Chapter 2

If I cast a glance over my shoulder first for one last look at the man who’d so nearly married into the family, well, I’m pretty sure no one noticed.

Except Kelis, of course, who teased me about it mercilessly (“You likedUlf, didn’t you?”) until she got distracted by a monk making ink out of berries, thank God. The accompanying spiel was quite interesting, actually, but I zoned out after a while. Lack of sleep, probably, although Kelis didn’t seem affected even though it had been her nightmares that’d kept me awake last night. Kids.

“I’m going to take a look around outside, all right?” I whispered in her ear.

“Yeah, whatever.” She nodded, her gaze not wavering from the sack-cloth clad, vaguely druidical looking bloke with the berries.

“Okay. Be good. I’ll see you back here, or just outside.”

I wandered off into the ruins. There was a place in the priory wall where a jagged-edged window perfectly framed a view of sixteenth-century Lindisfarne Castle, perched a mile or so away on its volcanic mound. I stopped to snap off a photo, and decided I’d drag Kelis over that way for a closer look. After all, we’d managed a different castle every day during our week in Northumberland, and it’d be a shame to fall down on the job on our last full day’s holiday. It didn’t look too far to walk, although an ice-cream bribe might be indicated.

I stood for a moment under a slender archway that curved between two sections of crumbling wall, and gazed up at it, outlined against an impossibly blue sky. Further on, there was a larger-than-life, green-tinged statue of St Cuthbert, Lindisfarne’s seventh-century bishop, missionary, and hermit. Back in those days, a total lack of any kind of social life could be seen as a good thing, it seemed. A ginger cat lay stretched out at the statue’s feet, sunning itself on the low stone plinth, and Cuthbert gazed down at his feline companion with long-faced serenity.

As I watched, a tall young man in Viking gear stooped to stroke the cat, which nuzzled into his hand. It was Ulf, the berserker from earlier, now straight-backed and smoking a rollie. I stared at him for a moment, then thought, what the hell?

I wandered closer. “Ur,” I said, in a tone I hoped conveyed friendly greeting.

He turned and grinned, showing gleaming white, slightly crooked teeth. “It’s all right, I can speak English.” He spoke it with a light rural accent, not easy to place. “I’m on a break. I’m Ian, by the way. When I’m not running amok.” Ian held out his hand, and I shook it. His grasp was firm and warm, and lingered in an easy-going sort of way that was pleasant, but frustratingly inconclusive.

“Chris. Nice to meet you. Sorry the marriage plans didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, no offence to your daughter, but twelve-year-old girls really aren’t my type.”

Did that mean girls weren’t his type? Or just twelve-year-olds? I really needed to work on my gaydar.

Ian took another drag on his rollie and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “Her mum off shopping somewhere?”

Was I reading too much into it, or was that a leading question? Unfortunately, even if it was, my answer was going to be a bit of a buzz-kill. “Actually, her mum died when she was six.”

His eyes took on a pinched look. “God, sorry. That must have been rough.”

I shrugged a bit awkwardly. “It was for Kelis. Her mum and I weren’t actually together. Never were.” I caught his wide-eyed look of surprise. “Well, apart from fairly briefly, thirteen years ago, obviously. I think we were both equally horrified when we saw who we’d woken up with next morning.” At nineteen, Shandi had been a free-spirited, exotic (to my sheltered eyes) beauty, with warm brown skin and swinging black braids, living in a squat with a bunch of other bizarre characters. I, on the other hand, had been skinny, awkward and conventional.

Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t sure all that much had changed. Except maybe the “skinny” part.

Ian laughed. “Yeah, I’ve had mornings like that. Can’t be easy, being a single dad.”

I looked down, pushed a loose stone around in the grass with my foot. “We get along all right, most of the time. Probably because she hasn’t discovered boys yet.” I glanced up again. “You got kids?”

“Only nieces and nephews. So far.” He gazed past me, out towards the sea, a gust of wind blowing back his dreads and making the beads in his beard dance. “I’d like them one day. But it’s not always that easy.”

I snorted. “Based on my own experience, I’d have to take issue with that. Sometimes it’s far tooeasy. Not that I regret having Kelis. God, no. Best mistake I ever made.” Followed nine months later by the worstmistake I ever made. But Ian didn’t need to know about my painfully steep learning curve on the road to good decision-making.