“And we’ll eat and drink and relax. No work allowed.”
“Promise. And I want cocktails this time. And wine. Good wine.”
“Tea. We need tea.”
“All the tea. And a bit of exercise. No Zumba. Just…swimming and walks.”
“I need to start running in the mornings because Mrs Cook’s afternoon tea has been terrible for me. A bad habit. I need to stop going, but I love it.”
“Terrible for our waistlines, I agree with that. The trick is to cut everything into small pieces. Pick at the cake. Crumbs in the napkin. Feed the chickens. Don’t tell anyone.” He rubbed my stomach. “And anyway, I love your tummy. Love you. Love everything you are. Eat the cake, Noah. Live. Enjoy what we have.”
“Fox,” I whispered. Smiling. Yes. Maybe. The cakes were insane, and I was putting on weight. I needed to figure out how not to, and anyway, from September, I would be employed again. Full time at a surgery outside Inverary, and the drive wouldn’t be too bad, and the practice was small, and I would be running all the clinics, but I was looking forward to it. Getting stuck into work and using my skills. Dealing with the public and…
I would miss…afternoon tea. My stomach wouldn’t. And I would be home every night in time for dinner and would be able to sit with Bay and do homework and see Mum and Dad on the weekend, and everything would become…a nice new routine.
And maybe having Mum and Dad a little too close for comfort was a blessing, because at least we had…help. We had a night off every weekend when Bailey went to stay with them, and we could…well. Have wild sex.
“I really want to fuck you on this holiday,” Fox whispered in my ear, making me jump.
“You’d better. I have expectations,” I whispered back.
“And I have lube. Good stuff. And I am not sunbathing barefoot. Ever.”
“I’ll still carry you, it’s tradition.”
“I’ll help,” Bailey said, his little head popping up over the headrest. “We need to carry you to and from dinner. Grandma said it’s a Fairweather tradition now. Dad doesn’t get to walk anywhere. Grandma said there’s a buggy. Granddad and I are going to sit at the front. And we need to go and find Coke Floats.”
“And play golf,” my dad said, waving his hand over his backrest. “The hotel has a fabulous course.”
“They have Zumba classes and water aerobics.”
“I’m not doing that.” Bay grimaced. “Not dancing.”
“We’re going to eat at a restaurant underwater.”
“That’s freaky, Dad.”
“I know. I’ve never done that either.”
“It’s our honeymoon. We need to do really cool things.”
“Absolutely,” Fox agreed. “We’re going to have the best time.”
“They have a pianist on a Thursday. And a cover band on a Friday,” my mother declared, holding up a leaflet. “I printed all the information from the website.”
“You can look it up on the website, Mum.” I sighed. “Save the trees instead of printing everything.”
“Yes, but then how do I make my holiday scrapbook? Bailey and I have it all planned out.”
“Sex,” Fox whispered in my ear. “Just remember all the sex.”
Oh, I intended to. So I kissed him, sat there in his seat with his laptop and a gin and tonic in a plastic glass. Double lemon slices. I knew him now. I knew every little thing about him.
There were so many things I knew now. I knew Angus and Eileen down at the hotel. I knew Dr McDougall at the surgery. I knew all the teachers and staff at Kilmartin School. Most of the boys. Some were wary of me, and I couldn’t claim to remember all their names, but they still said helloand high-fived me in the courtyard and yes…I knew the dogs. Took them for walks on the fells, and scratched their backs and threw their balls and…I loved them. I loved everything about my life now, and I wondered how I’d lived before. When I’d been stuck in a rut in a shoebox house and I’d not seen any way out.
The way out? It was right here, and I’d taken it and run with it. I had no regrets. Not a single one.
“Dad,” Bailey said, his head once again popping up in front of me. “Can I really swim in the sea and see fish? Real fish?”
