Page 71 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I watched my father pick up his fork and take a pensive mouthful of quiche. “I loved her,” he said simply.

A crushing, empathic pain erupted in my chest. “She didn’t deserve you.”

“Not that you’re biased or anything.”

I took a sip of my iced water. “I can’t believe he’s refused to play with you guys again.”

Dad shook his head. “I think It’s guilt. It’s a struggle for him to face me, let alone the other guys when they find out.”

This was not going to be an easy situation, but Dad had always told me that Battalion had experienced loads of ‘creative differences’ and internal squabbles over the years; I viewed this situation between him and Ed as just another hurdle to get over.

I lowered my glass back onto its hessian coaster. “He owes you, Dad.” I set my shoulders. “I will persuade Ed to be part of Battalion again, even if it’s just for those couple of hours on opening night.”

Dad let out a dry laugh. “You definitely get that determined streak from your mum.”

Once I’d helped Dad clear up after lunch, I ambled back up the lane towards my house.

Dad was about to ring Stan, Jack, and Mikey and invite them to come over to his place for a jam session and to discuss what tracks they wanted to play on my launch night. He said he also wanted to explain the situation with Ed, who had dropped Dad a brief text about an hour after he’d left to say he had managed to get a room at The Merry Maid.

To be honest, he could have said he was camping out by the shores of Loch Harris in a bin liner and I wouldn’t have cared.

I offered to hang on until all the guys arrived, but Dad insisted I go.

I was grateful in many ways. I had an uneasy feeling that there was going to be testosterone-filled arguing for a while.

I just hoped Dad and the other guys would be able to remain professional, not stand by and watch Battalion implode. That wasn’t the solution, especially as The Conch Club was due to open in a few weeks and there was a growing buzz in the area about ‘the original line-up of the local old rockers’ getting back together.

The early afternoon sky carried the promise of sunshine after a burst of brief showers.

I breathed in the heady scent of damp grass and tried to assemble my thoughts into some sort of coherent order.

It seemed so long ago now since I’d lost Mac, in some ways. Although, if I was being honest with myself, I’d lost him to Hannah well before he’d had his fatal heart attack.

Now I felt as though I were losing my identity too.

I rounded the corner where the hedges that framed the lane frothed into a deep curve.

A shiny black pick-up truck was parked on the edge of the pavement outside my cottage.

My eyes widened with surprise as I spotted a tall figure, clad in a navy-blue hoodie and light-coloured jeans, posting something through my letter box.

He must have heard my trainers scuffing along the chipped stones, because he swung round.

It was Mask.

Chapter Thirty-Four

There was a charged silence, broken only by the rattle of my letter box as whatever Mask had delivered skittered onto the mat.

His hood was down, exposing a few seconds’ glimpse of his thick, dark hair and heavily lashed, deep-brown eyes.

He wasn’t wearing his mask either, so I was able to snatch a fleeting glimpse of his stubbled chin and the angry red scar that crackled down from his arched right brow to near his mouth.

He jerked his hood up and over his features to conceal himself. “You seem to make a habit of creeping up on people, Ms Devlin.”

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry.” Then I realised the situation. “Hang on. Why am I apologising? You’re the one lurking about at my front door.”

I strode up towards my cottage, fishing about in my bag for the front door key.