“You’ll do no such thing! You’re only just back. Go eat your dinner and spend some time with your boy. It’s an hour and twenty minutes to the hospital on a good day, and in weather like this? No, thank you. I’m staying put at home.”
“At least let me?—”
“I’m fine, Lachlan.” She squeezes Finn’s shoulder with her good hand. “Good night, love.” And with that, she slips out into the rain before I can argue any further.
Finn stands frowning after her, lower lip stuck out in worry. “Is Flora really okay? Or was she just saying that?”
“Between you and me, lad, that woman is as stubborn as a Highland coo, and she likes to think she’s as hardy as one too. We’ll give her a wee visit tomorrow and see how she’s doingthen, but for now, tell me more about this shepherd’s pie. I hear the potatoes were mashed by a master chef. A veryticklishmaster chef.”
My hands shoot out, and Finn squeals, dodging away from me. “It’s through here. C’mon!” He leads the charge through to the kitchen, Gus hot on his heels. He opens the fridge and pulls out a dish with both hands like he’s unveiling buried treasure. “See, Da? Loads left.”
One sniff of the food and Gus transforms into the picture of canine innocence. Suddenly he’s sitting perfectly with big soulful eyes, his tail giving the tiniest hopeful swish.
I snort. “You honestly think you’re getting some of this after knocking Flora off her feet? You’re a chancer. Dream on, pal.”
I step back from our architectural disaster and try to find something positive to say.
“It’s . . .”
“Amazing!” Finn bounces on his knees inside the lopsided structure, torch beam dancing across the blanket ceiling. “It’s like a proper castle. Look, this bit’s the throne room.”
Amazing?Not the word I’d have used. The chairs are doing their best to hold up the throws, but the whole thing lists to one side like it’s had a few too many whiskies. One corner has already given up entirely, the blanket drooping down to brush Finn’s head.
By the time I’d finished the washing-up, it was after eight, past Finn’s usual bedtime on a school night. I tried suggesting we build the fort tomorrow instead, but his face crumpled in a way that punched a hole clean through my resolve. He doesn’t ask for much, my boy. And after being late home again becauseof weather I admittedly couldn’t control, I reckoned the least I could do was keep one bloody promise.
“Right then, Your Majesty,” I say, grabbing his favourite book from the shelf, a Julia Donaldson tale about a hapless dragon. “Shall we have a story in your castle?”
I squeeze myself halfway into the fort—no small feat for someone my size—and Finn snuggles against my side and uses my arm as a pillow. Gus pokes his nose through the blanket doorway, decides there’s not enough room for a golden retriever, and settles for lying guard outside with his chin on his paws.
Finn’s eyelids are already heavy, and he soon lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. He tries to muffle it behind his hand, but it comes out anyway, all big and squeaky at the end. I barely get halfway throughZogwhen his breathing evens out, the torch slipping from his fingers to cast wild shadows on the walls. His mouth parts slightly, dark lashes resting against flushed cheeks.
Should move him to his bed.But I don’t. Not yet. For a while I stay here in our wonky castle, listening to him breathe, his little body warm beside me.
Finally, I ease my arm out from under him and lift him carefully. He stirs, mumbles something about dragons, but doesn’t wake. I tuck him into his bed, pull the duvet up to his chin, and press a kiss to his forehead.
“Night, wee man.”
I head downstairs to the garage and flick on the light. The makeshift gym stares back at me—weights neatly racked, bench positioned just so, everything in its place. Most nights, after Finn’s asleep, I work out here. I’d rather sweat out the day than sit on my arse watching telly.
Gus pads in behind me and settles on his old blanket in the corner. He knows the routine as well as I do. But tonight, exhaustion wins out over habit. “On second thoughts, pal, how about we make today a rest day, eh?”
Gus perks up, tail wagging like he’s just won the lottery, because he knows what happens now. I head through to the kitchen, fish one of his dental sticks from the cupboard, and toss it to him. He snatches it out of the air and pads off to enjoy it in his favourite corner. I grab a cool beer from the fridge for myself and collapse into a chair at the kitchen table.
Checking my phone, I see there’s a message in the Dadventurers chat, a group chat between me and two other single dads in the town.
Struan
Lachlan, thought I saw your ferry surfing a wave earlier. Radical, Cap’n
Trust Struan to find the humour in a Force 8 gale.
Lachlan
My arse hasn’t unclenched yet. And I was late home, of course. Flora saved the day though
Douglas
That woman’s a saint
