Morag

When James suggests a monster hunt, everyone cheers. Drunk, the lot of them – it would be a bad idea on any lake. I can’t allow it. I take Jim aside.

‘Chill, Mo, it’ll be a laugh.’

‘You ought to know better, Jimmy.’

‘Jimmy? The savages call you Jimmy,’ one of his new friends booms.

I wait for James to tell posh lad off. He doesn’t.

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘Don’t be so dour, Morag. You’re such a stereotype.’

I watch them row onto the Loch.

’All yours, but don’t hurt Jimmy too much,’ I whisper into the water.

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