AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Aye,’ he says at last. ‘I’ll warm myself a wee while before I’m away.’ He sits beside me, picks up a stick and traces circles in the sand, reminding me of when I met him in Inverness. Sooo wary and hostile then.
‘Hey, you don’t need to go yet, do you? As in we haven’t started on the whisky, and there are sausage sandwiches to come.’
‘I’m fair shattered from the day.’ He passes me the spliff, keeps on spiralling the sand with his stick.
I take a toke and reach for the Caol Ila, admire its amber glow against the light.
‘You have to sample this, man?’ I pull the cork and take a slug, spread its awesome peaty sweetness around my mouth. I pass Aiden the bottle and get up to hand Jez the spliff.
She stares into the fire while she smokes. Her face in profile glows with baby innocence, sending a quiver through me.
‘Are you OK?’ I try.
She turns with that sad smile. ‘Just going for a walk along the beach. Won’t be long.’
Aiden makes to get up. ‘I’ll be away now, anyway.’
‘No, don’t hurry. I just need a little stroll, right?’ Jez touches my arm as she turns towards the sea.
I give up. Perhaps I’ll find out what’s eating her later.
Aiden hands me the bottle. ‘That’s a rare dram, thanks.’ He leans back on his elbows.
‘That’s OK, bro.’
He darts his head to give me his green-eyed stare. ‘Whad’ya call me?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean,’ I stumble. ‘But it’s the weirdest, since you said I remind you of your brother…?’
He takes a breath, stiffens.
‘Do you miss him?’ I ask. Idiot question.
‘Maybe I’ve paid my dues, spending time with you.’ He takes up his stick drawing again.
‘Dues?’
He gives me another full-on stare. Goes back to the stick.
‘You have the look of him, but you’re nothing alike. My folks were forever fighting and drinking and drinking and destroying. He was the one looked out for me when I was wee.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say…?’
I chuck another log on the fire. It sends up orange sparks, flames pinkie-blue over the bleached wood.
‘Say nothing. Last time I saw him we argued bad.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Twelve. He was eighteen.’
I look at him, so small and thin, like he stopped growing with his brother’s death.
‘There is no way it was your fault; you must know that?’ I say, feeling clumsy.
He pokes the fire, says nothing. Then he drops the stick, pulls out his stash and lays it on the sleeping bag.
‘I’m away to get some kip. You have the rest of this, and we’ll definitely call it quits.’ He forces a grin, pats me on the shoulder as he gets up.
