Page 9 of A Secret Scottish Escape

“I don’t know why you insisted on coming along today,” hissed Lois, aware of the curious looks from the other mourners drifting past. “Couldn’t you have put other people first for once in your life?”

I snatched a steadying breath, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed a man about Mac’s age observing our exchanges with more than a passing interest.

He appraised me from under silvery brows. Was he a journalist?

I turned my head away. That was the last thing I needed. “I’ve had enough of providing the pre-funeral entertainment.” I turned to Lois, Faith, and Dad. “Let’s go into the church.”

Hannah took a step forward, her heels grinding into the pink gravel. “We just couldn’t help ourselves. I’m sorry.”

I stared at her, incredulous. Dad and Faith were ushering me further into the cool air of the church, when the man with the impressive eyebrows stepped into my line of sight. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you Ms Devlin, especially today of all days, but I’m David Murray, a friend of Mac’s.”

He smiled kindly and slid his fingers down his slate-grey tie.

“Can’t this wait?” insisted my dad. “Layla has a lot to deal with right now.”

“I appreciate that, sir, but not only was I Mac’s friend, I’m also his legal representative.”

David Murray glanced over at Hannah. “Once Mac became a successful author, he insisted I ensure all his financial affairs were in order.”

He fixed me with an earnest look. “Your late fiancé was most insistent that his final wishes be carried out immediately, should there be any…” His cut-glass timbre tailed off and he jerked his thatch of steel hair in Hannah’s direction. “To limit the chances of there being any dubiety, shall we say.”

I blinked at him, not processing what he was saying. “Mr Murray, I don’t understand.”

“Please. Call me David.” He gave Faith and Dad a smile. “I’d really appreciate a word with you after the service.”

I flapped my hands in defeat. “Yes. Why not? I mean, there’s bound to be lots of loose ends to tie up.”

“Are you sure?” asked Dad. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Layla, especially not today.”

I grasped my clutch bag tighter to me. “I know, Dad. But the sooner I can try to put all this mess behind me, the better.”

Chapter Seven

I was relieved to escape the confines of the church once the service had trickled to its end with a rousing rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’.

The smell of beeswax and candles was making me feel nauseous.

As I emerged, blinking, into the sunlight, golden shots of colour lit up the stained-glass windows. The shards of ruby and buttercup seemed to bleed into one another.

Mac was interred within sight of the Loch Harris Fells, and as soon as Reverend Callan concluded proceedings at the graveside, Faith and Dad melted away, together with the other mourners, to give me some privacy.

I stared down into the grave, at the gold plaque winking up at me from the coffin lid.

MacKenzie Terence Christie

Born 18 January 1965

Died 2 April 2020

My emotions were running riot. What was I supposed to feel right now? Was I supposed to throw myself down on the grass and let out wretched sobs? I felt cheated, angry…

My thoughts travelled to the surprise party I had been planning for Mac’s next birthday – a New Year’s bash out on Loch Harris, with a hired boat, a ceilidh band, and fireworks.

A dry laugh threatened to erupt out of my throat.

“Layla, we are so sorry.”

“Layla, if there is anything we can do…”