Page 100 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘I’m sure. Mum won’t mind taking me, although she will be asking loads of questions. What should I tell her?’

‘The truth. There’s been enough of a cover-up already.’

‘Don’t be too hard on your dad. He did it for the best of reasons.’

That was what Freya was finding so difficult to take: the knowledge that her father would have struggled on so that she could have sailed off into the sunset, blissfully unaware that he was so ill.

She placed a hand on Mack’s chest and reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘You did. I’d probably still be sitting on that rock and feeling sorry for myself, when it’s my dad I should feel sorry for.’

He stroked her face, his finger wiping away a stray tear. ‘If you need me, call. Day or night.’

She pressed her lips together and nodded, then turned to leave. It was time she faced her father.

He was in the sitting room. The TV was off and so was the radio. The air was thick with silence, and she didn’t know how to break it.

He didn’t look at her, but his face told her that he knew what had happened. He’d aged ten years in the couple of hours that she’d been out, and it broke her heart.

Moving slowly, she sat on the arm of the chair opposite. He shot her a glance, then hastily looked away. He looked cowed, defeated, and the tremor in his hand was worse than ever.

The silence stretched between them, a physical thing, a barrier that neither appeared to want to cross. But one of them had to make the first move.

‘I didn’t manage to pick up your tablets,’ she said.

‘I know. The surgery phoned.’

‘They said you need to make an appointment for a review, before they’ll issue you with another prescription.’

‘I’ve got an appointment this afternoon. Five fifteen.’ The tremor intensified, and he clasped that hand with his good one. Although it mightn’t be good for much longer, from what she’d read.

‘I’m coming with you,’ she said.

He hung his head. ‘I thought you might.’

‘I’ve got so many questions.’

‘I expect you have.’

‘I understand why you didn’t tell me, Dad, but you must have known I’d find out sooner or later.’ Her voice shook.

‘If I hadn’t fallen—’

‘But you did,’ she interrupted. ‘Almost definitely because of the Parkinson’s.’

There was a hint of belligerence as he retorted, ‘That doesn’t mean I’ll have another.’

‘It probably does. You know that as well as I do.’

‘Since when did you become an expert?’

‘Since the receptionist at my doctor’s surgery let slip that my dad has a disease he’s been keeping secret from me,’ she retorted sharply.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and she suspected he was trying not to cry.

Freya slid off the arm of the chair and sank to the floor by his feet. ‘I’m so sorry, Dad. I don’t mean to be sharp with you, but it’s been a bit of a shock. It’ll take a while for it to sink in.’ She laid her head on his lap. ‘We’ll get through this. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.’

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