Page 20 of Take Me Away

I did, though.

And maybe part of me still does.

‘You all right, son?’ Dad asks. ‘Looking a bit murderous there.’

I shake my head. ‘Fine. Just tired.’

‘Well, we did tell her that Friday night was still good down here,’ Frankie says, circling back to his favourite topic. ‘Told her nothing’s changed much.’

‘Except Kit,’ Jude adds. ‘He’s much grumpier now.’

‘I’m not grumpy,’ I grumble.

‘Do you think she’ll come tonight?’ Maisie asks, eyes wide with hope. ‘To the pub?’

I laugh, maybe too loudly. ‘You honestly think an award-winning actress is going to take time out of her busy life to come and hang out with all us losers? You’ve all gone crazy.’

The room falls suddenly, unnaturally quiet.

I turn, following everyone’s gaze to the door, where a slim figure stands silhouetted against the darkening evening sky.

Isla Quinn, in jeans and a simple sweater, blonde hair, lighter than I remember, loose around her shoulders, hesitates in the doorway like she’s considering making a run for it.

Can’t say I blame her. Every pair of eyes in the place is locked on her like she’s an alien that’s just beamed down. Dot’s knitting needles freeze mid-stitch. Bill’s dart misses the board entirely, thudding into the wall. Even old Ted Thompson, half deaf and usually oblivious to anything that isn’t his whisky or the racing results, has turned in his seat.

The silence stretches one beat too long – awkward, heavy with expectation. I can see Isla’s shoulders tense, her chin lift slightly. It’s the same look she used to get before diving off the high rocks at the cove – a moment of fear followed by stubborn determination.

Maisie gasps beside me, clutching my arm with unexpected strength. ‘Dad,’ she hisses. ‘Dad, it’s her.’

As if I could possibly miss that fact.

Isla’s eyes scan the room, finally landing on me. The impact is physical. Like taking a rogue wave full in the chest. All the air goes out of me in one sharp exhale.

For a brief, unguarded moment, something flickers across her face – relief, maybe, or recognition. Hope, even. Like seeing me here might mean she’s safe.

Then her actress mask slides into place, and she smiles politely to the room at large. Not the real smile. Not the one I remember from when we were eighteen and the world was smaller and she was mine.

My hands grip the edge of the bar so hard my knuckles bleach white.

Don’t come over here. Please don’t make me do this in front of everyone.

‘Well, bugger me,’ Dad murmurs. ‘She actually came.’

‘Language,’ I say automatically, unable to take my eyes off her.

Maisie is bouncing on her stool. ‘Can I go say hi? Please, Dad? Please?’

But before I can answer, Ayo steps out from behind the bar, arms spread wide. ‘Isla Quinn, as I live and breathe! Get yourself in here, girl. First drink’s on the house – for old times’ sake.’

The spell breaks. Conversation resumes in a rush of whispers and not-so-subtle pointing. Isla moves towards the bar with that natural grace she’s always had, even before Hollywood claimed her.

I catch myself watching how she moves, how every eye in the place follows her, and something uncomfortable twists in my gut. Isn’t this exactly what those news stories described? Men staring, claiming, as if they had the right? Christ, I’m no better.

‘You look like you’re about to be sick,’ Jude mutters in my ear. ‘Breathe, brother.’

‘Shut up,’ I manage.

But he’s right. I do actually think I might be sick.