Page 32 of A Secret Scottish Escape

My voice cracked. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I’ll help you in any way I can.”

I squeezed him tight, a rush of love invading my chest. “I know you will.” I clapped my hands together. “Right then old rocker, put down your gardening gloves. I’m taking you for brunch to celebrate.”

Dad flashed me a smile. “Seeing as you’re paying, young lady, I’ll choose to ignore that use of ‘old’.”

Chapter Fifteen

The next three weeks vanished in a flurry of paperwork.

I could tell that Norrie, Clem, and many other of the Loch Harris inhabitants thought I’d taken leave of all my senses, but I felt energised and busy. That was what I needed.

I deliberately threw myself deeper into my freelance work, pitching a variety of ideas to my magazine and newspaper contacts, and things were progressing at an impressive rate with the sale of the boathouse, which helped.

As soon as I’d made the decision to accept the money that Mac had bequeathed me, I rang Lois and told her. She was surprised and delighted that I’d changed my mind and was adamant that her big brother would have been enthused about my idea for a music venue.

I wasn’t entirely sure about that, seeing as Mac’s musical preferences had always been polar opposite to mine, but I appreciated the sentiment.

“We’ve been very lucky,” Norrie explained one damp late May evening when my dad and I met up with him during a casual sojourn up the lane. “We did think the boathouse might sit there idle for a long while before we got any interest.” He nodded at me gruffly. “Oh yes. We’re so relieved we got a buyer that quick, especially a sweet girl like Layla.” He then dropped his voice and leaned further towards my dad. “Even if she is trying to turn it into some sort of disco.”

“A disco?” I snorted to Dad, once Norrie had disappeared back over the brow of the hill. “Where on earth did he get that idea from?”

“Goodness knows. Norrie’s a great guy, but he’s never been up with the times. He still thinks thrash metal is an element on the periodic table.”

I laughed and plunged my hands into the pockets of my rain coat. Then my thoughts strayed to my spiralling to-do list. My smile evaporated.

Dad’s voice interrupted my mental running though of all the things I wanted to get on top of. “You don’t mind me being honest with you, lovey?”

I turned my attention back to Dad. “No, of course not.”

“You don’t think this music venture has been a knee-jerk reaction to Mac’s death?”

I considered the question. “I was so hurt and angry about what he did – not telling me about his heart condition and then finding out about him and Hannah.”

Another thought suddenly nipped at the edges of my mind. “What if I’ve taken his money just to spite him? Maybe this is my way of putting two fingers up at my cheating dead fiancé?”

“Listen to me,” warned Dad, stopping suddenly. “I know you’ve got your faults like everyone else, but being spiteful isn’t one of them.”

I flicked him a look.

“You could have been mercenary,” he carried on. “You could have jumped at that money straight away, played the ‘we were almost married’ card and tried to squeeze even more out of his estate – but you didn’t.”

I offered my dad a small, grateful smile.

“He left you that money for a reason – OK, maybe it was partly guilt, but now you’ve decided to do something positive and constructive with it.”

I breathed in the damp scent of wet grass. “I’m hoping it will help this place and get Loch Harris back on its feet.”

“Precisely. Now stop psychoanalysing everything and enjoy the journey!”

I smiled. “Thanks Dad. You do know I love you, don’t you?”

“Let’s face it, how could you not?”

I laughed and we linked arms, trudging back towards his cottage on the damp slick of tarmac. “Faith is coming over tonight and we’re going to brainstorm what needs doing.”

“Well, if anyone can help you get organised, it’s her. And remember what I said, OK? I’ll pull in a few favours and speak to my old rocker pals. You’ll have class acts performing there in no time.”