Page 89 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I held it aloft, before folding it up into a neat square and slotting it back under the shoe rack.

Galen Campsite was pricked with several tents, their multi-colours flapping softly in the morning breeze.

I was aware that Coorie Cottage was only a fifteen-minute walk up the road, but I vanquished pictures of Mask from my mind, especially the ones from Wednesday afternoon of him ungrateful and snarling.

I locked the car and left it in the visitor’s car park and scanned the blanket of grass.

My attention settled on Mikey and Jack first, who had erected their camouflage-print effort and were relaxing, savouring cups of coffee.

Stan, meanwhile, was shaking out his red sleeping bag and barking something indecipherable over at Ed.

Ed vanished back inside his tent, which was navy blue with one plastic window.

Right. This was my opportunity to try and reason with Ed and let him see why this performance was so important. Come on. Get on with it!

Pressing my lips together, I marched up to their semi-circle of camping gear.

“Hello you!” beamed Mikey, planting a coffee-flavoured kiss on my cheek. “I didn’t think roughing it was your style.”

I returned Jack’s affectionate hug. “It’s not.”

Their eyes followed mine over to Ed’s fluttering tent.

“Are you OK?” whispered Stan, wandering over to squeeze my hand. “Your dad told us everything.” He was such a caring man. He would need to be, as he was a counsellor in his day job.

I squinted under the persistent rays of sun that were fighting their way through a bank of cloud, and cursed myself for not bringing my sunglasses.

“I know he did. I’m glad. There have been enough secrets.”

I studied each of them in turn: Mikey with his craggy charisma, Jack’s intent, pale gaze, and Stan in a black Def Leppard T-shirt.

I put on a confident smile. “I’ve come to try and change Ed’s mind about playing in the band on opening night.”

Mikey, Jack, and Stan swapped pessimistic looks.

“Good luck with that one,” muttered Mikey. “I wouldn’t be too optimistic though, if I were you. He’s a stubborn bugger.”

Jack nodded and started to say something as Ed’s curly head poked out of his tent flap. His expression stiffened when he saw me. “Layla.”

I planted my feet into the damp grass. “I wondered if we could have a word please.”

Reluctantly, Ed emerged. His eye contact with the other guys was non-existent. “I don’t think there’s anything else left to say.”

My gaze burned steadily into him. “Sorry, but I disagree.”

“So do we,” piped up Mikey. “You could at least hear the lass out.”

Ed’s jaw tightened. “Who asked you anyway?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Stan stepped between them, his hands raised in the air in a surrender position. “Come on guys. Cool it.” He turned back to me. “Does Harry know you’re here, Layla?”

I shook my head. “All I’m asking is for five minutes of your time, Ed.”

Apprehension was scrawled all over his features, but under the weight of Jack, Mikey, and Stan’s disapproval, Ed finally gave out an irritated grunt. “OK. Give me a second.”

He dived back through the flaps of his tent and returned wearing a pair of silver and amber wraparound sunglasses.

The rest of the band observed the pair of us awkwardly walking off, side by side.