Page 22 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

With her dad settled in his chair, Freya laced up her Doc Martens, grabbed her phone and some money, and dashed out the door.

If she was honest, she was glad to be away from him for a few minutes.

This morning had been quite fraught; actually, the fraughtness (if that was a word) had begun last night, after Mack and Jean had left.

Dad had wanted to watch TV, which was fine by Freya, but as she’d had little interest in the programme, she’d spent an hour or so on her phone, answering emails, checking her website and social media, and catching up on a couple of blogs she followed.

She’d had earbuds in so as not to disturb him, but her dad had objected nevertheless.

He seemed to resent her not watching TV with him, but when she’d put her phone to one side, he’d accused her of sulking.

Freya had most definitely not been sulking, but his constant picking at her had resulted in her feeling quite petulant by the end of the evening.

As she scurried along the road, heading for the shop and a newspaper purchase, she recalled how crabby he’d been last night as he was getting ready for bed. She’d seen that he was struggling and she’d tried to help, but it had only made him crabbier. And this morning hadn’t been any better.

Reminding herself that he must be finding it difficult, she vowed (yet again) not to take it personally. He was used to his own space, and had his own routine and his own way of doing things. She might be his daughter and he might love her unconditionally, but she was getting on his nerves.

‘Stop fashing me,’ he’d said, more than once since he’d come out of hospital, and she had a feeling he’d be saying it a few more times before she returned to London.

Although she didn’t want to fuss, it was hard not to, especially since she had to constantly remind him to use his walker.

‘Just until you’re more confident on your feet,’ she’d told him this morning, after discovering him heading towards the bathroom by way of holding on to the wall. The glare he’d given her could have felled a sheep at fifty paces.

‘Aw, hen, how’s your dad?’ Mrs Davy in the shop asked when Freya approached the counter to pay for the newspaper.

‘Getting there slowly, thanks for asking,’ Freya replied.

‘I meant to tell you the other day, when you popped in, that you’ve turned into a bonnie lass. I bet Vinnie’s glad to have you home.’

Freya wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. Resentful was probably a more apt description. Telling herself that her dad’s mood would improve as he became more mobile, she paid for the newspaper, assured Mrs Davy that she’d let her dad know she was asking after him, and hurried home.

To her surprise, she discovered Mack’s truck parked behind her van, and when she went into the house, she heard laughter coming from the bathroom.

‘I had to use a boathook to nab it, with Angus holding on to my legs to stop me toppling in,’ Mack was saying. ‘I wouldn’t have minded, but it was only a cheap one. She could have picked up another easy enough, without me having to risk a soaking.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Freya asked, taking in the scene at a glance. Her dad was perched on the toilet seat (thankfully with his trousers on) and Mack was holding a handrail against the wall with one hand and had a pencil in the other.

‘A daft woman and her daft hat,’ Mack said. ‘We’d barely cast off and it blew off her head into the loch. She demanded I went in after it. You can imagine what I said – under my breath, of course.’

‘Stick to fish, lad,’ Vinnie said. ‘They don’t answer back. I could never be bothered with people. Too contrary.’

Mack chuckled. ‘I should have known she’d be trouble when she told me she expected to see orcas or she wanted her money back. Did she think I kept a tame one in my pocket?’

‘Some people just aren’t right in the head,’ Vinnie tutted.

‘Tell me about it,’ was Mack’s heartfelt reply.

Pleased to see her father in better spirits, Freya took his newspaper into the sitting room and stopped dead.

One of the armchairs was missing.

Retracing her steps, she said to Mack, ‘Have you taken a chair upstairs already?’

‘I have. It only took but a minute.’

‘Thank you.’ Blimey, he didn’t hang about; then she realised that he probably had to get to work. ‘What time does your first trip go out?’

Mack tilted his arm to see the dial on the diver’s watch he wore. ‘About now.’

‘Shouldn’t you be on it?’

‘You heard what Mhairi said: they can manage without me. I’m beginning to feel redundant.’

Vinnie said, ‘Join the club, lad.’

Mack screwed a bit into the drill and tightened it. ‘You miss it, don’t you.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Wouldn’t you?’

‘Aye, I would. I’m surprised you don’t have a wee skiff, to keep your hand in.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘No, I suppose it isn’t, although you could always fish for your supper. Cal, the daft wee bugger, catches them and throws them back, then goes and buys fish from the supermarket.’

‘I could eat a nice bit of fish for my dinner,’ Vinnie said.

Freya said, ‘There’s some smoked basa in the freezer. We can have it with quinoa and salad, but I’ll have to take it out now if it’s to defrost in time for tea.’

