‘The same kind of arse who paid six hundred quid for a coat. Aye, you can’nae defend yourself from that, can you?’
‘It is a very nice coat,’ Paisley says, appearing at the now open door. ‘Dolce and Gabbana, isn’t it?’
‘Nah. Their stuff is made for little Italian blokes. Not for shoulders like these.’
‘I’m sure David Gandy would disagree.’
Sorcha follows Paisley into the office, swinging her little blue homework bag. She gives Keir a quick hug before throwing herself on the sofa, patting the leather cushion next to her.
‘How’s my wee girl?’ Keir asks, sliding in next to her.
‘Fine,’ she replies, now patting the seat cushion at her other side. ‘Paisley, I want to be the ham in the sandwich.’
Chuckling softly, Paisley makes her way over to the pair, and Sorcha does indeed become the ham in a squeezing, cuddling, giggling sandwich.
Perfect. Just what I need when I want to wallow in my own misery. But they’re so stinkin’ fuckin’ cute. So I tell them so.
‘You lot are as cute as.’
‘Cute as what?’ pipes up the ham in the middle.
‘Just what I said, Sorch; as cute as.’
‘That’s silly,’ Sorcha replies. ‘If I wrote a sentence like that, my teacher would say it was unfinished. ‘As cute as. .. Paisley. That’s a sentence.’
‘She is pretty cute,’ Kier agrees.
‘Aw, right back at you,’ Paisley replies, cupping his face with her hand.
‘Or as cute as Princess Kitty,’ Sorcha continues, but Keir doesn’t look so convinced. He’s not a fan of Sorcha’s cat.
‘As cute as you,’ he says instead, kissing his daughter on the head.
‘What about Chastity?’ It sounds like a throwaway line, but Paisley’s fishing.
‘Flynn thinks she’s cute,’ Sorcha agrees, nodding vigorously. ‘Don’t you, scumbag?’
‘She is pretty cute.’
‘Oh, helurvesher.’ Sorcha wraps her hands around her arms and begins making kissy faces.
‘Enough of that,’ Keir says, though not in reprimand. ‘But now I see why he’s in such a shite mood.’
‘Daddy said a swear.’ Sorcha glances up at Paisley with a look of heavy resignation and a heavy sigh.
‘I heard,’ Paisley answers. ‘You know what that means.’
The little girl nods, then slides off the couch and makes her way to her school bag, pulling out a clear, plastic container full of pound coins, five and ten pound notes.
‘Who put the twenty in, Sorch?’
‘Uncle Will,’ she says, pulling up her navy school socks. ‘Agnes threatened to bash him with her rolling pin when all he did was say a—’
‘Watch it.’ Though Keir’s voice is even, his brows are low.
‘Psyched!’ his daughter replies. ‘Daddy,’ she says, putting her hand on one cocked hip. ‘Do you really think I would use bad words?’
‘If you do, you’ve got enough money in there to pay for a good year’s worth.’ I rub my hand across my jaw, trying not to laugh as Keir’s displeasure is turned my way.
