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Amelia nodded in agreement. ‘She is.’ Just then, Grant arrived back with his pint of milk.
‘You should come to the pub with us later,’ he said earnestly.
‘Oh, okay, that would be great. Remember, though, I’ve sworn to stay off the alcohol after the other night.’ Amelia tried to sound nonchalant. She was conscious of how close Fergus was standing next to her and his arm brushed against hers.
‘Especially when it made you miss your first Arran dip,’ said Fergus, laughing. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I come and collect you? I’ll pop in and chat to Edie first and come and pick you up. Around eight?’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Of course. I’ll see you later.’
‘Thanks.’ Amelia turned to walk away with a definite spring in her step.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Edie watched Fergus as he left, pulling the door closed behind him. He was such a good soul, and she was lucky to have him as a friend. Indeed, she looked upon him as the son she’d never had, and she always hoped that he would settle down and have his own family. But she knew why he kept himself at a distance. He too had lost the love of his life in an accident. Earlier in the year, he’d opened up to her, quite unexpectedly, and had told her about his late fiancée, Ellen, and her death in a ski accident. Fergus blamed himself for what happened because they’d gone out in tricky conditions despite his misgivings. Edie had tried to reassure him that her death was not his fault. That was when she’d shared her story of losing Jim. In a way the pair of them were kindred spirits. Yet she hoped that Fergus would come to realise his life still stretched out ahead of him.
His offer to take her to Glasgow to see Christine would certainly help settle the sense of dread that had been hanging over her these last few weeks. It was a journey she really didn’t want to make alone.
* * *
Amelia rummaged through her limited wardrobe options, unsure as to what she was even looking for. Jeans, sweaters, leggings, trainers and boots were all she had. She put on a fresh pair of jeans and a bright red jumper and pulled a brush through her hair. Just as she was about to apply some make-up, her phone rang. It was Jack.
‘Hi, Jack, how are you?’
‘Good, thanks. How are you?’
‘Well, can I phone you back? I’m in the middle of something.’
Jack paused. ‘Um, okay.’
She put down the tube of tinted moisturiser. ‘Look, don’t worry. Is everything okay with you?’
‘Well, sis, your husband called earlier . . .’
The mere mention of Declan made her wobble.
‘He’s been on the phone to me and, well, it sounds like he’s a bit contrite.’
‘A bitcontrite?’ She couldn’t believe what he was saying.
‘I know, don’t worry, I gave him a piece of my mind.’
‘If he’scontrite,then why hasn’t he been in touch?’ She remembered his voicemail from several weeks ago. He’d said he needed some space, which were hardly the words of someone who felt like apologising. She clenched her free hand as she tried to contain her rage. It wasn’t as though he had been calling her every two minutes to tell her how sorry he was.
‘Good question, and I did put it to him. He said he’s worried about your reaction.’
Amelia bit back a surge of frustration. ‘But he’s not bothered to reply to any of my gazillion messages or texts, Jack. He has totally blanked me . . . aside from one message, which basically gave me short shrift.’
‘Look, you don’t need to tell me this. I understand. I get the sense he’s too ashamed to call you, but if you got in touch with him again, he would know that you did want to talk to him.’
She felt a tug in her stomach. ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Hey,’ he said, gently. ‘I am always on your side. You should never need to question that.’
There was a knock at the door. Brilliant, she thought. ‘I need to go. I’m heading out.’
‘Where you off to?’
