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Gran eventually lowered the spoon, looking smug.
“How did ye get a little girl, Uncle Stu?” Jess screwed up her face. “I thought I was your favourite girl.”
My mother answered for me. “I think Granny Maisie means Uncle Stu has a girlfriend.”
More stares.
“Sort of. Not quite.” I pulled at my collar, suddenly feeling very hot for mid-winter in Scotland. “But ye are still my favourite girl, Jess. Promise.”
“What does ‘sort of not quite’ mean? Either she is or she isn’t!” Gran yelled.
“When did ye find time to meet someone in between hospital and today’s lunch?” James exclaimed. “Although, I’m impressed, I have to say.”
Robert gave me a shrewd look. “Unless he already knew her.”
James looked between us and then groaned. “Christ Almighty, not -”
Gran whacked James with the spoon. “I’ll no hae blasphemy at my table, young Jimmy!”
“Ow! Gran!”
“How’s Amanda?” Robert asked innocently, offering his wee son Angus a spoon of mushed goop. James rubbed his shoulder.
I licked my lips. “She’s fine.”
“Who’s Amanda, then?” my father growled, pulling at a rug over his knee. After two years, I still found myself surprised to see him in a wheelchair.
“She’s the accountant doing the audit.”
“A woman?” My father’s frown deepened. “It was meant to be a man doing the audit.”
“Things changed at the last minute.”
“She alright after the fight?” James asked.
I jumped a little. “Ye know she’s okay after the pub fight.”
Gran straightened, her grip on the wooden spoon tightening. “Fight? What’s happened?”
“Not the pub fight.” Robert said in his too-calm voice. “Your fight with Caroline and how she intervened.”
“Oh Stuart, what’s this all about?” Mum asked.
“Caroline’s fine, Amanda’s fine -”
“Fighting in a pub! And the whisky taint!” My father boomed, bringing his fist down on the table. “And now you’re fighting with staff, too?”
Everyone fell silent.
“I keep finding out about my son’s actions through whispered secrets!” Da yelled. “How are ye running our business when our whisky is poisoned and ye’re punching on at the boozer!”
“Stephen was at the pub causing trouble,” I struggled to keep my voice level. “I had to step in and sort him out.”
“Da, I went for him first -” James began. But my father cut him off with a pointed finger.
“Yes, I understand, but Stuart! Ye are the CEO for Christ’s sake!”
“I will not have blaspheming at my table, Mort!”
