Page 61 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I wonder how he got that? Well, however it had got there, he obviously didn’t want anyone seeing it. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t all that bad, although that was easy for me to say. I wasn’t the one staring at it each day in the mirror.

I fastened my seat belt, aware that Mask had left his garden path and was strolling back up the lawn. His hood was lifting ever so gently in the evening breeze.

He continued to stand there as I reversed out of Coorie Cottage to head back to Loch Harris.

I switched on my CD player and his rich, rumbly voice came through the speakers again.

As I drove past the spiky mountainsides, I tried not to dwell on the DNA test result and the arrival of Ed Stockton.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

All the way back to The Merry Maid, I kept visualising Mask and his facial scar.

I pulled into the car park at the pub and leaned my arms on top of the steering wheel for a few moments.

My cheeks grew hot at the memory of Mask’s fury at me catching a glimpse of his face and then my embarrassing remark about just getting out of the shower.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone up to Coorie Cottage after all, but I really did appreciate him giving me those CDs.

My mind swished back to how he had looked at me when I had first arrived and seen him in the garden. It was the way he’d thrown his arm across his scar and the flash of temper and fear in his eyes.

I stared out my car window at The Merry Maid. Cosy lights popped inside and there was the thrum of music and conversation seeping out of the partially open glass doors.

I hitched my bag up from the passenger side and slung it over my shoulder, before locking the car door.

The Merry Maid was all white pebble dash and thatched roof and I could see silhouettes flitting around inside.

Burying a ball of apprehension, I walked in, scanning the sea of heads for my dad. A strange, distant feeling washed over me. I remembered all the times I’d seen Dad with the guys in the past, chatting and swapping sentimental stories, cackling with laughter about misdemeanours they had got up to in their younger days, belting out the lyrics of their favourite songs.

Now I’d be viewing Ed from a totally different perspective.

The interior of The Merry Maid consisted of Tudor-inspired black beams and solid white pillars that acted as partitions for several booths in maroon leather, with polished mahogany tables and bench seating. An old jukebox was pumping out Seventies classic rock in the far corner (I could guess who had selected it).

The pub clientele were predominantly stalwarts of the Loch Harris community, who would cluster around the tables to exchange tales of their youth, complain about hikers parking in front of their driveways or challenge each other to protracted games of chess.

The Merry Maid was a moment captured in time, but the bar food was tasty and generous.

The sight of Dad made me stiffen. He was laughing over in the corner at something someone had said and his eyes flicked upwards when he spotted me. He stood and gestured me over.

I arranged my tense expression into a smile and moved across the pub floor to where he and the rest of the members of Battalion were sitting.

Dad hovered, a proud smile enveloping his face. “There’s my girl.”

Our eyes exchanged a knowing look.

Mikey, Stan, and Jack jumped to their feet, exclaiming about how well I looked, before offering their condolences about Mac. They were all clad in faded rock T-shirts and denim. Stan continued to sport his trademark grey baker-boy cap atop his balding head.

After delivering hugs and pecks on the cheek to the three of them, Ed squeezed out from the end of the bench. I noticed that the table was already littered with several half-empty beer glasses.

I found myself staring, examining every crevice of Ed Stockton’s face, from the sharpness of his chin to the slight bump across the top of his nose. He still possessed his riot of brown curls, but there were shots of silver in there now too.

I looked nothing like him. Nothing at all. Or maybe I did and I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

A knot started to tangle itself in my stomach.

I stiffened as Ed gave me a brief hug. “How’s things?” I faltered, trying to act normally.

“Good, Layla, thanks. Sorry about Mac. Karen sends her best.”