Alistair came to get Florence and Finn went with them, so yes Vi, just us for the swim. Sorry you won’t get to admire that view. I ignore her barb and try not to feel too relieved, but I can’t help it. I want to get in the water without feeling self-conscious about the Scottish dreamboat being around. Although I wouldn’t hate to see him shirtless again…
I try to snap myself out of thinking about Finn as the three of us make our way down to the beach. The shoreline is rockier than I expected, tiny stones and shells lining the water. There’s a patch of sand beside the dock and it looks like a path through the rocks has been cleared in the water, too. The lake is so crystal clear that I can see all the way to the bottom. A school of fish skitters away as I walk down the wharf.
Last one in has to buy drinks tonight, Alba says while sprinting down to the edge of the dock and jumping feet-first into the water. Her wife, giggling, runs in behind Alba, but she gets in with a far more graceful dive.
I jump in behind Rose, attempting to aim my cannonball towards Alba, who screams and splashes me away.
The water is beautiful—warmer than the ocean, but more refreshing than the lakes in Victoria. The three of us tread water at the end of the dock, the sun shining on the water. I smile, feeling almost blissful.
This, I think, is a good place to spend the summer.
Chapter 5
FINN
READY YOU TWO?
Florence pops her head out of the front door to the patio where my brother and I are currently enjoying a beer. A nice red, brewed by one Alexander Keith, according to the bottle.
I spent the afternoon walking along the beach and swimming with Alistair. Florence, who I’ve decided must be a saint, spent that time with our mother. She and Mum came with us for part of the walk, but it wasn’t long before my mother was keen to head back to the house.
Now, we’re about to go for dinner at their local pub. It’s just outside Christmas Island, in a community called Iona. Alba and her wife, along with Alba’s dad—who I’ve learned is basically Florence’s dad as well, since her uncle is the only real father figure she’s ever known—are meeting us there.
Along with the lovely, lovely Violet.
She has such a nice name. It rolls off the tongue—I practically purred it at her earlier today. She’s beautiful, with honey-brown hair, a smattering of tattoos, and there’s something intense about her. And she kept blinking up at me with those big doe eyes in a way that gave my ego a boost.
The romantic in me was forging ahead. Now this would make a great meet-cute story. How did you meet your wife, Finn? Oh, she barged in on me changing—and she’s my brother’s wife’s best friend…
Okay Finn, snap out of it you absolute bampot.
I can’t help myself sometimes. But she lives on the other side of Canada and you, you shite, are stuck in Scotland for the foreseeable future. Normally I’d be tempted to pursue a bit of fun with Violet, but since it can’t really go anywhere, the thought makes me feel a bit flat.
I think about Gemma—the sting of recollection that she didn’t want to be anything more, at least not with me. I thought we were heading somewhere and she, apparently, only wanted to shag and nothing more. Something in my chest constricts. I think maybe I need a break from women.
But I’ve said that before, and it’s never exactly lasted long. I can’t seem to stop myself from putting it all out there.
Florence, Alistair, my mother, and I load into the Jeep. I notice Mum is wearing a jumper and I try not to cringe; she must be a thousand degrees. I’m sweating just looking at it.
As if reading my thoughts, Allie, god bless him, turns up the air con.
I sigh and try to speak kindly to my mother, twat that I am.
Have you been here yet Mum? Is it good?
She nods. They have excellent food. And plenty o’ local beers for you.
And have you met all of Florence’s family already?
She nods again. That uncle of hers certainly is a charmer. I snort, but Florence cackles from the front seat.
Don’t let him fool you Eileen, she turns and winks at my mother. He’s trouble, just like the rest of them.
It doesn’t take us long to get to the pub, which is sat atop a hill overlooking the water. As we walk inside, people wave or come over to greet my brother and his fiancée. They’re certainly quite at home here. The thought makes me feel a pang of something like jealousy.
Well, well, well, if it isn’t the brother, a man in a wheelchair rolls in front of me. He’s looking up at me, and I sense a bit of judgment. Finally come to grace us with your presence at last.
His tone is almost mocking, but I’m not sure what to make of it. I just met the man. Shrugging, I say, I s’pose my earlier invitation got lost in the mail. It’s not entirely true. Alistair invited me to come many, many times before this.
