Two Kinds Of Truth(51)

Jamie puts his arm around me and guides me away from the tents.

“She can try, but Callum would die for ye, so dinnae think for one moment he would ever leave ye. Now, forget her and let’s go and eat cake and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

I pull away from him. “No. I can’t.”

Jamie shrugs. “Why ever not? Ye said ye loved cake.”

“Yes, I do, but I still need to pee.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Aye, all right. I’ll stand guard outside the door in case Ally decides to show her face again.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the offer.”

We retrace our steps and hurry over to the Portaloos, where I rush inside a vacant one, but the moment the door closes, I’m scrabbling inside my bag for my mobile. I need to speak to Callum, to tell him what’s happened. I push a few items aside and find my phone at the bottom of my bag, swipe the screen and then press his number. When I hear his voice, I breathe a sigh of relief, but then realise I’ve reached his answer phone.

“Hi, this is Callum McKinley. Please leave your message after the beep.” I hesitate, then force my voice to sound light and airy.

“Hi, it’s me. Nothing’s wrong; I’m just checking in,” and I end the call with a sigh, not wishing to upset him or cause him alarm. But I need to talk to him and put my mind at ease. I tell myself he’s sure to ring me back as soon as he gets my message, but then again, the signal’s pretty lousy up here. Resignedly, I shove my phone back inside my bag, use the toilet then wash my hands. When I open the door, Jamie’s waiting for me.

“Are ye okay?” he asks as I approach, and I read concern in his eyes.

I nod and push the corners of my mouth into a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know how to handle Ally,” I confess. “I’ve never been in this kind of situation before.”

He offers me his hand and I take it, his calloused fingers grasping mine.

“I’ve told ye already: you’ve nothing to worry about. She’s just making waves, and what she doesnae realise is that she’ll be the one to drown by them.”

I squeeze his fingers, grateful for his reassurance, but there’s something else, too. It’s as though a veil has been lifted from my eyes. I no longer see him as Callum’s identical twin. Instead, there are certain traits and qualities held within him that I now recognise are so unlike Callum. There’s no trace of arrogance or superiority. In front of me stands a man who’s kind and gentle. He pulls me close and holds my gaze, his eyes soft and sincere.

There’s a cry and then a shout, and Jamie lets go, swinging around to a drunk who’s just spilt ale all down his arm and the side of his jeans. “Can ye not see where you’re going?” Jamie curses under his breath.

“Be cool, man,” says a guy who’s the spitting image of Bob Marley, and at whom Jamie only glares. The Rastafarian staggers to a halt, his arms swaying like suckered tentacles, and I swear he’s about to fall over. I take a step forward, my hand outstretched to steady him when he swiftly turns tail and hurries away into the darkness.

“Complete imbecile,” Jamie mutters, shaking off the last droplets of beer from his clothes.

“Oh, don’t be too hard on him,” I say with a smirk. “After all, it was an accident.”

Jamie shakes his head, but his anger has already melted away. “Come on, then; I think it’s time we went and found the others,” and he grabs my hand and pulls me into the crowd of revellers and leads me back to the safe bosom of my new friends.

The atmosphere is heavy with winter cloud, but this doesn’t dampen my spirits. We join in with a small band of gypsies who are enjoying a good old sing-song. The music is soulful and I clap my hands to the beat. I spot Rhona and Gordon dancing together. They make a fine couple, and Rhona seems quite merry. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s giggling. Gordon’s happy to hold her steady, to have his arms wrapped around her waist.

“’Tis a guid job Malcolm’s staying the night to look after Findlay,” Jamie shouts over the din. I laugh, because he’s right. No doubt, by tomorrow morning, they’ll both suffer from stinking hangovers.

“On that note, do you fancy a special brewed ale?” I say.

Jamie chuckles. “I’ve ne’er been one to turn down a free drink.”

“Then stay put and I’ll be right back.”

I head over to a stall selling wine and beer. There’s plenty on offer, a table littered with an assortment of ales, most of which I’ve never heard of. I ponder over the different varieties and buy two bottles of Old Speckled Hen. On the way back, a woman, waving her hands, catches my eye. I realise it’s Bridget and she’s pointing to the memorial stone. I nod and lift the bottles of ale and point them in Jamie’s general direction. Bridget holds up five fingers. I nod again and she gives me a thumbs up, at which I hurry over to where Jamie’s watching a young girl dance to a fiddle, offering him the ale.

“Slàinte mhath,” he says as he makes a toast.

“Good health to you, too,” I say, “only I’ve just seen Bridget and I’m going to meet her down by the stone.”

Jamie halts, the beer to his lips. “What? You’re going now?”

I nod. “Yes. I said I’d be there in five.”