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“Secret reasons,” I said sourly.
“People I was interested in were taking the train, so I took it too.”
“And?”
He jumped up and started pacing. After what seemed like an hour but was probably thirty seconds, he said, “Those sleeper compartments are bloody cells. The beds are short, and I felt folded in half. In the end, I gave up and sat in the observation car drinkingGazoz—lemonade—all night.”
“Did the toilets work?” My lips turned up in a mischievous grin.
“Marginally. But in those situations, there is an advantage in being male.”
“Maybe the Caledonian Sleeper is more spacious,” I said, looking on the bright side.
Max snorted, making the cats jump. “No chance. Sorry, la mia stellina. We’ll fly into Edinburgh and Dad and Frank will pick us up.”
“Max,” I said in my most seductive burble, “I’d really like to take the Orient Express someday.”
“That’s a whole different proposition. I’ll try to make a reservation from Paris to Venice.” He settled back into the couch and pulled me on top of him.
“I love you,” I gurgled into his neck.
“Because I’m a pushover.”
“Because you’re such a romantic.”
* * *
Here we are, the whole family alighting from the fast train to Edinburgh. We swarm into Waverley Station in the late afternoon. After being penned up for hours, the kids are eager to hit the street. Brian has arranged for a van to transport us from Edinburgh to Grant House. In the meantime, there is dinner to eat.
Brian, Frank, and Les wrestle with the luggage while Viktoria helps Diana and Liz herd the children to the waiting modified minibus.
“These buses seat twenty-five,” Brian tells me. “This one seats twenty. Five seats were taken out for a sofa-like affair in the back. Perfect for me to be able to stretch out. Otherwise we’d be stopping every half hour so I could walk.”
Max and JL are standing to the side, sizing up the crowd. I wonder if they are checking whether Yavuz was on our train after all.
“Sean,” Diana calls out to her teenager. “Help us set up the sprogs in the back.”
“Come on, then.” Brian corrals the three of us. “We’re going to the Abbey.”
“The Abbey?” Does he mean we’re going to Holyrood? Do we have time for this? I can’t imagine. “Are we going sightseeing first?”
“Nae, girl.” He exaggerates his brogue. “It’s one of the finest whisky bars in the city. And their food, well, can’t wait for you to try it. Max said you love bangers and mash and sticky toffee pudding, and theirs are excellent.”
A bang-up meal, I can hardly wait. Although I’m not sure more sticky toffee pudding is in my future. I like it but I may have had my quota, at least this trip..
Viktoria calls back from the first bench seat. “What are you planning to do with the house now?”
“Max was going to sell his share to me, but now, maybe we’ll sell the whole place. I rather fancy a small flat.” Ian doesn’t sound too broken up.
“We’ll be back, house hunting, in a few months.” Max slips his hand behind my neck. “Nothing grand.”
“Oh, how wonderful! When is the wedding?” Viktoria tries to turn around to grab me, but the seat belt holds her in a webbed embrace.
“No wedding.” My voice wobbles like a beginner on a flute.
I’ve never seen a mouth make such a perfect O of disappointment.
The Abbey appears like the answer to a prayer. A prayer including bangers and mash.
