Page 76 of The Christmas Competition

“Do you want my advice?” he asked.

“As long as it’s better than Ranjeeta’s.”

“Why? What was her advice?”

“She told me to just get over it.”

“Hm. Unhelpful.”

“Correct.”

He smiled. “I think that you should have a think about opening up to Nisa properly.” He lifted a reassuring hand when he saw me flinch. “You don’t have to say everything all at once if you don’t want to. Ease into it little by little. Judge her reaction and see what she says. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” I must have appeared unconvinced, because he put a hand on my arm. “She’s not your dad, Kerr.”

Well, hell, if that didn’t almost have me tearing up.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He cleared his throat. “And speaking of your dad, maybe, once you’re ready, you could look into talking to someone about him and all that stuff from the past? Someone professional,” he added, clearly avoiding mentioning the words psychologist or therapy.

I grunted in response, casting my gaze over the still waters of the loch, today with a low mist clinging to the glassy surface.

“Just something to think about,” Greg said quietly.

We finished our coffees in companionable silence. I mulled over what he’d said but was still unsure if his advice was something I had it in me to follow.

*

I dipped the roller into the paint, then lifted it to slide bright white down the wall. Nisa was joining me in this task, looking as cute as a button in an old pair of dungarees and a little splodge of white paint on her cheek. Izzy lay snoozing on the sofa, every now and again eyeing us in a suspicious manner.

Nisa was finishing off the paintwork on the windowsill while I did the wall. The living room was now ninety-​nine percent back to normal.

“Aisha called last night,” she told me, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she painted the sill. “She and Seb are thinking of going traveling for a few months.”

“Oh yeah? Where?” I asked, rolling the brush down the wall.

“South America. Maybe for about three months or so,” she continued.

I glanced over. “And how do you feel about that?”

A flicker of worry broke through the look of concentration on her face. “I’ll miss her. And I’ll worry about her. But it’ll be good for her to go and do a bit of traveling.”

I nodded, returning my gaze to the job in hand, reassured by the steady tone in her voice. “What did your parents say when she told them?”

She was quiet for a moment, so I turned my head to look at her again. She appeared a little pained.

“She hasn’t told them yet, has she?” Nisa shook her head and I brought the roller down. “And did she ask you to tell them for her?”

She wiped her brow and sat back on her heels. “Yeah.” She tossed me a smile. “How did you guess?”

I shook my head. “Figures.” She went silent again, and I searched for the right words. “Nisa, can I make a suggestion?”

She placed her brush into the paint tray. “Yes.”

I set the roller down onto the floor, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall. The bit that wasn’t wet, of course. Heat flared in her gaze as she took in my folded arms, the sleeves rolled up above my elbows. I filed that away for later. “Without immediately jumping down my throat, I mean.”

She grinned, waving a hand. “Those days are past us.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “What about the other night when I suggested that instead of rolling around with me you get an early night, because you were knackered from covering extra shifts at work, and you told me in no uncertain terms where I could shove that advice?”