Page 18 of One for the Road
“I’m not an invalid,” she’d hissed at him, while he all but lifted her from the front seat of the van just a few minutes earlier.
“No, but you’re nearly eight-months pregnant.” His voice had slipped into that gooey, melted-chocolate tenor he reserved solely for April and their unborn child. “Maybe we should take your blood pressure again.”
“If you bring that pressure monitor near me again, I’ll strangle you with it.”
“Light exercise is good for her and the baby,” I’d cut in, simply to save him from the storm I could already see brewing in her eyes. “But no heavy lifting.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
Now, Mal cut a sideways glance at April. “What about the ‘pit stop to nowhere’ part?”
“That Imighthave said—” They gasped in unison like schoolgirls with pigtails. “Oh, calm down,” I hissed. “I was just venting to Heather, I obviously didn’t think someone was going to overhear and run a bloody story on it, did I?”
“Still rude,” April said, rolling a hand over her roundedstomach. Her gait was around thirty per cent sass, seventy per cent survival strategy for not toppling over, at this point.
“Some of us don’t relish driving two hours just to get to a supermarket. And maybe I miss getting a cronut delivered straight to my door at three a.m.”
If there was anyone I’d expected to understand the mourning period required when giving up an inner-city food delivery system, it was April Sinclair.
April had hightailed it from this village the first chance she got, the same as I had. She’d built a highly successful acting career for herself in London. Then, two years ago, she’d inherited Kinleith Whisky Distillery on the death of her grandfather and returned home, planning to sell. Instead, she and Mal had lived out the plot of a Hallmark movie and fallen madly in love. The rest was history.
“What’s a cronut?” Mal frowned.
Only my greatest weakness. “Jesus, we need to get you to Inverness for the day.” His lack of pastry knowledge deserved jail time.
“Why is the patient feedback so important?” April asked.
“Each surgery in Scotland has an overall score, and those with the lowest risk being denied funding.” The truth. Still, I felt like a lying bastard. I hadn’t told a single member of my family about my plans to sell. I knew they’d be upset, especially my mum – but, fuck, it was better this way. Soon April and Mal’s baby would be here; they wouldn’t need my help anymore. And Callum and I could stop dancing around each other, pretending things hadn’t been weird as hell between us ever since he started dating my ex-fiancée. They could carry on with their lives and I’d be – fuck, I didn’t even know my next move. I’d go anywhere that wasn’t here. Or Glasgow.
Maybe I should go to England. The thought alone was grotesque, but Scotland was starting to feel a little small.
“Dad would be turning in his grave if he knew,” I said. I doubt he’d ever scored below perfect in his entire life.
Mal scoffed, pausing to step around a group of backpackers who were attempting to squeeze into a group photo outside the kilt shop. “The living dead is more his style.”
April’s face scrunched in disgust. “Can we stop talking about dead bodies, specifically your dad’s? It’s making me queasy.”
Mal looked ready to drop the crates and run her back to the car, bridal style. Mal had always been the most considerate of my siblings, and he’d grown into a tender-hearted giant of a man. Ever since he and April had announced the pregnancy, those natural instincts were dialled up to a hundred. From an outsider’s perspective, it was as adorable as it was funny to witness.
“It’s not a bad line of thought, though. What would your dad have done?” April asked, seemingly unaware of Mal’s concern.
“Nothing.” I laughed. “He’d have never been in this situation to begin with.”
“He was really big on community,” Mal said. “Remember he played Father Christmas for twenty years in a row.”
It was true. He could always be there for other people’s kids. “Pity I’m five months too early to take up that one.”
April laughed. “You aren’t jolly enough for that.”
“What? I’m jolly,” I deadpanned, and they both paused, staring at me.
“I can’t tell if you mean that.” Mal’s brows drew in.
“Christ, I can’t even convincingly pull off a joke. I’m fucked.”
“You’re not fucked. You just need to get people to like you, let them see how much you care about the community.” April shrugged, like it was that easy. Like I cared for the community.
For her, it probably was that easy. She was smiley. Sunshiny. Charismatic. One of the chosen ones.
