“Innes has been very good to us,” Lachlan explains, quieter now. “Switched his schedule so I could do the runs that fit around Finn’s school.”
“Just made sense,” Innes says with a shrug. “Family comes first.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “That was really kind of you.”
He dips his head then looks at me with a glint of curiosity. “So, Blair, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you fit into this here crew?” He nods toward Lachlan, Finn, and Gus.
“Oh! I’m, uh, the nanny.”
“Well...” Lachlan clears his throat, colour creeping up his neck. “She’s a wee bit more than the nanny.”
“They kiss,” Finn announces matter-of-factly. Which, of course, sets us all off laughing.
“Out of the mouths of babes!” Innes, still chuckling, crouches a little to meet Finn’s eye. “Now, young man, how’d you fancy a turn at the wheel?”
Finn’s mouth drops open. “Really?”
“Aye, of course. You’re up, captain!” Innes nudges a wooden box into place by the wheel. “You might need this.”
Finn scrambles onto the box and grabs the wheel, his grin stretching ear to ear. Lachlan steps in behind him, steadying him, his much larger hands closing gently over Finn’s.
“Steady as she goes, lad,” he says, his voice low.
My chest squeezes at the sight. Father and son, guiding this massive vessel like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The ferry docks at Port Mairead, where whitewashed cottages huddle around the harbour as if bracing against the Atlantic wind. We file off with the other foot passengers—no car today. Stronaveagh, the village where Lachlan grew up, is a mile and a half along the coast, but he suggested we walk there. Said it’d let Gus have “a bit of a runabout”. I figure it also buys him a little extra time to brace himself before facing the village he hasn’t set foot in for four years.
We set off along a coastal path that hugs the shoreline, Gus’s nose twitching at all the new scents. The narrow trail winds between patches of heather and gorse, bursting with purple and yellow. To our left the sea glitters, to our right green hills rise. Finn skips ahead with Gus, glancing back every so often to make sure we’re still following.
As the path curves, a rocky islet comes into view just offshore, dotted with black-and-white birds waddling about like tiny dignified butlers. “Puffins!” Finn shouts, pointing.
My breath catches. I’ve seen them in documentaries and children’s books before, but never in person. They’re adorable. Flashes of bright orange beaks and feet, their little tuxedo bodies shuffling about like they’re waiting to be seated at a black-tie dinner.
I glance at Lachlan, grinning, but his jaw has tightened again. I slip my hand into his and give it a squeeze, and for a moment at least it seems to draw him back to me.
Finn, oblivious to the tension radiating from his dad, chatters on about the puffins, then points excitedly when a seal’s whiskered face breaks the surface of the water before dipping under again. A few steps later he’s chasing a butterfly. His delight is infectious—for me, at least. Lachlan only seems to retreat further into himself the closer we get to his old home.
Soon we crest a small hill and a village comes into view below us: stone cottages with slate roofs clustered along the shoreline,more houses trailing up the slope behind. A small church with a square tower and what looks like a community hall sit near the centre. From up here it looks like something off a postcard or a period drama set—timeless, unchanged for decades, as if the outside world has forgotten it exists.
Lachlan halts. The wind tugs at his hair but he doesn’t otherwise move. His shoulders have gone rigid, his jaw tight enough to crack.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
He gives a single nod but no words. Then, after a moment, he sets off again, each step heavier than the last. We make our way into the village, and Lachlan leads us to a low cottage facing the small harbour, its bright blue door shouting louder than the muted greys and browns of the cottages around it.
He stops outside it, still saying nothing.
I glance at him uncertainly. “Is this the house you used to live in?”
Another wordless nod. The silence stretches so I turn to Finn. “Do you remember this place, buddy?”
Finn wrinkles his forehead, concentrating hard. “Aye, I think so.” But he sounds doubtful, like he’s trying to convince himself rather than actually remembering.
Before any of us can say more, the front door of the neighbouring cottage swings open and a man about Lachlan’s age steps out. He’s broad-shouldered and sun-browned, with dark hair that looks like it never quite obeys a comb. He stops dead when he sees us, eyes going wide, disbelief flashing across his face.
“Bloody hell,” he breathes. In the next heartbeat he’s striding over and hauling Lachlan into a fierce hug. Lachlan is rigid in his grip, and for a moment I’m not sure he’s going to react at all. But then he lifts a hand and hesitatingly pats the man’s back.
When he finally lets Lachlan go, the man beams at Finn. “Finlay! I don’t believe it. Last time I saw you, you barely came up to my knee!”
