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‘I know, you said.’ Owen stopped, head tilted to one side, dark curls flopping over his frown, troubled dark blue eyes examining George. Then he went on:
‘Let’s add another element to the scenario. Millie’s pregnant. You’re working all hours, not really making enough, but you are trying. Then one of your family comes along with a suggestion. Just one job. Something big that will set you up financially for life. Just one job?’ Owen raised an eyebrow; his words, his expression full of dark meaning.
‘All right.’ George hit the table. ‘I know what you’re saying. But I wouldn’t take the job. It would always be the stay on the straight and narrow for me. I promised Millie on Christmas Day I would do nothing illegal; I’d never endanger her or our relationship, and her being pregnant wouldn’t change that.’
Sally,who’d just arrived at the table, let out a delighted squeal and clasped her hands to her face.
George jumped up, knocking the table over, a glass shattering next to Sally.
Owen slid from the bench seat and pulled Sally out of the way just in time to save her from the flying beer and broken glass.
Before they’d had time to recover, Millie arrived armed with dustpan, brush and mop to clear up the mess.
‘You help Millie,’ Owen said to George, and slipping his arm around Sally’s waist, he quickly guided her away.
‘Did I hear right, lovie?’ Sally looked up at him, her expression shining with hope.
‘Yes, you did, but it’s not what you think. Come on, let me get you another drink.’
‘Shouldn’t we help clear the mess?’ Sally cast a look back at Millie and George.
‘No, they’ll be fine. It’s probably the most time they’ll spend together tonight, given the crowds.’ Owen edged through said crowds, keeping Sally firmly at his side.
‘Tell me.’ Sally pulled at his arm. ‘What did you mean, “it’s not what I think”. Is Millie pregnant?’
Owen shook his head. ‘No, she’s not. As far as I know, they haven’t even slept together yet.’
‘Then why?’
They reached the bar and Owen said, ‘I’ll tell you later.’ He lifted his hand to attract attention and ordered replacement beer for himself and George plus another brandy and port for Sally.
‘Let me buy those for you?’
Surprised, Sally and Owen turned to the owner of the voice.
‘I’m Henry McKinnon.’ He smiled at them both, then directing himself to Sally, he said, ‘I was talking to your son, George, the other day. Fine young man and I understand you will be singing later?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am so pleased, he persuaded you. He thought you might not want to sing, but one must have music at Hogmanay, mustn’t one.’
‘One must,’ Owen replied tartly, not sure he liked this intrusive stranger. He remembered George pointing him out the other day, certain he knew the man from somewhere and now they were up close; Owen had the same weird sensation.
