Page 90 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Chapter Forty-Two

The woodland closed in as we left behind the stippled tents and odd camper van.

“I know why you want to talk to me,” Ed admitted after a long pause, “but the answer is still no.”

A bolt of disappointment coursed through me as we trampled over the grass.

I couldn’t help myself. “Can’t you see how selfish you’re being? The rest of the guys have been really looking forward to playing at The Conch Club and it’s a big deal for me too.” Thoughts of Ed and my mother sneaking around behind Dad’s back all those years ago played out in front of me. “Don’t you think you owe us that much?”

Ed stopped walking. “Look, Layla, I’m really sorry about what happened. I should never have got involved with your mother. But bloody hell! It was thirty years ago.”

He shuffled from foot to foot before moving off again, keeping his eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. I followed up behind him and we moved past an old fence that was thirsty for a coat of fresh paint.

The whole situation was one giant tangle of lies and deception, which was still having repercussions all these years later.

“You know you’re not my biological father after all,” I reasoned, hoping that this angle might cast some quiet optimism over the proceedings. “But don’t you understand how tough this paternity situation has been on Harry and me?”

Ed fanned my frustration by increasing his walking pace. “Can’t you just accept all this for what it is and move on? I made a mistake and just want to forget about it.”

Was this man for real?

I’d never felt I knew Ed as well as Mikey, Stan, or Jack. The other three were always more gregarious, but Ed managed to give off a detached vibe. He was the pensive, self-conscious one out of them all, but his selfish attitude towards my dad, the other boys in the band, and me right now was stoking my anger.

I glared after him as he stepped over the remnants of an old tree trunk and thrashed through some overhanging branches. “Don’t you think you ought to take off those sunglasses?”

It was like trying to have an in-depth conversation with a marathon runner.

“I often get migraines if I experience too much sunlight,” he called over his shoulder.

I sighed. Of course you do.

“Well, things can’t be left like this,” I reasoned, struggling to keep an even tone to my voice.

I moved on again, ducking under some low branches and adjusting the strap of my shoulder bag. Ed was a shard of white T-shirt ahead of me now, ducking and dipping between the leaves that stuck out like pointing fingers.

“Please Ed, can’t you give it some more thought…”

“Aaaargh! Shit!”

Suddenly, Ed was sprawled on the ground, legs akimbo. He whipped off his sunglasses and threw them to the ground.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shit! Shit!”

I hurried over to him and knelt down. “What is it?”

Ed grimaced. “I’ve twisted my ankle on that sodding tree stump. I didn’t see it.”

“No wonder. I did tell you to remove your sunglasses.”

Ed muttered something and winced.

“Can you put any pressure on it?” I asked, shrugging off my bag. “Here.”

After a couple of clumsy attempts, I managed to angle him upright. Ed clung onto me. “I think I’ve really bruised it.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Bugger! I’ve left my mobile in the tent.”

“I’ve got mine.”