Into My Arms Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘Organisation was never our strong suit, but we saw a lot, didn’t we? And that van—you couldn’t turn over in bed without everyone else having to swap positions as well.’
    ‘You couldn’t go to the toilet without everyone knowing if dinner had agreed with you.’
    ‘OK, OK, I don’t necessarily want to remember every detail. But they were good days . . .’ Her voice trailed off, then resumed with an effort. ‘I’m going through the Scotland photos at the moment. There’s a lovely one of you and your dad at Inverness. You were—’
    She was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Skye called that she would get it.
    ‘Why don’t you give him a key?’ Arran asked. ‘They’ve been together, what, two years? He’s practically a member of the family.’
    Nell stirred the pasta into the sauce. ‘I offered, but he wouldn’t take it. That’s a bit too relaxed for him. Hamish prefers to do things by the book. I’d say he was brought up quite differently to you two.’
    ‘Properly, you mean?’ asked Arran.
    ‘Enough of your cheek,’ said Nell, flicking her tea towel at him. ‘Get off your bum and set the table.’

    After dinner, Nell cleared away the dishes and then brought out the box of photos she had been working on.
    ‘God, Nell, don’t bore Hamish with those,’ protested Arran.
    ‘No, I’d love to see them,’ said Hamish, reaching across the table. He seemed genuine, but Arran wasn’t sure. Why on earth would he want to spend one of the rare evenings he allowed himself off looking at faded happy snaps from two decades ago? Wouldn’t he rather whisk Skye back to his flat for some time alone? Arran still didn’t understand the man—Hamish never really let his guard down—though he did like him.
    ‘These are great,’ said Hamish, flicking through shots of Skye and Arran in front of lochs, in front of castles, perched smiling and freckled on the bonnet of the kombi. ‘I really like this one.’ He held up a photo of a pigtailed Skye gingerly patting a Highland cow. ‘How old were you then?’
    Skye looked to her mother for confirmation. ‘Seven, I’d say? I was terrified it was going to step on me.’
    ‘God, you were cute,’ said Hamish, still looking at the picture. Then he leaned across and kissed her. ‘Still are.’
    Arran stared at the table. There was an old red wine stain that had leached into the wood near the salt shaker, and he rubbed at it uselessly. He was happy for them, really he was, but right now he could do without the couple stuff.
    Nell fished through the box. ‘Here’s another one, Hamish,’ she said, passing over a tattered picture of Skye perched on her father’s shoulders. ‘That was in Ullapool. Do you remember, Arran? We were there for a ceilidh .’ She turned to Hamish. ‘It’s a dance—all the traditional reels, everyone in their family tartan. Charlie bought a tin whistle there, and learned to play it so quickly the locals invited him to join in.’
    Hamish nodded. ‘He liked his music, didn’t he? Hey, Skye, I don’t suppose you still have that kilt?’
    ‘I’ve still got mine,’ lisped Arran in a deliberately camp Scottish brogue. ‘Do you want to see me in it?’ He liked Hamish, but it was fun to unsettle him. What was it Mark had always said? That the heteros needed to be shaken up now and again, reminded that they didn’t have the monopoly on sex.
    Hamish looked away. ‘You’re such a wanker, Arran,’ Skye sighed.
    ‘Oh, look, Arran, here’s you on your island,’ exclaimed Nell, clearly eager to dispel the tension. ‘Charlie was crazy about the Scottish islands, Hamish,’ she explained. ‘Our first trip to Scotland was our honeymoon, and he was so enchanted by them that as soon as we got back home he bought a labrador and named it Hebrides. Skye and Arran came later.’
    Hamish smiled politely, though he must have already heard the story from Skye. ‘What were the options?’ he asked.
    ‘There weren’t many,’