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“I was never going to stay,” she replies as she gets up to fill the kettle. “I told you that.”
“Did you?” I follow her into the kitchen.
“I told you I wanted to be a writer.”
“Right.” I hadn’t taken her seriously at the time. “And, are you?”
“Maybe.” She hesitates. “I’ve been writing, a bit, so I daresay that makes me a writer. I suppose you’ll be wanting coffee?”
“Yes, please. Black, no sugar. What are you writing?” I cross my fingers that it isn’t a Mafia romance. I can’t see Ethan liking that much.
“A children’s story. It has dragons…”
I’m relieved to hear it. “I like dragons. Is it good?”
“I hope so. I’m not sure. I doubt if I’ll ever get it published.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Obviously. I have to make a living.”
I don’t bother to mention that actually, she doesn’t. Whatever happens between us, I’ll make sure she and Morgan have all they need. “I expect we’ll work it out. Casey may have some ideas.”
“Who’s Casey?”
“You can meet her soon enough.” It never occurs to me that Ruth may have other plans.
She whirls round to face me, a mug in her hand. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and me. The police. Now that you’re out we can—”
She slams the mug full of steaming black caffeine on the table. It splashes over the rim. “I don’t think so. You dumped me once. You don’t get to do it again.”
“Ruth,” I growl. “You need to understand…”
“No.” She takes Morgan from my arms and goes toe to toe with me. “Youneed to understand. I’m not a prisoner now. This is my home, and you don’t get to throw your weight around here. I do what I want, where I want. With who I want.”
“You can’t raise a child on your own,” I try to reason with her. Are the facts not perfectly obvious?
“Watch me.”
I open my mouth to tell her how it’s going to be, what’s best for my daughter, but snap it shut again. She’s right. She’s on her own turf now and she does have a choice. And so do I. I can drag Ruth kicking and screaming back to Scotland with me, or I can convince her that being with me is the right place for her. And Morgan, too.
Okay. Challenge accepted.
It’s not especially chivalrous of me, but I refuse to leave when she orders me out again.
“I’ll bunk up on the sofa,” I reply. “Get used to it.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Tough. Do you want more coffee?”
She lets out a sound I prefer not to decipher and storms from the kitchen. Her footsteps pound the stairs as she stamps up them.
I stay where I am and cross my fingers she doesn’t call her old buddies to have me arrested.
Three hours pass. Ruth doesn’t reappear.
