Page 79 of Scotlander

‘He’s the perfection we all seek. There are examples of Jamie-like figures in most mythologies—’ ChiChi began.

Fenella cut her off, pointing an accusatory finger at Rosa. ‘You do. You and Jeff are exactly like Claire and Jamie—’

Rosa held up her hand. ‘Jeff and I met later in life, after we’d both had some pretty awful experiences with love. We’d learnt by then that “they” weren’t kidding when they said love demands compromise. And it’s still not perfect. Far from it. Honey, ten years we’ve been together and this is the first time I’ve been able to pick the destination. It’s about prioritising. Would you rather have someone who knows how to open a dishwasher and put the dirty plates in? Or have a man whose smile lights up every time he sees you?’

‘Dishwasher skills and the one-hundred-watt smile would be nice,’ Jennifer joked. Sort of.

Rosa tried to take one of Fenella’s hands, but Fenella wasn’t having any of it. ‘Jamie’s different, he—’

‘Jamie’s a fantasy, Fenella.’ Jules overrode her. ‘He’s like McDonald’s French fries or Nando’s when you’ve had too much to drink. You can’t get enough. He’s MSG for women. A gorgeously rugged ultra-rogue who saves vulnerable people from peril. Of course you love him! He put his life on the line for Claire, like, a gazillion times. He rescues her over and over, whether or not she deserves it, loves giving her orgasms, and then, once he’s done that, stays up hours chatting, laughing at Claire’s impetuous, modern-thinking ways.’ Jules’s voice grew serious. ‘Tell me, honestly, how many men do you know who would withstand a near-death flogging and then make sweet, tender, selfless love to his wife after she’d been the one to put him in that position in the first place?’

No one said anything.

Jules crossed her arms, satisfied her point had been made. ‘Believing that someone like him is real is not good for your mental health.’

‘If he’s so toxic or triggery or whatever, why are you even here?’ Fenella snapped back. ‘To rub it in? Show us all your witchcraft? Prove lesbians had it right all along?’

Jennifer started to say something but Fenella thundered on. ‘And, anyway, what’s wrong with wanting someone to love you that much?’ Her eyes blazed with defiance as she bashed her hand against her chest. ‘I deserve it. We all do. And I don’t know if I have that with my bloke back home so, sensible or not, I’ve left my fiancé and flown to the other side of the world to see if there are real Jamies.’ She threw them all a despairing look. ‘I deserve someone more evolved than your average Aussie plonker, right?’

They said, ‘Right,’ or ‘Definitely,’ and from Jennifer a very solid, ‘Absolutely nothing less, love. Nothing less.’

Fenella, usually so strong and fiery, wilted. ‘The choices are limited in the Woop Woop, people. Too bloody limited.’

The atmosphere shifted from fraught to compassionate.

‘Riley’s not a plonker,’ ChiChi said into the silence.

Fenella bucked back to look at her. ‘And how exactly would you know this?’

ChiChi frowned, her dark cheeks colouring. ‘I . . . He – he’s been writing to me. He found me on the fanfic site. Ever since we got here he’s been sending texts and emails. He’s worried about you.’

As Fenella’s eyes rapid-blinked out some sort of what-the-actual-fuck Morse code to ChiChi, Gabe pulled up a stump and plonked himself down next to Willa with a cheery, ‘Hola, chicas. Que pasa?’

‘We were perving on Willa’s boyfriend and wondering whether she’s lying about not having shagged him yet,’ Fenella ground out.

Jules aimed her boot toe towards Fenella. ‘But now we’re trying to figure out why Fenella’s left her fiancé back in Oz to spend two weeks with Trevor.’

Fenella screamed a hair-raising urrrghh as she punched her hands to the heavens with a ‘Bloody Trevor!’ following in their wake.

Rosa got up and headed to the fire. ‘And I’m going to help Jennifer make Orla’s famous Scottish fajitas.’

‘Famous?’ Gabe asked.

‘She makes them for an annual supper with the amateur dramatics society,’ Jennifer called across from the fire. ‘She said for authenticity, we’re using bannocks instead of tortillas.’

Rosa opened her mouth, then decided against commenting.

‘Just to be clear, I am not sleeping with Finn,’ Willa said.

‘He’s not her type,’ Gabe said, tugging off one of his boots and tipping out some tiny stones.

‘That’s not true!’ Willa protested. ‘He’s very much my type. His eyes, for example—’ She stopped mid-flow and, too late, tried to affect an air of casual indifference. ‘Why do you think he isn’t my type?’

Gabe looked confused. ‘He’s – umm – Scottish.’

Howls of protest filled the air. Enough for Gabe to lean in and whisper, ‘I’ve heard you two at night, bendita. I’m covering for you.’

Willa flushed. Gabe had heard Outlander sex at night. Claire’s moans and groans. Jamie’s grunts and sighs. Not hers and Finn’s.