Page 71 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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Rory packs and tells us all to do likewise. He turns into an eerily calm version of himself, no emotion tinging his words.Do this, do that, take whatever is necessary. I meet Finlay’s gaze in concern. Even Luke, with all the crap he’s been through, is worried for his fellow chief. But Rory shrugs him off when he tries talking to him, and his comforting hand drops from Rory’s shoulder.

Meanwhile I… I flap around. My heart’s a grand, tumultuous mess. I’m the opposite of cold and clinically rational; I’m too emotional, thinking only of Oscar Munro’s words, of the lethal glint in Rory’s eyes.

All of this comes down to me. Every tragic result.

I toss clothes and books into a suitcase Armstrong digs out for me. He gives me a sympathetic smile and says Oscar Munro sometimes gets into these kinds of moods, that by evening he’ll be a different man. I’m not so sure. For whatever reason, the Prime Minister hadreallywanted me to dance for him. And me saying no… me spending all night with his son instead… that’s thoroughly fucked him off.

Oscar Munro wanted me and I said no.

I’m not sure you’re allowed to say no to important people. Not without consequence, anyway.

And noweveryone’ssuffering the consequence. I worry that they hate me now that we’re being chucked from the manor. Maybe I should have sucked up my pride and just danced. Everything would have been easier.

I don’t even know where we’re going, but Rory didn’t seem overly concerned. So I guess we’re not homeless, at any rate. But still.

When I descend the stairs with my suitcase in tow, the chiefs are already waiting. Rory’s crouched down, ruffling Captain Porthos’s head and bringing their foreheads together. The sight makes my heart soften.

Finlay and Luke talk in low murmurs, Luke casting frequent peeved glances across to Rory when his back is turned. Finlay meets me at the middle of the stairs, his guitar slung over his back. He takes my suitcase for me and I have to laugh. It’s featherlight, since it only contains a small selection of clothes, mainly dresses, provided by the manor, plus a few feminist texts and an anthology of sci-fi stories that Danny gave me. Nevertheless, Finlay carries it like pleasing me is all he wants to do.

“So where are we going?”

Rory stands, turning in my direction. “My mother’s apartments are in Edinburgh. We’ll go there. Compared to this, it’s modest. It has no staff. But it’ll do for now.”

I almost laugh that Rory’s idea of modest living is someplace with no staff. But he looks so serious, his heart still hurting after this morning’s fight, that the laughter dies on my lips.

This morning has really shaken him.

In the grounds outside, a polished car waits for us. Armstrong steps out from the driving seat, closing the door behind him.

“Unfortunately I’m unable to assist you in your journey,” he says, with genuine remorse. “But I managed to finagle this beaut from the garage. A former shuttle of your father’s, well-maintained and more than road-ready. Unless, of course, you’d rather I acquire a taxi for you, in which case it may add several hours onto your journey as it reaches the estate.”

Finlay perks up, looking excited as his eyes drink in the shiny black car. “I’ll drive,” he says automatically. “I’ve got my license. Let me dae it.”

Armstrong nods, and then begins filling up the car with our cases.

“If I may,” Luke begins, his voice stilted. “It is customary for me to be chauffeured by anexperienceddriver in a separate car. In case of, for example, accidents. Carjackings,et cetera. No doubt you understand. And with the greatest of respects, I am not sure I trust an amateur to drive the next in line to the throne through Scottish country back roads.”

Finlay flashes him a cheerful grin as he wrenches open the door on the driver’s side. “Then it’s a good job that willnae be happening, since thereisno next in line tae the throne.”

I’ve never seen Luke sulk as much as he does then. A look of utter woe crosses his face, and I can’t help but reach out to him. I stroke his arm and he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he seems to lean into me. We sit in the back of the car, Luke a hundred times more hesitant than me.

Wordlessly, Rory slips into the passenger seat, his mind elsewhere. Armstrong closes the trunk with a slam and approaches Rory.

“Regrettably, your father has refused to see you off,” he says with a small downturn to his mouth, the slightest hint of disapproval poking through his neutral butler act. “Nevertheless, Idohope your travels will be safe. I am aware it is an… unsafe world out there at present.”

“Thank you, Armstrong,” Rory says, meeting his gaze. “We’ll be careful. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

Armstrong nods, looking as if he doesn’t like this course of action at all. Finlay, on the other hand, looks like he can’t wait for the journey ahead. He starts the engine, beaming at me in the mirror. The purr of the engine is so smooth, so serene, that it feels like being surrounded by tiny satisfied kittens.

We hit the road. Or rather, the long gravel path that leads to tall wrought-iron black gates at the other side of the estate.

I glance to my side. Although Finlay’s driving has so far been faultless, Luke sits as tense and twitchy as if he were speeding around corners at a hundred miles an hour. The car is quiet, everyone wrapped up in their thoughts, their betrayals and heartaches. So I do something I can, as powerless as I am. I hold out my hand for Luke to take.

He gazes at me curiously when I brush his thigh. And then, slowly, his palm enters mine, fingers sliding against fingers, a gesture of acceptance and reconciliation.

We stay like that for the whole journey.

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