Page 96 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“How rude.” Her Ladyship turns to me with an unperturbed grin. “What will you have, Lilah? Gin and tonic, brandy, a glass of red, perhaps?”

“Do you have any coffee?”

She clicks her tongue. “You Americans. Honestly.”

“Tea is also fine.”

“I should hope so,” she says. “There’s plenty of crab wontons and lobster left over from the dinner delivery if you’re hungry. A lovely wedge salad too with blue cheese and bacon and walnuts. That is one thing this country actually does well. Though the first time I was served a half a head of lettuce, I wondered what the hell was going on.”

“There’s only one thing we do well?”

“There might be more. I just haven’t found them. But you never know.”

I snort.

She smiles. Then her expression turns serious. “How is he taking the news of his father’s visit?”

I don’t know what to say. Or if I should say anything. Their mother-son relationship is complicated enough without me getting involved.

“Never mind. Dougal knows how to handle him,” she says, staring at the stone path leading through the gardens. “When I found out I was with child, it was Dougal who saw me through the pregnancy. He even held my hand and let me yell at him while I was giving birth. And some of the things I called him... Oof. A lesser man would have been brought to his knees. It would have been funny had I not been quite so preoccupied with pushing out a baby. He had such a large head. But I digress. When the press descended on us, it was Dougal who helped us move and settle here. I never would have thought he’d leave Scotland, but he’s never left my side. Apart from that time I stayed at a nudist beach resort in the Caribbean. Such a shame. Between you and me, I wouldn’t mind a look at what he’s been hiding under that kilt all these years. You can usually tell, can’t you? Some men just have a strut about them. A certain way of walking. I believe they call itbig-dick energythese days?”

Her smile is knowing. Mine is the opposite. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Probably for the best.” She smiles some more. “Come along. I have a bottle of a century-old port my father was hoarding. This feels like just the occasion to finally open it.”

“I thought we were having tea.”

“You are endlessly amusing, Lilah. Just a constant delight to have around.”

“Oh, good,” I say, following Lady Helena into the house.

I hang out with Her Ladyship for an hour or so. Then I go looking for Alistair. The first building I see, half hidden behind trees, is a smaller version of the main house, a midcentury wooden construct with lots of floor-to-ceiling windows. The sliding glass door opens onto a large central room with an open lounge/kitchen/dining area, though the only furniture is a punching bag hanging from a rafter and some weights and a surfboard discarded on the other side of the room.

Dougal is bracing the bag while Alistair does his best to pound it into pieces. He’s like a machine, slamming his fists into it over and over again. The only sounds in the room are his labored breathing and the thwack of each impact. And the only item of clothing on him is a pair of basketball shorts. His skin glistens with sweat beneath the low lighting.

It’s Dougal who notices my presence first. “That’ll do,” he says, stepping back from the bag. “Hit the shower. You stink worse than a rank goat in summer.”

Alistair nods and cracks his neck. Then he picks up a water bottle and chugs down half of its contents.

“Where is Her Ladyship?” asks Dougal. “Asleep on the settee?”

“No. She said she felt like baking some shortbread. Though it took her a minute to remember where the kitchen was located.”

“Shit.” Dougal heads for the door in an almighty rush. “We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t accidentally burn down the house. Good night.”

“How are you?” I ask Alistair.

Alistair unwinds the tape or whatever it is from his hands. “As rank as a goat, apparently.”

“I’ve never actually sniffed a goat, so I can’t compare. But I guess you better get in the shower.”

“Good idea. How is she?”

“Your mother? She’s worried about you.”

He just frowns. “Talk to me while I clean up.”

“Okay.” I follow him down a short hallway. There are two other rooms, one set up as a bedroom. The other is a sort of lounge, with an old game console and screen sitting on the ground, a beanbag chair and some surfing magazines nearby. Connecting the two rooms is a large bathroom with a walk-in shower and ginormous tub. “What is this place, a guesthouse?”

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