‘Why?’
Niall shrugged. ‘Rabbie’s a dude.’
‘He’s “a dude”?’ Hilarious. This boy who never tucked his shirt in and was mostly staring out the window had stolen the works of Scotland’s national poet from the English classroom from which he was now offering to read to her because said poet was “a dude”.
‘So, do you want me to read?’
‘What, now?’
‘Might cheer you up. Bit o’ Rabbie, ken?’ Niall affected an over-the-top, wide Scots brogue. Carli pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles.
‘Do ye no’ like a bit o’ Rabbie?’ said Niall, far too loudly.
‘Niall!’ Mr McInally’s attention was drawn once again and Carli threw her focus to the maths textbook, pressing onto the page to try and to control her shaking shoulders.
‘Sorry, sir.’ Niall pushed his chair in and leaned forward on the desk as if it would give the impression he was hard at work also.
‘You’re so like your father it’s uncanny.’ Mr McInally drifted to their desk. ‘The deid one, that is.’
Niall stiffened and every last drop of lightness fell from his being onto the floor. Carli’s eyes widened. She knew a little about his family dynamic because the Butlers were well known in the area. They operated a whisky distillery run by Niall’s dad, Jimmy. Except Niall’s dad was actually his uncle, his biological dad – an abusive alcoholic – having died when Niall was a baby. She would find out later that the teacher had had a bitter falling out with Niall’s biological father.
But at that point, Carli didn’t understandwhy Mr McInally would have such venom in his voice. And why Niall would be biting back fury more powerful than a Kintyre storm. The teacher had taken things too far for noreason. It was abuse of power. She was fifteen but that much was obvious.
‘That’s out of order, sir.’ So what if she got into trouble for this? She was leaving in a year, anyway. What was the worst that would happen? Detention? ‘You shouldn’t talk to him like that.’
Mr McInally shot daggers at Carli but swallowed hard. She guessed he hadn’t expected to be challenged like this.
‘Get on with your work. Both of you.’ He drifted on to the back of the class as if nothing had happened, a backing down of sorts. Carli glanced at Niall. His face was grey, pencil clenched hard. A completely different boy from the one who’d been joking around pretending to be Robert Burns a few minutes ago. The confrontation might be over, but Niall was still fighting something.
For the remainder of the lesson, they worked in silence, Carli letting Niall copy her answers if he wanted to. At one point, he pressed his pencil so hard into the page that the lead snapped. She offered him a pencil sharpener, and he traipsed up to the bin to sharpen it.
While he was up there, she watched him, shoulders tensed, biting the inside of his lip as he concentrated on the pencil, a little too much for it to not be a necessary distraction from whatever was on his mind. This Niall Butler was a world away from the one who’d winked at her in the English classroom the previous day. That boy was sparky and cocksure. The one who’d offered to read her Burns’ poetry was funny and sweet. This one was troubled and uncertain of where he stood in this classroom, maybe even the world.
Despite the sharpened pencil, Niall spent much of the lesson staring down at his jotter. She wished there wassomething she could do to make things better, but the tension in the classroom was bad enough as it was.
I won’t stand for any of his shit,’ she whispered to him when the teacher’s back was turned.
‘Don’t get yourself in trouble,’ Niall wrote in his jotter. ‘I’m not worth it.’
‘I’ll decide if you’re worth it or not,’ said Carli, deciding that Niall Butler very much was worth it. She’d known that from the second she met him.
Chapter 5
Carli
‘Pardon?’ Carli blinked hard and wondered if she had imagined what she’d heard.
‘Someone has paid for you to be upgraded to business class, Madam.’
She stared, slack-jawed, waiting for the check-in attendant to say, “Ha, only kidding!”
‘But who? Which someone?’
‘I’m not sure exactly who, Madam. One moment.’
The attendant returned with an answer. ‘The ticket is from a Mr Butler,’ he said.
‘Oh, well, that’s lovely, but I can’t accept it.’ Carli would absolutely love to travel business class. The flight so far had been a struggle. The cramped seating meant it felt like someone had taken to her back with a set of kitchen knives, and there was a general wooziness that may be airline food or motion related. The chance to sleep in a comfortable seat with better dining would be incredible. But no matter how well off the Butler family might be, Carli couldn’t accept this gift. It was too much from people she hadn’t seen in years who didn’t owe her anything. Plus, Jimmy Butler wasdying of Motor Neurone Disease. She couldn’t take money from a dying man. That was non-negotiable.
