watch with their drinks, and every now and then, a dancer spins out of the crowd, desperately downs some water, and then throws themselves back into the throng.
Our motley crew hesitates in the doorway. None of us have packed anything appropriate, so we’re still in our hiking gear: Priya and Lila in sensible trousers and T-shirts; Ewan’s knobbly knees sticking out like golf balls under his Adidas shorts; Angus in his ubiquitous grey. I’ve opted for purple: purple leggings with yellow splodges that make me feel like a cheetah, purple T-shirt with a violet on the back, shaped like an exclamation mark that reads:No wilting here. I’ve left myZestycap at the hotel, and I feel naked without it.
“Still not too late to turn around,” Angus offers quietly.
A part of me wants to. It’s loud, and hot, and I feel a world away from being able to dance with such uninhibited glee. Theonly time I go dancing is with Marnie and it is exclusively to cheesy pop nights where we know all the words and everyone on the floor is too drunk to notice what we’re doing anyway. This? Steps to follow and someone on stage watching to make sure you’re doing it right? This fills me with dread.
But the glow of the hike lingers.Strong.Confident.Capable. If I want to keep feeling this way, I need to push myself. Even if is just to dance.
I shake my head. “And miss the fun? No chance.”
Priya is watching the band with shadowed eyes. “I wish I could do that,” she whispers, as the fiddler takes a step forward, raising their instrument high.
“One day, kiddo.” Lila tucks her under one arm and hugs her to her side. “As long as you keep practicing.” She kisses her on the forehead. “Come on then, Angus. What do we do?”
“Nothing for now.” He folds his broad arms. “When the song finishes, the caller” – he points to the man fronting the band, who is shouting out the steps – “will tell us what’s coming next, and organise the room to start. That’s when we join in.”
“What if we get it wrong?” Priya is staring at the wall of bodies with a spark of fear in her eyes.
“Then we laugh, and try again,” Lila says. “Like that woman there!”
Sure enough, a redhead wearing dungarees has turned left instead of right, colliding with a taller gentleman in a neat tweed suit. He catches her, and she screams with laughter, ricocheting off him and back into her circle without missing a beat.
“Don’t worry, lass,” Angus says. “Most people here are far too busy enjoying themselves to care about you. That’s what makes it fun.”
The song is slowing, coming to an end. The dancers’ feet halt, and a new crowd surges towards the bar, as others stand around, clutching their ribs or resting their hands on their knees.
“Next song’s starting. We’re up.” Lila pushes Priya into a line that is forming in front.
“Not me. I’ll be over there.” Ewan points towards the benches. “Come find me when you need a break.”
“What about you, Angus?” I ask. “Are you going to dance?”
He catches my eye. I don’t know what I expect: a short, sharp no? For him to walk away again without a word? The ice of this morning seems to have thawed, but I still don’t know where we stand. Or if we stand anywhere at all.
“Aye,” he says, surprising me. “I’ll dance.”
So when the band strikes up, I find myself next to Angus in the line. And when the caller tells us to take our partner’s hand, it is his large, calloused palm I grab. I have a second to savour the sensation, and off we go, spinning each other around, forming a daisy chain with the others in our group and running down the hall under another couple’s arching hands. Another spin, a few more steps, and then running the other way, already starting to lose our breath, and without meaning to, laughter is hiccoughing in my throat and a smile threatening to break out on my face.
