‘Sorry, I mean… good morning.’ He scrunched his face, seemingly scolding himself.
‘Morning.’ Ally clutched at her elbow, knowing how the others would be listening in to every utterance.
‘You’re, uh, drinking coffee?’ Jamie said, a hand rubbing the back of his neck like he’d sprained it. ‘Good, good, uh, do you… like coffee?’
Her eyes fixed on her as-yet untouched café cappuccino on her bench. Was Jamie Beaton asking her out for coffee?
His eyes shot wide open in intuition. ‘Uh, no, I mean… I’m just making conversation. Or trying to.’ He ventured a nervy laugh.
She couldn’t help but be put in mind of that time in first year at high school when Davie Hood was shoved in her direction in the lunchroom by his annoying pals daring him to ask if she was planning on going to the end-of-year disco and, anticipating that she’d (meltingly) say ‘yes’, he’d been dared to retort, ‘well tough, I’m no’ goin’,’ or something similar, and he’d return to his laughing pals as the hilarious hero. Except, she and Davie Hood were the only kids in the lunchroom that knew he really did want to ask her, and now he couldn’t. She’d have said yes if he’d asked in earnest, but he had to save face with his daft wee gang, who still thought girls were only things to ridicule. So she’d gone along with the whole awful rigmarole of waiting for him to say something as he approached her. In the end he’d fished in his pocket and handed her the fifty pence he owed her for chewing gum and she’d pocketed it in silent relief. He’d returned to the lads to a chorus of clucking chicken sounds. In the end, neither of them had gone to the disco. It was the story of her love life. Near misses and awkwardness.
She looked back at Jamie, not knowing how to act. If he was planning on asking her anywhere it was going to be a great big nope from her.
He was in his uniform again, only this time with a black body armour thing over a tight black T-shirt, with lots of harness-style black straps around his chest and hugging the waist of black utility trousers.
Good arms, she heard her traitorous brain whisper, and she worked hard to fix her eyes on his face.
‘Quiet today, no?’ he said, innocently looking around and rocking on his heels.
This was helpful. It felt like bait and she was only too glad to bite; anything to distract from the awkwardness.
‘I wonder why?’ she answered, accusingly.
Jamie tipped his head before pointing a thumb to the spot between his pecs. ‘It’s somehow my fault, I take it?’
‘Well, isn’t it?’ she continued, knowing it was unreasonable but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘You didn’t have to tell Morag Füssli about the jewellery.’
‘As a potential key witness, we really did.’ A line had formed between his dark brows.
Good. Any amount of grumpiness was better than not knowing how to act around this guy.
‘You could have done some damage limitation, or something?’ she went on. ‘Made sure reporters don’t go around using words like police caution?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve no control over the news.’
Why did he have to be so calm and reasonable under fire? She was being ridiculous.
‘Besides, I’m only a volunteer,’ he threw in. ‘I don’t talk to the press.’
‘So are we,’ she appealed, indicating the nonchalant (but obviously earwigging) fixers. ‘None of us are getting paid for any of this. It’s all for the community.’
‘Same here,’ he said. ‘I keep you safe; you keep us in good repair.’ He seemed pleased with this, like it was an end to the discussion.
‘Safe? Have you caught those jewellery thieves yet, or found the woman they were using to get rid of the evidence?’
‘Well, no, but we’re working on it.’
She had him there. A tiny triumph. ‘So why are you here and not out dusting for prints or whatever it is that you do?’
‘I mostly just type up reports and make the tea…’
She wasn’t laughing along with him.
His face fell once more. ‘Chances are, they’re long gone by now, moved on to another small town, but I give you my word, we’ll keep looking.’
He was so sincere, Ally felt her cheeks burn with shame at her behaviour.
How come he managed to provoke her like this? He wasn’t even trying to. Was it the uniform doing it to her? Yet, she’d seen traffic cops and fire officers stopping in for their tattie scones and lattes on repair café Saturdays a hundred times before and, nothing. So why this guy?
