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He takes my hand and squeezes it under the table, looking at me as if I’ve just announced that I’ve single-handedly figured out how to reverse climate change — which is something Jack worries about a lot. My heart contracts with something that could be pride, but which is more likely to be guilt, and I make a mental note to add writing a book to my list of things to do before the wedding.
“Well, this is wonderful,” says Bertie jovially. “What’s it about, Emerald? Do tell.”
“Er, it’s considered unlucky to talk much about your book before it’s published,” I say, making this up on the spot. “In author circles, you know. So I really shouldn’t say. But it’ll be set in the Highlands, of course. In a small town, a bit like this one. Write what you know, and all that.”
I tap the side of my nose conspiratorially: a gesture I’ve never actually seen anyone use outside of a bad TV show, and which immediately feels weird and contrived.
Why am I doing this to myself?
“Will we be in it?” asks Rose, eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to be in a book, haven’t you, Mum?”
Kathryn twists her thin lips into an expression of distaste. I wonder again why I’m trying so hard to impress a woman who’s clearly determined to remainunimpressed.
I was just trying to make them think there’s more to me than they realize. That I’m not just some gold-digger who pretends to work at their son’s restaurant while spending his money. But the fact that I’m having tomake stuff upto do this is… well, it doesn’t bode well, does it? In fact, it makes me wonder if Kathryn’s right about me. Not about the gold-digging, obviously — I couldn’t care less about Jack’s money. But Iamjustpretendingto work at the restaurant. I do my best, but there’s not enough work to fill my time. And now here I am pretending I’m going to write a book, while simultaneously pretending to be the perfect fiancée to Jack.
I might not be pretending to beanotherperson, like I was when we met, but I still feel like an impostor. And as soon as the thought strikes me, I realize I’vealwaysthought it, on some level, about me and Jack. I’ve always felt like I wasn’t good enough for him. That I was “just” a cleaner, or “just” a restaurant worker. And it’s very obvious that Kathryn, for one, very much shares that feeling.
Maybe Ishouldwrite a book? I’ve always wanted to.
Or maybe I should just concentrate on getting through the rest of this meal without telling any more whoppers? Or choking again?
After dinner Jack says he has to go back to his office for a bit, so I tell everyone I need to work on my book and go and lie in bed, to think about all the clever retorts I could have made to Kathryn’s barbed comments. By the time Jack comes to bed I’ve pretty much worn myself out with anxiety — although Ihavecome up with some excellent one-liners which I’ve filed away for later.
“Did you get up to anything interesting today?” I ask as he pulls off his shirt, revealing the perfectly toned abs that have absolutely nothing to do with Brian and his gym.
“No, not really,” he says, yawning as he gets into bed. “Just glued to my computer as usual. You?”
“I popped into the library,” I tell him, getting in beside him. “Just for a browse, you know? Thought I might pick up some wedding magazines.”
I watch him carefully, but he just yawns again and pulls the covers up.
“Oh, I did go out actually,” he says, lying down. “I went to the Emerald View site for a bit, to check on the progress. I took Dad with me. It’s really coming along well; we’ve broken ground on the first few cabins already. You’ll have to come and see it sometime. Dad was really impressed.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, non-committally. I’d rather see Old Jimmy dance the Highland Fling naked right now than pay a visit to the land I’m starting to think Jack might have stolen from one of my oldest friends. (And I almostdidsee Old Jimmy dance the Highland Fling naked once, so I speak from a position of experience, here…)
God, I’m beat,” Jack says, rolling over to kiss me. “I feel like I could sleep forever.”
He flops back down onto his pillows, and I lie there, my heart racing as I listen to his breathing get slower.
Why didn’t he tell me he was at the library today, too? Why did he try to make out he was either here or at the site all day, when I know perfectly well he wasn’t? And why am I suddenly too scared to ask him this to his face?
“Jack?” I whisper into the darkness, taking my courage in both hands. “Jack, are you awake?”
The answer comes in the form of a tiny snore, and I roll onto my side and lie there, staring at the shadows in the corner of the room.
I have a feeling I’m not going to be getting a lot of sleep tonight, somehow.
* * *
“Right. Whose car are we taking, then?”
The next morning, Frankie, Rose and I gather on the steps of the house, ready for our trip to Inverness. We’re going to stop to pick up Mum on the way, and I’m actually looking forward to the day out, despite my lack of sleep. Oh, and the fact that my fiancé is clearly hiding something from me.
Other than that, I’m good, though.
“No one’s,” says Rose, answering Frankie’s question. “I’ve booked an Uber. I thought it would be easier than trying to find somewhere to park.”
Frankie and I exchange worried glances. The only person we know who drives an Uber in this part of the world is McTavish, and, sure enough, a few minutes later his rusty old Volvo is pulling into Jack’s immaculately tended driveway, the handwritten ‘Uber’ sign attached to the back widow with sticky tape.
