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Still, she’s always pushed me to make something of myself; first in all those beauty pageants she used to enter me in as a kid, and then by trying to match me up with various men she thought were suitable for me, as if that was my only hope in life. When Isomehow managed to get together with Jett — and without any help from her at all — I think it was the proudest moment of her life. Which is actually quite depressing, really. Did it never occur to her that I might be able to “make something of myself”withoutthe help of a man?
Not that Ihavemadesomething of myself, mind you.
Before I met Jett, I worked for the family business, and after him, I work in a dead-end bar, having been fired from my part-time job in a fish and chip shop. Not exactly the #bossbabe of the century, am I?
I put one of my fingers into my mouth and bite down hard on the nail, not wanting to think about this anymore. It’s not exactly an uplifting kind of thought, really, and I can’t help but be relieved when McTavish finally picks up the phone, and puts a stop to it.
“Look, I’m really sorry to do this again,” I say instead, my voice suspiciously wobbly. “But I don’t suppose you’d be able to do me a gigantic favor, would you?”
***
When I climb into McTavish’s Range Rover thirty minutes later, he hands me two things that are very, very welcome: a takeaway coffee from The Wildcat (Who might be terrible employers, but who do make a seriously good coffee), and… a phone.
“What’s this?” I ask, eyeing it suspiciously, almost too afraid to touch it in case I somehow manage to ruin it, too.
“Ach, dinne try to tell me ye don’t know what a mobile phone looks like, Lexie,” says McTavish teasingly, as he pulls away from Mum’s street. “It’s an old one o’ mine,” he adds, when I continue to stare at him in confusion. “Found it at the back o’ a drawerthis mornin’, and I thought ye might be able to make use o’ it. Nae point in it sittin’ there going to waste, is there?”
I turn the phone over in my hand, doubtfully. I have a feeling none of what he’s just told me is true, somehow. This is the latest model iPhone — the same model Jett has — and it’s only been out for a few months. I know McTavish’s fortunes have taken a turn for the better since he started working with Jack Buchanan, but I’m pretty sure he’s not discarding his phones after a couple of week’s use, somehow.
I smell another rat, in other words. There are a lot of them around; and I’m not just talking about Violet King, either.
Did McTavish go out and buy me a phone?
But… why? Why would he do that? Unless he’s secretly hoping the rumors about us could turn into reality?
Oh God, surely not?
I glance furtively at him out of the corner of my eye as we drive back towards Heather Bay, the narrow roads that lead over the hills feeling much less treacherous in daylight. He doesn’tlooklike a man who’s secretly in love with me. Helookslike a man who’s secretly wondering what to have for second breakfast, really. But McTavishalwayslooks like that.
I chew my thumbnail nervously as we slow down to cross a cattle grid. I know he broke up with his girlfriend — Mary something — a while back, but he didn’t seem particularly upset by it at the time; or not according to Emerald, anyway, who knows him a lot better than I do. It doesn’t seem likely that he’s been nursing an infatuation with Heather Bay’s least wanted woman since then, but then there’s this phone. And the offer to get my car fixed for free by his “friend”. And the way he keeps turning up when I most need him.
Okay, now I’m worried.
“This is really good of you, McTavish,” I say, looking down at the phone in my hand, which is suddenly the most beautifulthing I’ve ever seen. “But I really can’t accept it. It’s way too much. I—”
“Och, dinnae be daft, Lexie,” McTavish interrupts. “It’s yours. I dinnae need it. You do. It’s as simple as that.”
I really wish itwasas simple as that; because, the fact is, I couldreallybe doing with a phone now that Possibly Fake Father is on the scene.
Maybe he’s been trying to contact me? Maybe the only reason he went to the press was because he couldn’t get in touch with me directly, on account of my broken phone? Maybe he’s left messages on it, and as soon as I can access them, all will become clear?
“If ye’ve got your old phone on ye, I’ll help ye transfer the SIM card if ye like,” says McTavish, almost as if he’s read my mind. “We’ll have ye back up and running in no time.”
That does it.
“It’s at the house,” I tell him, thanking my lucky stars that I left it there, and not in my bag, which is still at The Crown. “But I should probably go there first anyway, for a change of clothes, so maybe if you drop me off there, I can walk to Mum’s work later?”
“Nah, I’ll take you there as well,” says McTavish cheerfully. “I don’t need to be at The View for a couple of hours yet, so I might as well.”
I swallow nervously. I should probably say no to this. I don’t want to encourage his crush… if that’s even what it is.
But he’s being sonice, and so helpful. And he’s really easy to be around, too. McTavish doesn’t ask difficult questions about my dad/not dad. He doesn’t bring up Jett (Is that because he sees him as The Competition, though?), or Violet, or ask me to say the “bawbag” line. He doesn’t do any of that stuff. He just drives me home, then sorts out the new phone for me, while I throw on some fresh clothes and wash my face in the bathroom sink. Hewon’t even accept a cup of tea in exchange for it; which is a relief, because I don’t have any milk.
“Here ye go,” he says, handing over the iPhone at last. “I’ve transferred over everything from your old phone, so that should be you back in business.”
I take it eagerly and go straight to the messages app.
As predicted, there are a few from an increasingly frantic Summer, wanting to know why I’ve dropped off the face of the earth, and even more from Mum, which I don’t bother to open, because I’m about to see her anyway. There are quite a few from the local news station that broke the “dad” story, asking me to call them urgently, so they can talk to me about a story they’re planning to run. There are at least four from my bank, reminding me about upcoming payments, and that I’m close to my overdraft limit, and there’s a kind of rude one from my friend Jakob, who says if he has to see me one more time on TiokTok with my roots like that, he’s going to come over on the next flight, and sort them out for me himself.
