Chapter 30

S o Isla didn’t get to see Iona till later that night, and then she pointed out that Iona, despite being the supposedly great social media maven, had turned her Instagram to private after she’d flirted rather disastrously with a celebrity and forgotten to turn it back on again, and Iona reposted the entire video from the dinner again.

At first, Facebook take-up was slow, but Instagram was quick.

And then one of the Scottish papers retweeted it, then the radio stations started to pick up on it—and then it really started to move. By the time the numbers were clicking up exponentially and her phone had started to glow hot with the notifications, the girls were staring at each other, half in delight, half in horror.

Iona plugged her phone into the wall to stop it from dying and texted Flora.

Go take a look at my insta!!!!!!!!! but unfortunately by then it was after nine o’clock at night, which meant Flora was lying spread-eagle on her bed in the mansion, fast asleep, a television show playing on her computer screen to which she was completely oblivious. She was oblivious too to Joel giving Douglas his night bottle, half smiling, half wincing at the noisy snoring noises coming from the master bedroom.

Flora was taking too much on, and he probably should be doing more, he thought. She was the one who was meant to be on leave. Except . . . he wasn’t entirely sure that actually going to the hotel wasn’t good for her. She was made to be busy, Flora. He wondered, mildly, if she hadn’t overestimated how much she would enjoy sitting in a rocking chair.

He looked down at Douglas, who was sucking his bottle with an expression of exceptional happiness on his face. Douglas drank deeply, smacked his lips in contentment, and allowed himself a long, luxuriant fart.

“If you had told me,” said Joel softly to the little one, “how much I would be perfectly fine with another human being taking a massive fart in my hands, I think I’d have found it quite difficult to believe you. In the past.”

Douglas smiled dreamily, as he had taken to doing at the sound of his father’s voice, and, as usual, Joel felt the familiar catch at the heart, laced once more with sadness that his own parents hadn’t felt the same way, or if they had, they—teenagers as they had been—still hadn’t been able to look after him, protect him. Whereas now, looking down at this little face, he couldn’t think of a single thing he wouldn’t do to protect Douglas, to keep him safe, nor a single place on earth—he peered out into the dark night—that would be better for him to do it in. Yes, he should get back to work. Those damn lights, he was running out of time. But oh, it was better right here, right now.

Under the great cold stars of the North Atlantic, all was well.