The Art Guy (18+) COMPLETE, FREE to READ

Always Eat Your Breakfast

"Hello, love. Can I get you breakfast?"

When she'd first met Daisy's dad, Katrina had been sixteen and helping her gran with the running of the Braemar Quality B&B. She'd served Tony Walker his breakfast plenty of times, and now the reversal of fortunes meant that it was he who hovered hopefully in the big kitchen, asking her what she wanted to eat first thing.

"I dinnae eat breakfast, Mr Double-u," she said, noting him smile at the nickname she'd coined for Daisy's parents when she first met them.

"Most important meal of the day, young lady," he waggled a finger at her, but she could tell it was half-hearted. Tony didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He'd been in prison for fraud and theft for the last two years, parole granted to him only recently and something he hadn't told his family about beforehand to avoid getting their hopes up.

Katrina recognised his behaviour. He was a man feeling his way around the house again. What was his role? What was his new position here? Was it right that a convicted criminal should give orders, such as telling someone to eat their breakfast?

Debbie, Daisy and Matthew were already gone, Mrs Double-u at work as a secretary in a private school (one that didn't seem to mind white-collar crime), Daisy at her sixth form college and Matthew at school. Thursdays were a late start at Chevelure Chic, as the salon stayed open till nine o'clock at night.

Tony needed bossing about a bit, Katrina decided, relenting on the breakfast.

"Och, seeing as it's you, you can make me breakfast Mr Double-u. Only if it's the birthday pancakes, though."

It was a Walker family tradition for Tony to make pancakes with bacon and maple syrup on birthdays. It was a bit sad how pleased he looked when she made her request, rubbing his hands together and opening cupboards to get out the ingredients he needed.

"Mick out, love?"

Katrina nodded. "Aye, another meeting with that film company."

The first encounter with Mick in such a long time should not have taken place in a situation where Katrina didn't have full control. Coming out of the noisy underground station, the stinky urban smell of it clinging to you, was less than ideal.

He had grinned at her. The hours slaving in that fancy-pants restaurant didn't seem to have done him any harm, looks-wise. In her head, Katrina had turned into a cartoon figure, exaggerating the blonde, blue-eyed-ness of him. She suspected she had turned him into Thor, protecting Castle Grayskull while flexing improbable muscles.

The reality, though, didn't match her head's ideas. Mick was bigger, more muscular and his blonde, wavy hair longer than ever. All he needed was a 'tache and beard, and he would be a Viking for real.

"Catty."

"Mick. Jesus, you really need someone to do something with your hair."

He had only laughed at that, revealing teeth that looked whiter and straighter than they had been last time she'd seen him. "Once a wee bitch, always a wee bitch."

He ruffled her hair, big brother style. The same as it had always been. Mick had become a reluctant older brother at the age of fifteen, and he'd regarded her as an irritating younger sibling ever since.

Katrina had no idea how to change things. All she wanted to do was stamp her foot, and let the words burst out of her: I'm no' your little sister! Look at me!

Just as Mick had changed, so had she. The Desperately Seeking Susan look she'd favoured was long gone. These days, she went for heroin chic. Katrina had always been thin—luckily, it was a Burnett family thing—and her bony angularity was now dead fashionable. Her jeans hung off her, and the women in the salon cooed in admiration when she stripped off in front of them, ribs clearly visible, hip bones jutting out.

The hair was a triumph too. She'd let her fellow hairdressing students cut most of it off recently, taking that huge risk of giving it a number one buzz cut to the side, and leaving two-thirds of it to fall on her face. Who knew what your hair hid? A lumpy, bumpy scalp, or a weird head shape? Luckily, the lack of hair suited her. It made her eyes look bigger and it drew attention to her ski-jump nose and prominent top lip.

"Blow-job mouth," Alfie said, smirking. "Always, always wear lipstick."

Mick had looked from her to Daisy and Tony. "So how do I get from here to Tower Bridge?"

Ah, he hadnae even come here to meet her. And despite Daisy's remark about not having another bedroom for Mick, he'd been sleeping on the couch ever since.

Tony presented her with the pancakes now. He'd given her a man-sized portion. She'd be doing well if she could eat a quarter of it.

"Do you ever hear from Alison?" He sat down opposite her, cradling the cup of coffee in his hands. The question was wistful.

"Aye, my gran keeps me up to date with what's happening in Kirkcudbright," she said, forking up small mouthfuls of pancakes and syrup. "You still have to book two or three weeks in advance if you want a table in Mackies on a Friday or Saturday."

Mackies was a fish and chip shop in Kirkcudbright and Alison its owner. Tony had transformed the place with an investment some years earlier. He had turned it into what he jokingly called "the best fish and chips in Scotland", and the place had been wildly successful.

Pity, the investment turned out to be stolen money. Still, when the police eventually caught up with Tony, they hadn't been able to take back his investment, not from Mackies, nor from the Star Tavern, the exhibition or the art prize he'd set up.

"What are you going to do, Mr Double-u?" she asked. As he'd stolen from his employers—ironically, the country's biggest police force—Tony obviously couldn't go back to work for the Met. His family were creeping around him, so grateful he was home and safe, but too anxious to say anything.

"I don't know, Katrina. A criminal record disqualifies you from a lot of jobs. But I can't let Debbie go on being the only breadwinner."

"Did you keep a wee bit of money by?" Tony had stolen almost two million pounds. Although a lot of it had been used to invest in Kirkcudbright businesses and make the town better for tourists and locals, Katrina couldn't believe there was nothing left.

Tony shook his head. "Not really. I paid off the mortgage on this place, and the rest of it went on renting out the house in Kirkcudbright."

"I'll have a wee think about what you could do work-wise, Mr Double-u," she scraped back her chair and took her plate to the dishwasher. To her surprise, she had managed to eat all the ginormous breakfast.

She didn't see the look Tony gave her, another of his sad, wistful smiles. Here he was, a convicted criminal in his mid-forties being bossed about by a teenage girl.

The irony of it.

Letting herself out of the house, Katrina didn't waste any more time on thinking about Tony. Her mind was full of him, Mick, Mick, Mick. He'd promised he would meet her from the salon tonight and they could go out for a drink.

He'd tell her how he had got on today, and she would show him what a grown-up, successful soul she was herself. Her mind fast-forwarded to the end of the night, culminating in her having sex with Mick.

"Please, please, please let it happen," she whispered, disturbing the peace of Tube travellers once more. The practicalities—where would this sex take place? The Walkers' family home wasn't ideal—she would work out for herself later that day.