‘ Quinoa? What the hell is that?’ her dad demanded.

‘It’s a bit like couscous.’

‘Couscous?’ He shuddered. ‘I’d prefer chips.’

‘You can have chips if you want.’

‘And I don’t want salad. I want peas. And I don’t want it for tea, either. I want it at dinner time.’

‘Mmm… battered cod, chips and mushy peas,’ Mack said. ‘I could go for that myself.’

The two men exchanged glances, then stared at her hopefully.

Freya took the hint. She stared back with narrowed eyes, her focus on Mack. ‘I thought you said you didn’t want payment?’

‘I don’t. I can buy my own fish and chips.’

‘But you want me to go and get them.’

‘I’ll fetch them myself as soon as I’ve finished this. I was merely wondering whether you’d like to join us.’

Freya threw up her hands; she knew when she was beaten, and she was clearly outnumbered. ‘I’ll go.’

‘It’s not open yet,’ Mack said.

Freya was confused. ‘It opened at seven, didn’t it?’

Her dad piped up, ‘Not the supermarket, hen, the chippy. We don’t want you cooking it, we want proper fish and chips from the chip shop.’

‘Thanks a bunch,’ she spluttered.

‘Och, you know what I mean. I don’t care how good a cook you are, you can’t beat a proper fish supper.’

Freya had to admit that her dad was right, and the appeal of the frozen basa dimmed significantly.

A fish supper it was, then. She rarely ate fish and chips from a chip shop, and on the odd occasion when she did, Hadrian always turned his nose up.

Food eaten out of paper wasn’t to his liking, and he’d never been able to get his head around the way she referred to the meal as a fish supper , even if it was eaten at lunch time.

‘It’ll give me time to finish up here,’ Mack was saying. ‘I’ll put this handrail up, then if you could show me where you want the others—?’

Vinnie said, ‘It’s nonsense, if you ask me. I don’t need bloody handrails.’

Mack chuckled. ‘Give it a couple of weeks, yeah? If you find you’re not using them, I’ll take the bloody things down.’

‘And leave me with holes in the wall?’

‘I can fill in the holes.’

‘I’ll fill you in, you cheeky wee bugger.’ But her dad was smiling as he said it.

Freya thought it was actually a good job that Mack was putting them up, because if she had installed them, her father would have been far less amenable and might have refused point-blank to have them.

Driven out of the bathroom by the high-pitched screeching of the drill, Freya retreated upstairs to check on her father’s bedroom, and smiled when she saw that Mack had taken the trouble to place the armchair at an angle to the sofa, so it didn’t look like it had been dumped there.

It was almost like her own private sitting room, she thought, deciding it would be an ideal place to retreat to when she and her dad needed a bit of space from one another, which she feared might happen a lot.

It was weird, but ever since her dad’s fall, Freya’d had the feeling he didn’t want her here and was doing his best to get rid of her. She appreciated that it might be embarrassing to have his daughter look after him, but if she didn’t do it, there wasn’t anyone else. He’d just have to suck it up.

‘Where do you want the next one?’ Mack called, and Freya trotted downstairs to show him.

While he was putting that up, she’d clean—

She halted. The bathroom was clean and tidy. Bless him, Mack had cleaned up after himself, and his kindness touched her. He didn’t have to do that, but he had, and it was incredibly sweet of him.

Trying not to hover, she waited for him to finish, and when he began to pack away his tools, she said, ‘Cod and chips, and a pot of mushy peas?’

‘Have you got brown sauce?’ he asked. ‘You can’t have mushy peas without brown sauce.’

Freya took a look in the cupboard where her dad kept his jars and condiments, and found a bottle that was half-full.

‘We have,’ she said. ‘Could you put some plates in the oven to warm, while I pop to the chippy?’

Heading out for the second time today, Freya felt grateful to Mack – his presence had lifted her dad’s spirits. Hers, too. She no longer felt as glum as she had earlier this morning, and although she guessed it was only a temporary reprieve, she’d take what she could get.

Her mouth watering, she ordered three fish suppers, and as she waited for them to be wrapped, she spied a large bottle of dandelion and burdock pop in the fridge, so she grabbed it. With a piece of creamy, buttery tablet for afters, this lunch was turning out to be quite a feast.

When she got back, she found the plates in the oven and the table laid, with a bottle of vinegar and the salt cellar placed in the middle. Her dad sat in one of the chairs, a blister pack of tablets in his hand.

Freya wasn’t sure how many he took a day, but it seemed a lot.