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Rhona tried to laugh along. She remembered Georgia being chatty and fun but nothing could pull her out of this mood.
‘Is that your brother?’ Georgia indicated Arran who was downing shots at the bar and laughing far too loudly.
‘Yup. I should take him home. He looks wasted.’
‘Probably a good idea.’
Getting Arran in the car was a struggle, driving home, worse. Rhona had to stop several times for him to keel over in the verge and throw up. But it was better that than returning home with sick stains on the upholstery. Mum would have a fit.
‘Please, Arran. Get back in and try to hold it in. I’m exhausted.’
He barely made it in the door before he launched himself into the downstairs bathroom. Rhona left him to it and went to bed.
∞∞∞
Judy spent the following morning panicking about Arran. ‘I think he’s ill. Did he eat something funny last night?’
Rhona couldn’t help rolling her eyes. What a sad man he was. Thirty-three and still behaving like he was ten years younger. He didn’t show face until the afternoon. The pallor of his skin when he finally emerged reinforced Judy’s insistence that he must be ill. She laid her palm on his forehead.
‘Mum,’ he groaned. ‘I’m fine. I just need air.’
Rhona sucked in her lip, taking pity on him as Judy fussed around. ‘I’ll go for a walk with you if you like.’
‘Yeah, let’s go.’ He scraped back his chair.
Rhona’s feet led her in the same direction she’d walked over the past few weeks. At the gate to the track running to Kilnarkie was a maroon people carrier that was vaguely familiar. A friend of her dad’s maybe but definitely not Calum’s 4x4. That brought a wash of relief.
The pull of the dig site was strong. She wanted to show Arran exactly what she did. The opportunity hadn’t come up. He dissed her job like it was worthless, she could show him her office – who wouldn’t be impressed by the wide-open beauty of Kilnarkie?
‘See over there.’ She pointed towards the greensward sloping to a white sandy beach and the sea beyond. ‘That’s where I was working.’
‘Are you messing with me? Is this Matheson’s land?’
‘The part down here is. Come and see. I’ll show you the dig.’
‘What the hell for?’ Arran screwed up his face. ‘What if he’s there?’
‘He won’t be.’ Her stomach squirmed. He wouldn’t come out here on a Saturday. Would he?
‘Fine, let’s do it. I can’t believe he owns this land now. We used to play here. What’s he going to do with it? Build the Berlin Wall and make sure no one can enjoy it except himself.’
‘His house plans looked gorgeous and environmentally sensitive. This would be a beautiful place to live.’ As it had been once for an Iron Age family and she’d preserved their humble home in a reconstruction.
‘Well, let’s see what his illicit cash buys him.’
‘Why is it illicit?’
‘It must be,’ Arran said. ‘You know where he grew up. There’s no way he made that money legitimately’
‘Why not?’
‘Everyone says it. It’s not just me.’
‘Sounds like everyone’s jealous.’
‘Ha. Jealous of that dick. I don’t think so. You tell me how he did it then? What did he tell you?’
‘He inherited a property.’ Her heart shrank a little more. What if he had done something else illegally? Was inheriting one property enough to start all this? She’d accepted what he’d told her. Was that her being too trusting again? Should she have demanded to know exactly how he’d built his business? Did people do that? Vet potential partners for criminal tendencies?
