Niall’s bones ached from the mess he’d made of his life. In another world, Carli could be his. They could have been married by now, maybe even had some kids. An image flashed through his mind of him and Carli with Suzi and Rafe on the beach in Sydney, kids running around the place.
Well, that was pointless.
And it wasn’t his imagination either that the room had hushed a little at her presence.
‘Wow!’ said Sean. ‘You are going to get your heart broken, bro, because every man in this place will be on his knees for her tonight. Eilidh said eyes were popping out in the village.’
‘Shhh,’ Niall hissed.
‘Touchy.’ Sean popped another sausage roll in his mouth as the noise in the room rose again.
His brother was winding him up, pushing the buttons that worked as well as they always had. Sean could operate him like a mixing deck in the dark. He didn’t mean it in a bad way. If anything, he knew it might drive Niall to sort things out with Carli. As if putting them back together was as simple as all that. They were like bits of broken china that had been in the ocean for years, the edges all worn away so they no longer fit together. But did people think he had moved on so little over the past seventeen years that he’d be wrecked if she didn’t wind up on his arm once again?
Well, they might be a wee bit right.
Eilidh ushered Carli into the room and introduced her to people. Faces lit up, and she effortlessly charmed people like a princess. Niall wished he were the one showing her around, introducing her as his woman. But who was he to welcome Carli back to Kinshore? He didn’t even belong here himself, not really.
Oh, shut up, and go and speak to her.
But before Niall had a chance, the call came that dinner was served. He would have to talk to her afterwards.
Niall was delighted to be seated next to Eilidh at the dinner table in the marquee. She would keep him entertained. But Carli on the other side of Eilidh. Not ideal. It wasn’t that Niall wanted to keep Carli away from his sisters or to himself, but they had barely scratched the surface in being comfortable around one another again and now they had to sit on either side of his sister like dating teenagers separated by the sensible sibling.
That had been the case once upon a time.
The other downside was that Eilidh was nosey as hell. Had Niall been sitting next to Carli herself, he could control the output of information about her life. Instead, he had to listen to Eilidh prod her for details and wait with a knot in his gut for the answers. When it came to the part about her love life, he had to stand up and excuse himself under the guise of getting more wine, despite not actually drinking the stuff.
After dinner, there were speeches. Copious lovely tributes to his dad and his influence on everyone from the family to locals who’d been touched by his professionalism or his charity.
You could fill all the empty wine bottles with the tears.
Then the ceilidh band struck up, and the marquee transformed into a dance space. The floorboards were vibrating with bodies bounding up and down the room, laughter rich like spun treacle and the accompanying smells of whisky, leather and perfume doing a dance of their own.
As promised, Niall danced the ‘Dashing White Sergeant’ with June McDougall, ‘Strip the Willow’ with June’s best friend, then the ‘Gay Gordons’ with Jamie’s partner, Alicia. But the one person he wanted to dance with wasn’t dancing at all. Socialising, yes, laughing captivatingly, yes, but dancing, no. Strange, as Carli had alwaysloved to dance. One of his best memories of her was turning on the radio in the kitchen one day to find it playing ceilidh music and dancing an impromptu ‘Military Two-Step’ together. He could still hear her contagious laughter as they’d gone round and round countless times, him calling the moves and her telling him not to be so bossy.
Something flitted into his mind. A memory from his second night of jet lag insomnia, only marginally different from the usual insomnia he experienced. He’d been on Instagram, his eye caught by Eilidh’s post tagging Cara and Carli at the beach. Niall clicked into her profile, but what stood out, apart from the countless beautiful photos of her, was her bio: ‘Yoga teacher, classes for Fibro and chronic pain’. And when he’d googled ‘Fibro’, he stalled. Did Carli have this condition, of being in pain all the time, or was she someone who helped others who had it? Now, seeing her sitting out of the dancing, he couldn’t help but wonder if it might be both.
He approached her when she was sitting alone, drinking a glass of water. The ceilidh had ended and the live band gave way to more contemporary music.
‘Would you like to dance?’ The instinct was to extend his hand like a bloke in those historical dramas his mum and sisters watched, but he also wished his kilt had pockets to sink his awkwardness into. Was there a shimmer of hesitation in her soft brown eyes? Carli had a way of appearing to like you when she was hoping you’d fuck off. It was how she won people round and sifted out the losers. Lucky for him, he’d never been on the fuck off side of things. Until possibly now. Had he played this wrong? Fingers accidentally glancing over a can of Irn-Bru was one thing, but dancing was another.
You should have waited.
But Carli simply smiled thatmight like you, might notsmile of hers that did funny things to him, and said, ‘Sure’.
Together, they walked to the dance floor, literal inches between them, metaphorical miles, Niall’s hand flexing by his side like it should be somewhere else. In Carli’s.
‘You sure you’re alright with this?’ he asked as they melded in with the other couples who were dancing to a ballad that Niall could only describe as ‘tragic’. Was this the soundtrack to his life now?
Carli nodded and he took her hand – so small and delicate, although her character was anything but. She rested the other on his shoulder and he cupped his left palm into the dip of her lower back. When they were together, he’d loved to hold her there; it fanned the flames of a fierce protective instinct within him.
Still did.
The scent of violets from Carli’s skin was heady, like they were dancing in an exotic night garden. His wee Cass had well and truly graduated from inexpensive girly body spray to a bold, womanly fragrance. Adverts would describe it as being evocative of oriental nights or something.
Nights with Carli.
Okay, do not think of that right now. Keep yourself together.
