Page 6 of A Secret Scottish Escape

“I’m so sorry,” she swallowed. “The last thing Mac wanted to do was hurt you. But we had so much history and you can’t extinguish twenty-four years just like that.”

Realisation punched me in the stomach. “Is this your way of telling me this wasn’t a one-off?”

From the kitchen, Faith clattered down her mug and Dad’s eyes widened.

“Let’s not … let’s not talk about this now, Layla,” faltered Hannah. “It’s all too raw.”

Her audacity was breath-taking. Didn’t she realise what she’d done? “You are in no position to stand there and dictate to me.”

Tears jostled at the back of my eyes. “How long?”

There was a sniff and then the sound of rustling.

“I asked you a question.”

Hannah’s sigh was like a gust of wind. “Eighteen months.”

My shoulders stiffened under my pink jumper. Faith searched my expression from the kitchen, but I just stared back at her. “But that means all the time that Mac and I were together…”

“He loved you, Layla. He really did. But Mac and I shared so much while we were married…”

I lowered my mobile, not able to drag my eyes away from the engagement ring glistening on my left hand.

Hannah’s disembodied rasp intruded again. “Layla? Layla? Are you still there?”

Chapter Five

Faith’s fingers, slicked with pink polish, tapered up and down the sleeve of my black jacket. “Are you ready?”

My shoulders slumped. “Not really.”

“I expect you’re not. That was a stupid question.”

Dad, his crisp, white shirt emphasising the rich chestnut of his tan, came towards me and hovered.

I gave a brief nod and then we rustled down the hallway in our funeral garb. As I passed my hall mirror, I stole a quick glance. There were smudges of hurt clouding my eyes. Perhaps it was because I’d pulled my hair back in a bun, but my jaw appeared more pronounced. Still, that was no surprise. I hadn’t been eating properly since Mac had died just over a week ago.

I applied a shaky extra dash of lipstick before pressing my lips together and exhaling.

The funeral car negotiated the country lanes like a shiny black snake. The familiar bursts of hedgerows and curve of Loch Harris blended into each other like a Monet watercolour.

How was I supposed to feel? Was I supposed to be angry? Heartbroken?

Dad clutched my hand as he sat beside me on the back seat, his coarse skin acting like a comfort blanket. I appraised his navy suit through a watery smile. “You look very dashing, Dad.”

He rolled his eyes up to the roof of the car. “Well, I couldn’t turn up at a funeral in my Motorhead T-shirt, could I?” He raised a finger and traced it around the inside of his collar.

Beside my dad, Faith leaned forward to look at me. She’d tamed her blonde locks into a chignon and was tugging at the hem of her dark skirt.

“Mac fell in love with Loch Harris from the first moment he saw her,” I blurted. “Ironic really that he turned out to love the place more than me.”

Dad and Faith squirmed in their seats.

“He thought it was such a gorgeous place that he said he wouldn’t mind being buried here. I didn’t think it would happen for a long, long time. I thought we would have years and years to explore together.”

Faith slid her arm across and folded her fingers around mine. “You’ll get through this. We’re here for you.”

I nodded, not convinced in the slightest. “Did you manage to reach Mum?” I stuttered after a pause. “Did you tell her?”