Page 68 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Despite myself, I let out a short laugh. Then my eyes fell on the calendar again. “And what with the twenty-ninth of this month being three years since Mac and I first met…” I let my words tail off.

“Would you like me to come over and stay the night? It’ll take me two minutes to throw a few bits in my bag.”

“No, it’s fine,” I assured her. “Thanks for the offer but I’m going to head off to bed in a minute with the latest Sophie Kinsella.” I paused before I spoke again. “And how are you?”

Now it was her turn to take a breath. “I’m OK.”

“Just OK?”

“Look, if this is your way of trying to speak to me again about Greg, please don’t. That’s all in the past and I made up my mind about all that a while back.”

Faith didn’t sound at all convinced. She swiftly changed the subject. “Promise me you will ring me tomorrow once you and Harry have spoken to Ed.”

I assured her I would call her and then we wished each other a good night.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I slept fitfully.

First I was convinced that Harry was still my biological dad, and then his craggy, open face would morph into Ed’s.

I decided it didn’t bloody well matter because Harry would always be my dad, regardless of the outcome of the DNA test. He had been there when it counted. We were a team.

After showering and trying to calm my jittery stomach by nibbling on some buttered toast, I tried my best to focus on my to-do list.

Progress on The Conch Club had slid recently, due to all the commotion and fallout from Tina’s story, so I set to work again. First, I rang the furniture suppliers and confirmed delivery of the two squashy sea-green leather sofas I had ordered.

Then I dropped reminder emails to some of my music contacts that I had made at a few of the industry magazines, asking for recommendations of any more bands or artists who would be willing to play live. I already had half a dozen groups who had contacted me after my posts on social media, and who were already allocated performance slots, and two solo singers were asking if they could give me a ring.

Faith had also been her usual, reliable self and was liaising with food and drink suppliers on my behalf.

My thoughts moved from my new business and strayed to Mask. The petulant side of me wanted to tell him exactly where he could stick his exclusive tracks, but I knew I would have to play his songs on opening night now. The word was getting around and there was a real buzz.

As for Battalion, they would appear first.

I swallowed my apprehension. Oh God. That was providing my dad’s band didn’t implode before then. Finding out he could be my dad might send Ed running in the opposite direction.

Oh well. I had plenty of time to mope over that.

For now, I had to get some work done before Dad rang to get me round to the cottage so we could both speak to Ed.

Things were gradually slotting together, at least from the practical side.

The Conch Club was freshly decorated and the sound system had been installed by one of Dad’s studio recording pals from Glasgow. Now it was a case of filling out all the Health and Safety forms, liaising with Environmental Health, and ensuring our Licence to sell alcohol was approved too.

I’d drafted out interview questions for possible bar staff and there were eight people with catering experience who had applied for the two positions I had advertised. I’d explained that The Conch Club would be primarily about the music and the atmosphere, but that I wanted to offer tasty, Scottish-inspired finger foods and snacks, not main meals.

With any luck, my launch date of Saturday, the 29th of August, would still be achievable.

As well as letting arrangements for The Conch Club slide a tad, I’d also been a little less productive with my freelance writing, something I intended to remedy.

I was in the process of finishing a freelance commission I’d secured about the challenges of home working compared to an office-based job when my mobile rang.

Dad’s grinning image popped up on my screen.

My stomach lurched.

We exchanged pointless chit-chat and then Dad invited me to come over. “I think we should talk to him sooner rather than later, don’t you, Layla?”