Page 38 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

I’d grown used to forging my own path while I was growing up, relying on myself, apart from my grandparents. My parents were both selfish, thoughtless individuals who put themselves front and centre, and that had taught me that investing all your trust and emotion into another person just wasn’t worth the hassle.

But then, of course, Leon had come along, and I’d ignored my own advice.

That would teach me.

Nevertheless, it didn’t matter, I reassured myself. I wouldn’t get stuck in another situation where I felt out of control. Again.

‘So,’ I carried on. ‘Your brooding poetry lecturer? What’s happening there?’

Jade’s voice morphed into a more honeyed version of her usual self. ‘I’ve got a poetry workshop tomorrow. I intend to impress him with my villanelles.’

‘Sounds painful,’ I joked. ‘But if anyone can, you will.’

Jade laughed, ‘You can bet on it. So … any news on more acting jobs?’

I frowned down at the bedroom carpet. ‘Not so far.’ I hoped I sounded more optimistic than I felt. ‘But something will come up. I’ll just have to take on more hospitality gigs when I get back to London.’

‘I’m not worried about the money,’ she insisted into my ear. ‘You don’t have to concern yourself with that. Just pay me your next rent when you can.’

‘I know, and that’s so kind of you, but I’m not a freeloader.’

‘I know you’re not.’

When I let out a loud, noisy yawn, Jade wrapped up the call and blew me a kiss, and we said goodnight.

* * *

Monday morning dawned with me spread-eagled in bed, gazing up at the four-poster canopy.

I couldn’t believe that it had only been a couple of days since the Fox incident.

So much had happened.

Driving Evan up to Scotland, rescuing a lost lamb in the Lake District and then finding I couldn’t get home thanks to two unexploded German bombs from World War Two.

Not to mention the cringeworthy review from Fox, and then finding myself struggling to secure any new auditions.

Now I was sat in Evan’s parents’ sprawling mansion, having breakfast with him and his Mum and Dad and mentally willing my agent to call me with some good news.

Desperation started to take chunks out of me again. It was like my life was going backwards, not forwards.

Evan glanced over his cup at me. He took a bite of toast. He looked like he might be on the verge of saying something but was interrupted by the sudden, blond whirlwind that was Dane striding into the dining room.

He’d secured his hair back in a long, low ponytail and was dressed in a Metallica T-shirt and dark green combats. ‘Good morning, Daisy,’ he dazzled, reaching for a slice of the golden toast in the toast rack. He turned to Evan. ‘And good morning to you too, tall, dark and arms.’

Evan smirked. ‘What Christmas cracker did you find that in?’

Dane ignored him. ‘Just heard on the local news that the bomb guys are building a huge sandpit around those two tin cans.’

‘They’re hardly tin cans,’ muttered Evan.

Dane scraped out a chair and sat down next to Bennett. ‘The good news though is that it looks like our very attractive house guest won’t be leaving just yet.’ He awarded me a big, flawless grin.

I found myself grinning back. I couldn’t help it. Dane didn’t take himself too seriously, and it was nice to meet another soul from the creative industry.

Evan shot his brother a dark look but didn’t say anything.

‘How did your gig go last night?’ I asked Dane, trying to push some conversational lightness into my voice.