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I groaned at the sight of the door handle.
The door had no lock.
But the question was: did I want to lock him out, or lock myself in?
Chapter Five
Stuart
On Wednesday, everyone talked about the sun.
The fact that the sun wasn’t hidden behind bleak clouds was amazing, and headline-making. At twelve degrees, it felt like sunbathing weather. Many locals waiting for their coffees were planning to take the afternoon off and head up north to Ganavan for a picnic at the beach.
The sun made the front page of the local paper, as well as a double-page spread of photos from locals, posted to the paper’s social media page. A sunny day in Scotland was always worth talking about. But a totally out-of-season sunny, warm day in January in Scotland was simply astonishing.
I collected my coffee from the barista as my phone pinged with a text.
James:You were seen kissing a woman. Who is she?
I spluttered coffee over my cup. I texted him back with a sinking feeling.
Me:Dunno what you mean
James:Chelsea from the new waterfront restaurant saw you kissing a woman yesterday, near the train station.
Chelsea who?!I looked up to the blue sky, searching for inspiration. A seagull flew over with a squawk.
Me:Fine. I kissed Amanda.
Dots appeared and disappeared in a rhythm, as James hammered out a reply.
James:You actually kissed the auditor?! You’re having me on.
Me:I didn’t know she was the auditor at the time! We’ve talked and we both realise it was a mistake. Nothing else will happen.
James:Are we talking church kiss or porno kiss?
James:Chelsea said it was a straight up porno kiss and that it looked like you were having sex against a wall. Jesus, Stuart. What have you done?!
Me:It’s fucking sorted. There is no problem.
My phone started to ring. My father. The seagull flew overhead again, letting loose a streaming poo straight into my coffee cup.
I swore. Thankfully, the gull’s turd hadn’t hit me. I dumped my crap-strewn cup in a bin as I answered my phone.
“The boiler is still having problems on the second still.”
No hello. No ‘how are you, son? Busy?’ Morton McAlister never bothered with small talk. Or manners.
I let out a long breath, thanking all the gods above and below that he wasn’t asking me about porno- kissing the auditor.
“Aye, it is. Good morning to ye, Da.”
“You’ll have to toss the barley if ye don’t fix it in time.”
“I know that,” I hissed.
“The audit. What’s goin’ on.”
